He wouldn’t even let me help him tonight. The only reason we were going to hang out tonight was because of the sex stuff. Once he knew that was off the table, he didn’t want me anywhere near him. Those aren’t the actions of a guy crushing on a girl.”
“Maybe,” Addison said. “Or maybe he just didn’t want you to see him in pain. It’s like the guy at the game said. Some guys are super weird about women seeing them in pain. Makes them think they’ve lost their man card or something.”
Addison’s phone buzzed and she checked it before bouncing to her feet. “I have to go. My mom just got a migraine and Dad is at his woodworking club. If she needs to go to the hospital, I’ll need to drive her.”
“Your poor mom,” Kira said. “Give her our love.”
“I will.” Addie gave them a distracted smile before leaving. The front door slammed, and Grace gave Kira another shrewd look.
“Now that it’s just you and me, is there anything else you want to say?”
“Nope,” Kira said. “I don’t have feelings for Connor, and he doesn’t have feelings for me.”
Grace drank the last of her beer. “If you say so, Kira-bear.”
Chapter Thirteen
Shit. He was in trouble. He knew it even before he was fully awake. Knew it even before he threw the covers back and saw the swollen purple mess that used to be his right knee.
He sat up, groaning loudly when it sent fire radiating from his knee down to his toes. He grabbed the pill bottle from his nightstand and muttered a curse. He’d taken the last leftover Percocet last night. It had done a great job of dulling the pain and allowing him to get some sleep, but now the agony had roared back to life, even worse than last night. Hell, had he been in this much pain since the surgery?
Shit. Double fucking shit.
Panic surged through him. What if he’d torn the ligaments again? What if he’d completely destroyed his knee and this time, they couldn’t put him back together again like Humpty Dumpty? He could forget about even playing baseball recreationally. Hell, he’d be fucking lucky if he didn’t have to use a cane for the rest of his life.
The panic made the pain worse, made his knee throb and pulse until he thought he might puke. He leaned back against the headboard, taking shallow breaths and waiting for the churning in his guts to settle.
Fuck, he really needed to take a piss. Moving slowly and carefully, holding his right leg steady with both hands just below his knee, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Just bending his knee sent fresh new agony through his leg up to his hip and he grabbed the pillow and buried his face in it to muffle his scream of pain.
Sweating, groaning under his breath, he lifted his right leg back onto the bed before reaching with a shaking hand for the bottle of Tylenol. He took four, chasing them down with a sip of water. The Tylenol might, if he was lucky, dull the pain enough for him to at least not scream when he bent his knee, but he couldn’t walk on it. He knew that without a doubt.
He needed to get his ass to the hospital and find out how much damage that asshole Daniel had done to him.
It wasn’t done on purpose.
No, maybe not, but he wasn’t exactly feeling charitable this morning. Because of Daniel, the likelihood of him pissing his own damn bed was high.
He grabbed his phone and then hesitated. Who the fuck could he call? If he called his parents, it would take them at least forty minutes to an hour to get here and forgetting his need to take a piss, Connor wasn’t sure he could stand the pain for that long. If he didn’t get to the hospital soon and get some goddamn pain medication, he’d go insane.
Call Kira.
He took a deep breath and stared at his knee. He was wearing just a pair of boxers and even the thought of trying to get pants on past his swollen, angry knee made him want to vomit. Which meant that if he called Kira, she’d see his knee, see the scars from his surgery. She’d start asking questions and –
Who fucking cares! The alternative is calling your parents and then lying in a pool of pure agony and your own piss while you wait for them