My vision swam, ears ringing, vying for my attention alongside the heavy thump behind my eyes. I heard mumbling, shuffling, and was mildly aware of concern in the tones around me.
I wanted to speak. Let Eddie know I’d be fine after sleep and some painkillers, but the thought of hearing my own voice made me hold my tongue.
And then a warm arm wrapped around my waist. Comfort, heat, and a scent that registered through the painful fog clogging my brain.
“I’ve got you, Jay. Eddie’s just going to help me get you to our room.”
I tried to smile, tried to let Sutton know him looking out for me made my heart happy, managing to cut through the stabbing jolts determined to bring me to my knees.
But screw that.
We were only two days into our coaching gig. There wasn’t a chance I’d buckle and let the shitfest in my brain break me. Sutton knew that. He’d know being in pain was one thing I could just about handle in public, but on my back or on my knees, no fucking way.
With no idea how long it took us to get to our room, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Sweat trickled down my spine, and I was vaguely aware of the quiet, tight voices on either side of me.
Then I was on the mattress, my sneakers being tugged off, Sutton taking care of me in that assured way of his.
“Take these, baby.” Five tablets appeared in my hand. I didn’t need to see to know which ones they were.
I attempted a smile and a whispered “Thanks” before swallowing them down with the cool water he offered up. A niggle on the edges of my mind latched on to his sweetness. Before I could think more, I melted into the mattress and the soft touch of his fingers against my skin.
“Let me just talk to Eddie.” He followed up with a kiss on my temple, and legit tucked me in as I settled under the sheets, grateful that my head was finally touching the soft pillow.
Soft voices drifted in and out of my consciousness. The sound of a door closing, another opening. A dip in the bed. Something cool against my neck, making me sigh.
A touch of a tender kiss against my head.
Shuffling sheets and a warm embrace. Safety and comfort.
Each sound and movement intermittently reached me. Each one soothed me, helping the pounding ease and the loudness of my breaths plateau to gentle wisps.
I had no idea how long I slept. A warm body pressed against me, and that was all I cared about. And maybe the fact I could string more than a few thoughts together without my brain cracking open felt pretty much like magic too.
I prized an eye open. Just one, to test the light.
When I managed without burrowing deep under the covers, I lifted the second lid, blinking a few times to get my bearings.
Sunlight flooded the room.
I thought back to what time my head had finally told me who was boss. It had maybe been three or four in the afternoon. Since it was summer and dusk didn’t change the color of the sky until at least seven thirty, it could be dinnertime. Either that or I’d slept right through and it was morning.
A sliver of frustration crept to the surface, hoping the latter wasn’t the case. The knowledge of not surviving a day on the court, and not even training or playing, but doing a tenth of the physical activity I usually did, sat heavily on my chest.
Logically I was aware concussions impacted everyone differently. But I was what, about four weeks or so in, and my brain and body had shut down after a morning giving instructions and after lunch organizing a few drills and doing a few basic demos? No way could that be happening.
Not to me.
I was Jayden fucking Moore, and sitting still for so long made me itchy.
I had to fight this, push through it.
A simple smack of my head against a car window was not going to screw me over.
A flush of heat swept over me so fast, I struggled to breathe. I threw the covers off and swung my legs out of bed, sitting up.
What if this continued? What if the bang had knocked something loose?
What if I couldn’t play again?
