But it’s Monday. I’ve got plenty of time to recover before Saturday. So instead of going to Coach, I keep my helmet on until I’m off the field and into the dim hallway that leads to our locker room. The darkness is a relief, and only then do I gently pull off my helmet. My head throbs for a few moments, and I slow my steps, but the pain is manageable by the time I step into the locker room.
The trick is not to let anyone look me in the eye. Luckily, the guys have been razzing me about my more low-key behavior ever since that night in the hotel room when I was texting Nell. They’re finally starting to lose interest, and no one comments on how quiet I am as we shower and clean up. As quick as I’m able, I gather my things and head out to my truck, where I’ll at least have a little privacy. I pull myself behind the wheel and immediately reach for the sunglasses I keep in the center console.
Now I have to figure out how to hide it at home. I could go straight to my room, but that would be suspicious. Unless I just don’t go home. I could go to Nell’s instead. Or take her home with me. Then they wouldn’t question me going straight to my room. But then again, bringing Nell home is likely to inspire questions, and if Brookes got a look at me, there’s no way he wouldn’t know something is up.
No, the best thing would be to go to Nell’s place and hope she doesn’t mind me crashing there. It takes me a while to find our text conversation on my phone. The screen is too small, and my slight double vision makes it hard to read the words. Once I find it, I type my message from muscle memory and hope that for once autocorrect does its job and fixes any mistakes.
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel while I wait, but even that small noise in the closed cab is grating. She answers. And I can tell by the length of the blurred text that it’s just one word. After some squinting and moving the phone around, I finally make out the word.
With a relieved sigh, I start up my truck. Luckily, I don’t have to get on the highway to get to Nell’s place, and I’m familiar enough with the roads to know from memory where all the stop signs are. The double vision isn’t as bad when I’m not looking at things up close, so while the cars around me are slightly fuzzy, I can see them just fine. Even so, I drive at half my normal speed.
I can already imagine that Nell won’t be happy that I’ve driven at all. But I couldn’t risk leaving my truck at the athletic complex. That definitely would have been noticed. It takes me about ten minutes to get to her apartment, and I pull into an open parking spot with no cars nearby.
For a few seconds I just sit there, zoned out, forgetting why I came here in the first place. Then my phone buzzes, and I snap out of it. I don’t bother trying to read the text. Instead I climb out of my pickup, keeping my sunglasses on, and head for Nell’s apartment. I hold tight to the railing on the stairs and make myself focus on the steps. At the top, I brace myself before I knock, knowing the sound will hurt.
Nell answers wearing jeans, and a snug long-sleeved shirt, both of which hug her curves perfectly. All I want to do is sink into her, see if she can chase away this, too.
“Hey,” she says, her voice bright and cheerful and too loud. “What’s up?”
I step past her, removing my sunglasses, but before I can say anything, another voice cuts in. “Hey, Torres.”
My eyes find Dylan on the couch, and damn it, I didn’t even think about her being here. I should find something clever to say, something normal, but my mind is too sluggish, and I’m too tired to mine for the words, so I settle for returning, “Hey.”
I turn back to Nell and gesture toward the hallway that leads back to her bedroom. “Can we?”
She frowns, but nods. “Sure.”
I don’t look back at Dylan as I follow Nell out of the living room. I drag a hand along the wall of the hall to help steady and straighten out my steps. Inside her room, I collapse onto her bed and drop my head into my hands. I hear the door click closed, but Nell doesn’t move after that. She stays at the other side of the room, and when I look up her arms are crossed over her chest and her expression is decidedly wary.
“I’m scaring you,” I say. “Sorry.”
She cuts straight to the point. “What’s going on? Are you . . . Are we . . .”
Aw, shit. She thinks this about her.
I follow her lead and cut straight to the point. “No. God, no. We’re good. Great . . . I have a concussion.”
Her arms drop, and her entire posture changes. “What?”
I wince at the sharp word, and her voice is lower when she asks, “What happened?”
I shift and lean back to lie on her bed. “Practice,” I mumble. “Rough tackle.”
I hear her feet shuffle toward me as my eyes drift close. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at a hospital getting checked out?”
“It’s mild. I’ve had these before. I know how it goes.”
And I know that I want to sleep, and now that my head is cushioned on her pillow and I’m lying flat on my back, I’m seconds away from doing just that. The bed dips slightly at my feet, and it jostles as she crawls up to kneel beside me.
I remember Dylan sitting out in the living room and add, “Don’t tell Dylan.”
“Why? Hey, look at me.” She nudges my shoulder, and I pry open my eyes.
She places both hands on my cheeks, tilting my head toward her and looking into my eyes. “I haven’t told Coach. Or the guys.”
I’m thankful when she doesn’t ask me why. Instead she moves straight into medical mode. “Your pupils appear to be the same size. So, that’s good. Any nausea? Vomiting?”