Page 11

Chapter Eleven

Jax

Jackson Delacroix sat on a gurney in the emergency room, madder than an old wet hen, as his mother used to say in her Cajun drawl. The motherfucking left offensive tackle had snuck up on him as Jax was heading for the QB, and Jax had been careless, not checking his other side. The fuck didn’t have to spear him in the shin, but the guy clearly wanted to be the one to take the Cajun out for the rest of the season. That was one reason he was pissed.

Another reason for his rancor was because they wouldn’t allow Ford to ride with him in the ambulance. Ronnie Howell, the team doctor, had ridden with him, which was fine, but Jax wanted Ford and Kincade. He’d been told Ford was in the waiting room but he couldn’t come back because he wasn’t family. That shit would be handled as soon as Jax could get the fuck out of the bed. That was another thing that pissed him off.

“Yoo-Hoo! You decent, Mr. Delacroix?” It was the bitchy nurse who’d cut his uniform pants off him, adding gasoline to his rage. He’d used them all season, and they’d brought good luck. She also didn’t give a fuck he was only wearing a jock and cup, not bothering to give him a blanket to cover up.

“ Do not come in here! I want a fuckin’ doctor.” The words came out in a growl.

The infuriating woman tittered as she came in with a tray. “Get over it. I grew up in a house with six brothers who all thought they were badasses. Here. This will help with the pain and maybe put you in a better mood so you can get your X-rays. Your friend’s pacing to beat the band out there, bothering the receptionist every five minutes. Will he call your next of kin?”

He looked at her name tag to see her name was Gwen. “Miss Gwen, my friend, the blond, is my next of kin. He’s my fiancé.”

She snickered. “That’s right. You’re the queer one.”

He was about ready to get up off the bed, broken leg or not, and punch the bitch. “I’ll have you fired, I swear.”

“Oh, stop. Those brothers I told you about? Two of them are gay. I’m not homophobic, Mr. Delacroix. I’m keeping your fiancé updated on your condition. It’s just we need the damn radiologist to get his ass—”

The door opened and Ronald Howell came inside, frowning when he saw Jax still sitting on the gurney. “Why isn’t he in X-ray? We need to get a cast on this leg and get this man home to his family.” Dr. Howell’s bitchy tone brought Jax much pleasure and a small smile to his face

“I was just explaining to Mr. Delacroix how the radiologist-on-call is celebrating his holiday with his family and isn’t answering the page. What would you like me to do, doctor?” she asked nicely.

“Page the head of radiology and give him my number. In the meantime, take this man down to radiology and let the tech take the X-rays. I’ll sign the chart.” He then told her some things she wrote down before leaving.

“I’m sorry, Jax. This wait is bullshit. I have privileges here, but I’m only here if one of you guys are, and you’ve been healthy for a very long time. Now, you want anything?” Dr. Howell asked.

“Ford’s waiting outside, and he’s pacing, I’m told. Please let him come into the room with me. He’s probably out of his mind.”

“Of course, Jackson. Stan’s here, too. You want him to come back?” the doctor asked, apparently knowing Stanley Adams, his agent.

Jax laughed. “Sure. More the merrier, I guess. Can I get something to cover my dick? That woman had no shame.”

The doctor laughed and left the room. Seconds later, Ford stormed into the room, panic on full display. The nurse came in behind him with a blanket and an ice blanket she gently draped over his lower leg, winking at him as she left. He just laughed.

“God, love, are you… How bad is it?” Ford walked to the other side of the bed where Jax’s good leg was hanging off. They’d removed his pads at the stadium to make the ambulance ride more comfortable, and Jax was grateful.

“The best-case scenario is a fractured fibula and tibia. Medium case, they’re clean breaks and healing will be less troublesome. I’m young enough I shouldn’t need surgery if they can set them, and that’s going to fucking hurt. Worst case, one or both of the bones is shattered which will require steel rods, screws, and an entire erector set in there. That’s multiple surgeries and a rehabilitation center, which I’ll hate.”

Not only would football be out of the question, his hopes of being a trainer at his own gym would as well. He could run the damn gym, but he would only be a limping figurehead. That wasn’t how he wanted to end his football career or carry forward in the second half of his life.

“Have you called Kincade?” Jax asked, not wanting to ponder on the third option.

“I was waiting to call until we had some news, but I guess I should go ahead and do it. He’s likely worried.” Ford quickly hit the speed dial on his phone. Cade’s phone rang five times before it went through to voicemail. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m here with Jackson.”

Jax took the phone, smiling at his harried boyfriend. “I’m fine, chére. Hopefully, we’ll be home in a few hours. There are gifts for the kids in the garage. I’d like to be there when they open them, but if this shit goes too long, let them go ahead. I’m sorry most of its team stuff like sweats, T-shirts, and the sort, but at least it’s something for them to wear until we can shop for them. Don’t worry about me. Love you, Kincade.”

Ford took the phone back. “I love you, too. I’ll call you when I have more news.”

Two hours later, the head of radiology had arrived at the hospital, read his X-rays, and the news wasn’t awful. Clean break on the fibula and three fractures of the tibia, mid-shin.

That doctor was followed up by the best ortho at the hospital who would send him home with a brace and crutches to allow the swelling to go down, and the leg would be cast the next week. He was to stay off it as much as possible and keep it elevated. He refused painkillers any stronger than Tylenol, but he vowed to take the anti-inflammatory that had been prescribed.

Nurse Gwen was kind enough to give him a pair of scrubs to wear home if he gave her the sweaty t-shirt he’d worn under his pads. He signed it and handed it to her. “Don’t perve on it,” Jax teased.

“Oh, it’s not for me, Cajun. My little brother, Jamie, is a big fan. He’s one of the gay ones. You’re a huge role model for the kid.”

Jax smiled. “Give me your information, and I’ll send the kid… How old is he?”

“Twenty. He plays cornerback for the Fighting Irish.” The pride in her voice was nice to hear.

“Hell, have him send me one of his jerseys. They’re in the Rose Bowl this year. Is he Jimmy Cooper?” Jax asked. Her beaming smile was enough confirmation.

“He played for…” Jax recited the kid’s stats for his early football career. He kept an eye on talent, and the kid had been an all-American his senior year in high school. It made sense Jimmy Cooper had come from a big Catholic family and went to play for the Irish. Jax hoped the kid’s teammates were as supportive as the Breeze players had been for him.

After he and the nurse traded information, the ortho and a tech came back and fitted him with the brace. They surrounded it with an Aircast to be worn for the weekend, which would be a pain in the ass, but he did appreciate the extra cushioning around the leg. He was dreading when the earlier pain pill wore off because he knew it was going to hurt like a mother fucker.

Jax wasn’t good with crutches, having not used them since he sprained his ankle once in high school. By the time they got home, he was in a lot of pain. The pressure on his leg was killing him.

When Ford pulled up to the garage and opened the door so Jax wouldn’t have to take the front stairs, they both noticed the white BMW wasn’t in its spot, but the gifts Jax had arranged for were there, untouched.

“What time is it?” Jax asked.

Ford opened the back door of the Hummer so he could slide out. Dr. Howell had offered to send him home in an ambulance, but the big man refused because he didn’t want to upset the boys any more than they likely were, already having witnessed the hit in person.

The doctor said he’d stop by the next morning before church with his family, and Jax thanked him. He was sure he’d be begging for those fucking pain pills by morning.

“It’s seven o’clock. I’m sure Cade had to run out for food. Let’s get you inside, love,” Ford said.

After Jax was stable on the crutches, he hobbled to the back three steps from the garage to the mudroom, keeping his knee bent so his toes didn’t touch the ground. “These fucking crutches hurt like a mother fucker.”

“You want me to arrange for a wheelchair? That might work better.”

Jax hopped on one leg up the stairs, using the crutches as support. “No fucking way.”

Once they were inside the mudroom, Ford took the blanket from Jax’s shoulders—they’d forgotten his coat at the stadium—and removed his own shoes and coat, noticing his insulated, down-filled coat was missing from the hook, along with his car keys.

They went in through the back door to the kitchen and saw a table full of worried faces. “Hey, it ain’t that bad. A break and a fracture. I won’t play next weekend, but that means I don’t have to go to Minnesota, thank god. What’s up?” He hobbled over to the table.

Josh, or maybe Greg, hopped up and offered him the seat. Another one—the redhead—stood and moved the other chair closer to prop his leg on. Ashton Hayes took the crutches and leaned them against the wall out of the way. They were all still looking at Jax and Ford.

“Where’s Cade?” Jax asked.

“We don’t know. He said he had to run out for a minute, and we should put the food in the oven for an hour, and he’d be back. That was nearly three hours ago,” Kevin the Ant said.

“Did you eat?”

Ashton opened the oven, showing two dried out lasagnas.

“We tried to keep it warm at least until he got back. I called his cell, and he didn’t answer. We finally turned off the oven, and we didn’t know what to do,” the young boy said, breaking down.

“Oh, Ash, come here, guy.” Ford held his arms open for the younger boy. Jax watched Ford hug him, which was the best feeling in the world as he well remembered.

“Look, he’s in my car and it has front-wheel drive, but it’s snowed a bit. He might be stuck somewhere with a dead cell.” Ford continued to pat Ashton on the back.

Ash pulled away and dried his eyes. “No. If it’s dead, it goes straight to voicemail. Cade’s phone rang. Something’s wrong.”

Ford pulled out his phone to call Cade when he noticed a missed call. It was from Cade’s cell phone at five that evening. There was no message. “Nothing,”

“Wait, you have that security package on your car. Find it on the internet.” When Jax bought the car for Ford for his twenty-ninth birthday earlier that year, he pulled out all the stops. Ford didn’t tell him he wanted things often, but when he did, Jax did it up as big as he could. That damn car had been one of those things.

Ford ran upstairs and returned a few minutes later with his laptop. The house was wired for Wi-Fi, so it wasn’t a problem to get a connection in the kitchen. Jax watched him typing away furiously before he hit the enter key. “Hmm. Okay, I have an address.” Seven sets of eyes studied him.

Ford typed in the address, his face hardening as he pulled out his phone and dialed. “Hello, this is Branford Thomas. I understand you have my car in the impound yard. Why?”

Jax felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. There had been a rash of holiday-related carjackings in the city, and if Cade had gone to the store to get something for the boys and got caught up in a situation like that? God, he could be…