Page 81 of The Understatement of the Year

“Really?” Hartley asked, his jaw tight. “You want to do this right now, with your teammate flat out in the next room?”

“That’s the thing, though,” Big-D said, folding his arms. “I’m just looking out for Graham. Actually, Rikker never told us whether he likes to give or receive.” He stared me down. “Which is it? If you like to be the cumbucket, maybe Graham is safe.”

A spear of red-hot anger sliced through my chest. “Funny. You seem real eager to know what sex with me is like,” I said. “Curious, maybe?”

His ground his teeth. “Watch yourfuckingmouth.”

“Yeah? You feel like making me?” I was too stressed out to back down. “That’s your strategy, maybe. You want my hands on you any way you can get them.”

Big-D made two fists, his face red. “Shut it, faggot.”

Hartley jumped between us. “STOP!Bothof you.”

“Rikker!”Graham yelled. And the tension I felt was unbearable.

Hartley pointed at me. “Stay with… Bella,” he finished. Then he jerked a thumb at Big-D. “You, on the bus.Rightnow.”

Big-D gave me one last, angry stare before he turned around.

Hartley gave me a shove toward the back, and we both went into Graham’s room.

“There’s too many people in here,” the doctor grumbled, checking Graham’s eyes again. “You all can sit in the waiting room. Except for Rikker, because he’s going to save my eardrums.”

“Where’s…?” Graham tried to see around the doctor.

“Right here,” I ground out.

“Why are we in a hospital, Rik?” he asked.

“Uh, Hockey game, G. You took a hit on the head.”

Bella tugged on my arm. “He’s afraid of something. Why?”

I put my lips close to her ear. “Not now, Bella.”

“He doesn’t want you to go,” she said, her face flushing.

“Then I’ll sit in that fucking chair all night, okay? Now hush.” I could still feel the blood pounding in my ears. Hitting something sounded really good right about now.

Bella took a shaky breath. Then she went over to ask Coach if I could stay with her to keep her company.

“Sounds like a fine plan, if Rikker is willing,” Coach said.

“Hey, no problem,” I stammered.

The doctor finished her examination. “He’s awfully agitated,” she said, frowning. “I don’t love that. But there’s been no vomiting for an hour now.” She patted Graham on the shoulder. “Why are you so upset, buddy?”

Coach tugged his chin. “Shit. I don’t feel like I should walk out of here.”

“Why are we here?” Graham asked.

I cleared my throat. “You took a hit during the hockey game,” I said for the millionth time. But then I had an idea. “Hey. Where is his stuff? Did he come in here with his helmet?”

“Why?” the doctor asked.

But I’d already found the door of a flimsy little closet in the corner, and yanked it open. Graham’s hockey bag was crammed inside, the helmet on top. “G, look at this,” I said, pointing to the crack. “This is why we’re here.”

“The hockey game,” Graham said.