Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(85)

And I know, I fucking know, something is wrong.

I heard the pop.

Felt the burning pain through my body like someone took a lighter to gasoline.

Excruciating.

That’s the only way to describe it.

A whistle blows when I fail to get up and someone starts yelling. The crowd starts going wild—over what, I don’t know. All I can think about is the fire shooting from my shoulder as I pinch my eyes closed.

Don’t fucking cry.

Don’t you dare fucking cry.

A few faces appear above me when I finally open my eyes. Caleb and Marks, and one other dude in the other team’s gear. He’s the one who cusses and extends a hand, unaware of the turmoil coursing through my body. “Fuck, man. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

Red Bowen.

Goddamn Red-Fucking-Bowen.

Another Massachusetts native. He and I went to high school together for a hot minute before he’d gotten himself kicked out. I never thought to keep up with him or what he was up to after he left.

“DJ?” Caleb asks, worry in his tone when I fail to sit up. “You good?”

I clench my teeth, trying to calm my breathing. “Shoulder,” is all I manage to rasp.

Somebody mumbles something about my helmet when I finally force myself to sit up, but I don’t know what they say. My head hurts, my arm worse, and I’m angry.

A ref and one of the members of the medical team jog over to where I’m sitting dazed and pissed. The three guys watching give them access to me to check me over.

People are watching.

My team.

Theirs.

Our fans.

Our enemies.

“Get me the fuck out of here,” I tell whoever will listen when I can’t stand the scrutiny from the mixed reactions around us. This time, when Red offers me his hand, I use my good one to help get tugged up to my feet.

Every part of my body screams in protest, but I force myself to get past it.

The people here rooting for the Dragons that are decked out in red all start clapping and cheering in support as I’m escorted off the field and toward the locker room.

Raiders fans are clapping for other reasons that I don’t let myself think about or else steam will start coming from my ears.

Coach catches up. “What’s wrong, son?”

“It’s my shoulder,” I grumble, my arm limp at my side. I don’t want to move it—don’t know how the fuck I’m going to get out of the protective gear that obviously didn’t do shit for me today.

Frustration bubbles to the surface, and all I want to do is yell and hit something. A locker. A wall. Red for coming at me so hard. Wallace for his existence. Coach because he’ll walk back out and refocus as if he doesn’t give a shit one of his own is being looked over.

I run a hand through my hair as I’m guided to sit down on the bench inside the locker room we were assigned when we got here.

It takes twenty minutes of fighting, sweating, and cussing before my top half is bare and exposed to the professionals examining my injuries. I have to bite down on my knuckle when Claire, the medical professional, starts examining my arm.

To distract myself, I look at the massive crack in the back of my helmet from where my head must have slammed against the ground when I landed. No wonder I’ve got a headache.

“You’re lucky,” Claire says, seeing what’s captured my attention. “I’ll need to get x-rays done, but I’m positive your shoulder is dislocated at the least. And I know you already have problem with tendonitis in this shoulder, so I imagine this will make that flare even after its set and healed. Are you dizzy? Blurry vision?”

I’ve got a headache drumming in my skull that increases with each passing minute, so I tell her as much.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” she asks, holding up two. Why do they always hold up two?

“I’m not blind, Claire.”

“I’m trying to make sure you haven’t sustained any other injuries. You know how this works, Bridges. Entertain me.”

I sigh. “Two.”

She nods and goes back to examining my shoulder, careful of how she moves it. I clench my teeth and grind my jaw with every small touch no matter how gentle she tries being. “You definitely need imagining done. I’m not sure if I should set it here in case it’s something worse that I could damage more. I’m going to request a full body scan at the nearest hospital so they can check out everything to be on the safe side. In the meantime, I’ll need you to wear a sling to immobilize it.” She digs through her shit and produces the uncomfortable monstrosity that I’ve had to wear before.

“I’m not going anywhere until the game is finished,” I tell her. “So set the damn thing.”

“DJ—”

“Claire,” I challenge.

She sighs, shaking her head but doing as I ask. I have to bite back the rapid curses as she works my shoulder back into place, then helps me put on a clean T-shirt before getting my arm into the pain in the ass contraption.

“You know how it works. Once we get the results from the image tests, we’ll go from there. Take two of these—” She dumps a couple tablets into her palm and passes them to me. “Every six to eight hours as needed.”

Long after she’s gone to make some calls, I remain in the locker room sulking. My head drops forward, hanging dejectedly between my shoulders until the bite of pain from the muscle movement is too much.