hard on the red button. In what seemed like minutes, but was probably only seconds, a nurse in baby blue scrubs appeared beside him.
“You’re awake.” She smiled at him. “Good.”
“Not so good,” he said thickly. “I have to—” He slapped his hand over his mouth.
“I’ve got it covered,” the nurse said in a calm voice.
The next thing he knew she had propped his head with one hand and with the other held a small metal barf tray. He was glad she was that observant and that fast, because in the next minute he was heaving his guts. It was both embarrassing and debilitating. When his stomach was empty, the nurse helped him rinse his mouth before she gently wiped his face and eased his head back to the pillow.
Jake squinted at her, trying harder to focus.
“I’m Regina,” she told him in her soothing voice. “I’ll be one of your nurses.” She gave him a tiny smile. “We had to flip to see who got to take care of Jake Russell.”
“Not much left of Jake Russell at the moment,” he said wearily. And how much was left he still had no idea.
“There’s a gentleman waiting to see you,” she told him. “Let me just take your vitals and I’ll let him in.”
“Wait.” He held up his uninjured hand. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see anyone at this particular moment. “Who is it?”
“He said his name is Scott. He said he’s a good friend.”
Scott Manchin was more than just a friend. He was Jake’s agent who had overseen his career from the day of the NFL draft. If he was here, things couldn’t be too good. Scott had clients playing today all over the country; he wasn’t scheduled for a Mustangs game and a sit-down with Jake for a couple of weeks yet.
“Can I tell him it’s okay to come in?” Regina asked. “He’s been waiting a long time.”
“Yeah, sure.” Whatever. Better to get the bad news over with. He tried to shift, and groaned as pain stabbed through him. “What’s with my leg?”
“It was broken and you’ve had surgery. Dr. Moline wanted it in traction for the first few days. I know it hurts. Let me get you some pain medication.”
Broken, broken, broken.
The word bounced around in his brain like a ping pong ball. Broken was not good. Broken meant no football. Broken meant there was nothing left of Jake Russell. Broken meant he was back to being that worthless kid. The adjective drummed into him over and over and over.
The nurse finished taking his vital signs and hurried from the room. Jake closed his eyes, and when he opened them again Scott was standing beside his bed, trying to look calm despite the lines of worry creasing his forehead.
“Hey, buddy,” he said to Jake.
“You can skip the pleasantries,” Jake growled. “Just go straight to the death sentence.”
Scott gave what Jake thought was supposed to be a reassuring grin. “Nothing is ever as bad as it seems. You know that.”
“I know that I got hurt and I’m fucked, so let me have it.”
At that moment, Regina came back, wheeling in a small machine of some kind on a metal stand. With her other hand she held a syringe.
“Is that my happy juice?” Jake asked. “Because right now I’m not happy.”
“This is a morphine pump. I’m going to show you how it works, how you can press this button for pain meds when you need them. But I’ll give you a shot first so we can take the edge off right now. I’m sure you must be hurting like crazy.”
Jake waited while the nurse took care of business. When she was gone, he turned back to Scott.
“Okay. You’re on. What’s the diagnosis?” Jake grimaced as he shifted in bed. “You didn’t drop everything to fly into Austin because I got a little nick or bump. And give it to me straight. No sugar coating.”
“Okay. You have a complicated multiple fracture in your leg. The docs pretty much had to put it back together again.”
Fear rose up in Jake’s throat. “That means I’m done for the season, right?”
“Maybe.” But Scott said