Page 12

CHAPTER

FIVE

DEAN

They tell us the doctor is ready to talk to us, then make us wait in another little waiting room for ten minutes.

Fucking hospitals. Clara June checks her messages, so I do, too.

I learn that Hudson and Jake are both itching for updates, and that missed call earlier was a scout, but he foolishly forgot his name.

He inquires about Tanner, and asks for a call back…

and before he ends the call, he criticized the play that got Tanner injured.

Interesting . I file that information away for a time when I’m not in the hospital with my injured player's mother.

Finally they call for us, dragging out of the secondary waiting area, where the doctor charges in toward us with a clipboard, launching straight into Tanner’s condition the moment we’re in a private spot in the hallway.

“I am very happy to report that your son’s cervical spine is okay. Imaging, as you know, was performed and testing was done. The hit gave him a concussion, and that’s not nothing. But his c-spine is just fine,” he says, looking primarily at Clara June, while occasionally glancing at me.

My pulse is unsteady in my neck as I chew on this news. I glance at Clara June, wanting to reach out and comfort her in some way.

I see concussions, sure, but he was out. And when he opened his eyes on the field, before Clara June or any of the guys were out there, he was scaring me. That moment I’ll keep to myself, forever. In fact, I shove it from my thoughts now, and focus on the man with the clipboard.

“And was the c-spine your primary concern?” Clara June asks, her voice controlled, despite the way a tiny tremor runs through her bottom lip.

“Initially, yes. After that, I wanted to look at his chest, where the other boy's knee hit.” Now Dr. Denton looks my way, and I wonder why. “His collarbone is broken,” he says, and immediately, Clara June sucks in a gasp, pressing her hand to her mouth as she blinks at him.

“Broken?” she repeats in a murmur from behind her palm.

An overwhelming urge to hold her hits me, and maybe this is why Dr. Denton looked my way—maybe he was hoping I could calm her down?

He could’ve assumed that I know about football injuries, since I am the coach, and have likely seen many collarbone hits.

And he’d be right. He was hoping I could comfort and reassure her.

Or I’m projecting all that shit onto this man to give myself the confidence to touch her. To hold her. Just to bring her comfort.

I just want her to know that it’s all going to be okay.

And I know that sounds… I sound like what Riley and Leah call “a red flag.” I shouldn’t put my big hands on her, even if it is to show comfort or support. I have no business. It’s inappropriate.

We barely know each other.

Dr. Denton clears his throat and suddenly, there’s no decision for me to make.

Clara June turns, and focuses her attention on me, chin tipped up to meet my eyes. “C-coach Dean,” she stammers a little, and her nostrils flare as our eyes lock. There’s a levity in my belly, and my heart flutters. “How bad is a broken collarbone, you know, for Tanner?”

My heart beats in the middle of the throat, and deep in my ears, I hear my pulse.

She has light freckles on the apples of her cheeks, I see them now under these weird, semi-blue hospital lights.

Near the center of her irises are tiny flecks of emerald green, like vibrant moss floating curiously atop a cerulean pool.

Fucking beautiful eyes. Breathtaking eyes.

The kind of eyes that cowboys write love songs about, saying how those eyes mean more than his truck or dog.

I clear my throat, and the back of my neck is hot from the way she’s focused on me.

How what I say matters to her. She reaches for my hand and takes it in hers for a split second, squeezing before releasing.

“Please,” she simply says, and my brain bottoms out for a moment, but I regain my composure as an impatient Dr. Denton clears his throat .

“I think the worst part of it is how it sounds,” I tell her, smiling as I glance over at the doctor.

There’s a little relief on his face already.

This man clearly has had his fill of crying family members for the night.

“It’s not without pain, and there will be a mandatory six week recovery before he can play again, but he’ll be fine.

” I let my smile slip away for a moment.

“The scouts will not lose interest. Don’t worry about that. ”

She studies me for a moment after I’m done speaking, then turns and gives her attention back to Dr. Denton. And now he’s the lucky man to stare into those pools of blue and study her freckles, an ombre of mahoganies. “I’m sorry I got emotional,” she tells him, adding, “how bad was the concussion?”

He nods, as if he was expecting that. “It was mild, and Tanner shows no signs of complications, but like Coach said, he’ll be off of football for six weeks because of the collarbone, so he should take it as easy as possible.”

She blinks, and looks up at me. “Is there… I feel like I’m missing some obvious thing?”

She’s asking me to fill in blanks here, if there are any.

She’s asking me to be her teammate, even if only temporary.

This is not the time to get a hard-on, especially not with what I’m dealing with in the dick department, but my god.

Being someone she relies on for answers, even if it’s just for one question in one stressful moment of her life, is an incredible high. Arousing, even.

I look at Dr. Denton. “I was concerned about his ribs. From the angle I saw the hit,” I say, without getting into detail for Clara June’s sake, “I wondered if that top rib was cracked, or even broken.”

He nods. “Not broken, but yes, that rib was cracked. The only one. He’s got bruising on that side already, pretty bad. He’s going to be quite sore. And he’ll obviously be in the collarbone brace, too. But otherwise, okay.”

The teacher in me has questions, too. “For his school work, will you be writing a note that his coursework be approved to complete from home, as well as a reduction in work? I know that recovering from a concussion alone can be tiring, but with his rib and collarbone, I think he could get by on less work for a few weeks. Around six.”

Dr. Denton slips his glasses down the bridge of his nose until they’re in the right spot, and makes a note on a small pad, on his loaded down clipboard.

He passes the yellow paper to Clara June.

“Of course.” He looks between us, but settles his focus back on her.

“All in all, you guys are lucky.” He focuses just on me now.

“Football is rough on still-developing bodies.”

I nod. “Yes, it is.” This fucking guy. Don’t do this in front of his worried mother. C’mon.

“Did you know that the average high school football player takes over six hundred hits to his head in an average fourteen-week season?” he says, pressing his clipboard to his chest.

“Can Clara June go see Tanner now?” I ask, keeping my volume steady and my face absolutely unbothered.

I glance over at her and smile. She smiles uncomfortably up at me.

There’s a knot in my throat just looking at her.

I love those wild little hairs sticking out of her braid, and the way her eyes tell me things she doesn’t want Dr. Denton to know. Like, what the fuck is this guy saying?

“Yes. He’s in 6A,” he says, pointing to the sign at the end of the wall, which indicates Tanner is in the hall adjacent to us.

“I’m going,” she says to me, walking backward as she thanks Dr. Denton, then invites me to follow after her to see Tanner.

When she turns and really books it, disappearing behind the hall, I swivel to face Dr. Denton.

“That statistic,” I start, halting him with a palm out, his chest nearly colliding with it before he stops himself, “is probably true. I don’t think you’d make something up.

I’m sure you heard that on some boring old doctor podcast. But what those statistics don’t look at are the quality of those hits.

They’re not all concussion hits.” I shake my head.

“It doesn’t even matter. His mother is worried out of her mind about her son.

She didn’t know if he was going to need surgery, or if he could talk, or…

she just didn’t know. And then you had this beautiful gift of being able to give her good news. ”

He nudges his glasses up his nose, and I’d love nothing more than to punch that nose. But it would only hurt my fist.

“Then you ruined it by trying to scare her.”

He pops his jaw a little as his eyebrows jump. “Maybe she should be scared.”

“Maybe,” I say, “but maybe now isn’t the time. Maybe now is the time you let her feel good that her son is okay.”

“He’s okay this time but who knows about the next, and the one after that.” He steps to the side, but not past me. Not yet. “There are great risks to this sport. And this mother should know.” He walks past, and I stand there, curling my fists at my side. Talk about fucking bedside manners.

Tanner is okay.

I take a deep breath and temper my exhale, trying to steady my pulse, not send it higher. Tanner is okay, and I find myself both massively relieved, and surprised to learn how worried I was. Fuck this guy and his agenda. I want to see Tanner.

I follow the signs down the hall, finding myself nodding and smiling, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m thinking about Clara June wearing my Bruisers sweatshirt or if it’s because Tanner’s okay or…

both. Is it bad if the answer is both? My head aches as I make it to room 6A, and I take a deep breath to adjust myself before entering, taking my hat off as I lay eyes on Tanner.