Fuck.I squeezed the steering wheel. Pearce would be distracted, confused… fuckingdistracted. Everything I never wanted him to feel because of me.
Making a decision to turn off the main route, a few minutes later, I exhaled in relief. Thank Christ it was the right call. The traffic was easing, and it should mean it wouldn’t take much longer to get to the hospital.
A few moments later, Lottie interrupted the quiet. “We’re going to miss the game.” Distress pitched her voice high.
I winced. “I know, baby. Pearce will understand.” Nausea swirled in my gut as I tacked on a silentI hope.
“I really wanted to see him. Maybe we could go to the hospital after.”
A laugh punched out of me. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”
“But I can be brave, and I can ignore how much it hurts for a while. I haven’t cried in ages.”
Love for my girl caught in my throat. “That’s because you’re brave, but all it’ll take is one jostle and it’ll hurt lots again, and ignoring it could possibly make the damage worse.” I didn’t add that she also needed to get her head checked out. She could be concussed for all I knew. “Is your head okay?” I wanted to punch myself for not thinking to ask before.
“I don’t think there’s any blood, but I don’t want to check.”
The emotion clogging my throat threatened to spill over. “I don’t think there’s blood. But does your head hurt? Do you have a headache? Are your eyes fuzzy?”
She was quiet a beat. A glance in the mirror showed me she was thinking, no doubt cataloguing her injuries, knowing my girl. “My eyes are sore,” she eventually said. “But they always are when I’ve been crying.” She scrunched her nose, as if the very fact that she’d cried in the first place offended her.
“Okay. And headache?”
“My head’s sore where I hit it, and my head hurts a little.”
“Okay.” I nodded. At least she wasn’t saying her head was killing her or anything. “We’re just pulling into the parking lot now, okay?”
“’K.”
We found a spot almost immediately, a rarity for this busy hospital. After pocketing my phone, I helped Lottie out of the car, locked up, and we headed to the reception. With every step, my phone called to me, desperate for me to at least attempt to reach out to Pearce. It would be my next move as soon as possible. I just hoped he’d get the message beforehand.
* * *
With just tenminutes left on the clock, the Jetts were dominating.
Lottie kept up a running commentary as she livestreamed the game on my phone while waiting for the results of her X-ray. The whole time, I could barely look at the footage.
Unsurprisingly, Pearce hadn’t picked up his phone before being on court or responded to my messages. Knowing he’d gone out expecting to see us sent a wave of guilt up my throat.
Routines were important. I’d lived and breathed basketball for so long that I was more than aware that when something shifted, it could impact your focus. While I definitely wasn’t part of Pearce’s regular game routine, when I did attend, without fail, Pearce always sought me out as soon as his feet hit the court.
There’d always be a chin uplift, a tweak of a smile. That was it. Nothing especially significant or earth-shattering, but on games I attended, I became part of Pearce’s routine. Me not being there would impact him.
“Urgh. I can’t believe Wallumby missed that shot.” She started to shake her head but halted and winced.
“Your head hurting more?” It was easier to focus on Lottie rather than the guilt refusing to dislodge from my chest.
“A bit.”
“We’ll be able to get you painkillers as soon as the doctor sees what’s going on with your arm,” I reassured. The emergency doctor expected it was a straightforward break just in need of casting. Hopefully the X-ray would confirm that. The good thing was it didn’t appear Lottie had a concussion, but I’d still been advised she needed to take it easy and to keep a close eye on her over the next seventy-two hours.
“They’re taking forever. We could have been at the game,” she grumbled.
“Uh-huh. Just think how quiet and relaxing it is at a game. Nope, that wouldn’t have made your head hurt worse or anything.” I quirked my brow, trying to make my levity believable.
“Pearce just missed a shot.”
I huffed out a breath and rubbed the back of my head. Tempted to look, I instead stood under the pretense of stretching my legs. If I saw his face, saw his distress, how could I possibly break free from feeling so damn responsible for what was likely going to be a loss.
