Rebound (Seattle Steelheads #1)(53)

After she’d gone, I heard an argument going on just outside in the hallway.

“You can’t just kick out a season ticket holder for no reason!” a woman shouted at someone, her voice thumping against my throbbing skull.

“We’re not kicking him out for no reason,” someone—one of the officers, I thought—replied calmly. “He assaulted an—”

“But that doesn’t change the fact the officer in question was pulling him—”

“You can take it up with the chief of police,” the officer said. “Either way, this man is under arrest for assaulting a police officer.”

There was some grumbling and the sharp sound of high heels thunking down the hallway. I might have thought it was amusing if the sound didn’t hurt so much. And if this woman hadn’t seriously been trying to claim that Nathan’s season tickets were somehow more important than an assault charge or a player avoiding harassment. Okay, so it wasn’t amusing after all. Maybe I was just desperately searching for something that was because my head hurt, my scalp burned, and I was not out of the woods yet for that whole throwing up thing.

While I waited, I sent Asher a text: All good.

That was all he needed to know right now. He still had a game to focus on, so hopefully he wouldn’t hear the truth until it was over.

Minutes after Laura had left, she radioed one of the other officers, who escorted me down to the ground level entrance, where the cruiser was parked in the fire lane. I eased into the passenger seat, and she put on the lights. Probably not necessary—I wasn’t bleeding that bad, and I was pretty sure I’d had worse concussions—but I didn’t argue.

In the car, I also texted my ex-wife: on my way to the ER. I’m ok, but can you take the kids tonight?

In seconds, my phone came to life with Valerie’s ringtone. As soon as I answered, she asked, “What’s going on? What happened?”

“I’m okay. I’m—”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re okay but going to the ER. What’s going on?” She wasn’t irritated. Just worried.

I closed my eyes. “Suspect got squirrely and I hit my head against something. Probably just need a couple of stitches and some rest.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then, voice flat, she said, “You knocked yourself out, gave yourself a concussion, and you’re bleeding like a stuck pig, aren’t you?”

I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t so afraid of vomiting. “Am I that transparent?”

Val sighed heavily. “Uh-huh. You know, you’d be a lot less stressful if you were the kind of guy who’d demand an airlift for a hangnail. When you’re going to the ER, I get visions of severed limbs.”

I chuckled quietly. “I’m not that bad.”

“Yes you are,” Laura said from the driver’s seat.

“Yeah,” Val said. “You are. Which ER are you going to?”

“Harborview.” Beat. “Because it’s the—”

“Harborview?” she squeaked, making me flinch. “Jesus Christ. How bad is it?”

“It’s not! It’s not.” I made a calm down gesture even though she wasn’t here. “It’s the closest ER. That’s all.”

She released a long, exasperated sigh. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days, Geoff. Mark my words.”

“Me too, Val,” Laura called out.

“Hey! Quit ganging up on me,” I said with a laugh. “I’m wounded.”

Laura rolled her eyes. I was pretty sure Val did too.

“All right,” Val said. “I’ll get the kids. Text me later and let me know you’re okay? In fact, have Laura text me so I know you’re actually okay?”

“Will do. Thanks, Val.”

“Thanks. Take care, all right?”

“I will.” After I’d hung up, I said, “She wants you to text—”

“Oh, I know. And I will.”

Harborview Medical Center was the region’s most advanced trauma center. It was the place they Medevac’d people who were on death’s door. It also happened to be the closest ER to the stadium, which meant it only took us a few minutes to get there, especially with the cruiser’s lights on.

When we walked in, the waiting room was full of people, but I had one of the express tickets—a bloody head wound and a momentary loss of consciousness. It wouldn’t get me in and out of here quickly, but it definitely bumped me up on the guest list. Or maybe they just didn’t want me bleeding everywhere.

After a nurse had cleaned, examined, and bandaged the head wound, she gave me a couple of icepacks. I lay back on the gurney, using one icepack as a pillow and resting the other against the side of my face. That felt better already. I distantly heard her telling Laura something about needing a CT scan because I’d hit my head hard enough to lose consciousness, but that it might be a while. Apparently, I was in the, “Let’s just check to be on the safe side, but you’re probably not going to hemorrhage in the next five minutes,” category. Or something. Whatever. Ice. So much sweet ice.

After the nurse had gone, Laura asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I took a fist to the face and a concrete step to the back of the head,” I muttered. “But the ice feels good.”