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Our straightedge coach stands so quickly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he strained a back muscle. Just as swiftly, he sits beside me, arms folded across his lap to hide his erection. His face flushes the color of my broken fist, and I tilt my head, erupting into more laughter, harder than I have in…I don’t know when.
“I fucking hate you,” he says under his breath.
“Doc, did I tell you about the time Coach got drunk and crawled into my hotel room?” I glance at Ethan with tears in my eyes. “Where were we playing…Colorado?”
“I’ll break the other side of your ribs if you don’t shut the fuck up,” he grits through his teeth.
Aurora wraps her arms around my neck, pressing herself against my back, and whines, “You two always leave me out.”
God, I love her. My perfect match.
“You wouldn’t have to miss out if you came with us,” Ethan replies, not helping the situation.
Naturally, my girl pounces on the opportunity to tease him further. She plants a lingering kiss on my neck, and goosebumps erupt along my chest.
“Oh, yeah? What do you have in mind, Coach?” Her voice is pure honey, thick with seduction.
“Why are you two like this? Can’t you be normal for five fucking seconds?” As if he wasn’t the one intending to sleep in here tonight, because there’s no way in hell he was dropping Aurora off and going to his own bed, not with that hard-on.
“Hey.” I grasp his shoulder. “What did you tell me?” I pause for dramatic emphasis, fighting the urge to smirk. “Fuck what people think, right?”
“You know what? You’re right. I’m trading you.” He’s got that death glare in his eyes, but humor glints in their icy depths before he turns away. “What’s the verdict?”
Doc clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. “Fourth and fifth metacarpal bones are most likely fractured.”
“They were previously fractured,” I point out.
“Yes, which you never let heal properly.”
I shrug. They’ll heal during my suspension. If not, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve played injured.
Exasperated, Ethan releases a heavy sigh, puffing out his cheeks. “What do you suggest?”
“Soft cast until he sees the orthopedic specialist. A more permanent solution after the season.”
I shake my head. “I’m not having surgery.”
“Jax—” Ethan starts.
“I’m not.” Our gazes lock. “I can’t take narcotics, and the baby is due in March.”
He nods in understanding. “Okay. How about the ribs?”
“Crunching where Jackson indicates it’s most painful. Could be cartilage or a torn intercostal muscle, unlikely to be broken. All you can do is rest. I know you don’t want anything for the pain, but over-the-counter meds won’t hurt.”
“I’m good,” I mutter.
“What about the other guy?” Ethan gestures toward the guest room.
“No concussion symptoms. Swallowing and breathing sufficiently.” Doc turns his attention my way. “Wanna tell mewhyyou strangled your bodyguard?”
Ricky is far from being my bodyguard, and I scoff. “Nope.”
“Do you want to talk alone?”
As much as I respect Doc—and I genuinely do, seeing as he’s been nothing but kind and patient with me—I’m not sharing this. Hallucinations? Flashbacks? Blacking out? Yeah, Ethan will never allow me around the baby. “No, I’m fine.”
“Are you using?”