JOCK (Boston Terriers Book 5) Page 2

  “Stay the fuck away from my wife.” My ribs explode with pain as they’re punted with what feels like a steel toed boot.

  Still on my knees, I fold inward, balling myself up to protect my injured ribs from more punishing blows. A choking sound slips from my lips as I struggle to draw in my next breath. Fuck. I can’t breathe. I panic as the bottom of a booted sole meets my temple and a shower of stars erupt behind my eyes. My arms give out and I crash to the ground. Loose gravel beneath my cheek slices into my skin as I struggle to remain conscious. A hazy fog rolls across my field of vision before the darkness obliterates everything, dragging me under.

  Chapter Two

  Owen

  “Owen.” A feather soft touch soothingly strokes over the back of my left hand. It feels nice. A dull throb mimicking the worst toothache magnified by one thousand encompasses my entire right side. From my head to the tips of my toes, it’s all an agonizing blur of pained body parts. I feel like a train ran over me. What the hell happened?

  “Owen, open those green eyes of yours. We’re all here.”

  Is that Elle? Why is she waking me up? And why does my whole body hurt?

  “Come on, drama king. Open up your eyes so we can see your whole ugly face at once.”

  Leave it to fucking Jameson to pick on the dying guy. Surely, I must be dying if I feel this bad.

  “Jameson,” Elle scolds my oldest brother. I can picture her brown eyes narrowing at him right now and I try to smile, but moving my mouth hurts too much. A hoarse groan slips from my lips.

  “Owen,” Elle calls my name in excitement. “Come on, babe, open those eyes. You can do it.”

  “Come on, bro. You got this,” my other brother, Josh, encourages.

  My eyelids feel glued shut as I work to raise them. A sliver of light appears before they shutter me into darkness once more.

  “Almost there, Owen. You can do this,” Josh urges. His strong and deep voice is like a lifeline in the dark for me to grasp onto and gain strength from. The soft touch on my hand is replaced with a firm one, and I know it’s Josh. He gently squeezes my hand. “I’ve got you. We’ll do this together.”

  We’ve done a lot of things together. Josh has been more than an older brother to me. Along with my grandmother, he helped raise me and he’s had a hand in everything I’ve accomplished. The guidance and the encouragement he’s given over the years has been instrumental in shaping me into the man I am today.

  Focusing on the warm solidness of Josh’s hand, my eyelids flutter until I grow accustomed to the light and can keep them open for a second or two at a time.

  “Hey.” Josh’s white smile takes over his face. “I knew you could do it, little brother.”

  My lips move, but no sound comes out. Passing my tongue between my lips, I lick away the dryness.

  “Here.” Josh raises a paper cup and positions the straw between my lips. “Small sips,” he instructs.

  I suck some of the icy cold water into my mouth and it soothes my dry throat when I swallow.

  “What happened?” I croak before taking another sip.

  “You got jumped in the stadium parking lot after practice.” Josh’s green eyes, so like my own, stare down at me with concern and sympathy.

  What? Who’d do something like that to me?

  “You don’t remember?” Josh questions at the confused expression on my face.

  “No.” My eyes scan over my body taking note of the hospital bed I’m lying in and the white sheet and blanket draped over my legs. Moving up my torso, I notice the white cast running from my right hand to the top of my forearm. I shake my head as panic engulfs me. I broke my throwing arm? “No. No.”

  Josh leans forward and catches my eye. “It’s okay. Everything will be fine.”

  “No,” I repeat, shaking my pounding head. I know nothing is okay and may never be again. I can’t play football with a broken arm. My eyes well with tears and I grit my teeth to hold them back. “How bad is it?” I voice the question even though I’m afraid of the answer.

  “You’ve got a routine fracture. You’ll be healed up good as new in a month or so.” His reply gives me a momentary feeling of relief until I try to shift my weight in the bed. I feel like every bone in my body is broken.

  “What else is wrong with me?” It can’t be as simple as a broken arm. I feel like shit. My voice sounds gritty, like I swallowed gravel. “Why does my voice sound like this?”

  “You have a severe concussion, and you have some broken ribs. One of them punctured your lung and they had to surgically repair it. That’s why your throat is scratchy. They had to intubate you.”

  “Who did this to me?”

  Jameson ambles forward as if my question is his cue to step in. “It was your trainer’s husband. Apparently, he didn’t like you banging his wife.” He grins. “I knew you had the Dawson genes in you and this proves it.” He points his index finger at me and cocks his thumb like it’s a gun and winks.

  “Wow, Jameson. Really?” Elle rolls her eyes and touches my hand. She offers an uneasy smile. “Owen, don’t worry about anything but healing. We’re all glad to see you awake. You’re already on the road to recovery.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Since early this afternoon,” Elle replies, adding, “about eight hours ago. You don’t remember waking up in the recovery room after surgery?”

  I search for any inkling of a memory, but none comes. “No.”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” Josh inquires.

  I think about how my day usually goes before I have practice after lunch. Can I remember eating breakfast yesterday, or going to class in the morning? Yes, I had a protein shake in the morning and two sandwiches for lunch before heading to the stadium.

  “I recall going to practice, but that’s my last memory until a few minutes ago.”

  “Dude, that’s probably for the best. No one wants to remember getting their ass kicked, never mind getting completely fucked up like you are.”

  “Jameson.” Elle widens her eyes at him to the point where they might explode from their sockets.

  Josh shakes his head. “Elle, don’t waste your breath. I’ve been dealing with him for twenty-five years now. He’s not going to change.”

  “And why should I? Perfection can’t be improved.” He winks at Elle.

  “Whatevah.” She holds up her hand in front of his face and he licks her palm. “Eww. Jameson, that’s disgusting. I don’t know where your mouth has been.”

  “I have a pretty good idea and, trust me, you don’t want to know,” Josh chuckles.

  “Hospital germs are bad enough without adding your collection of STDs’.” Elle curls her upper lip. “I need to wash my hands.”

  Losing sight of her as she walks away from my bed, I close my eyes to rest them for a minute. The buzz of an automatic antibacterial foam dispenser clues me in to what she’s doing. I want to laugh, but I’m too sore. My lids raise to find Elle rubbing her hands together vigorously as she returns to my bedside.

  Jameson crosses his tattooed arms over his chest, staring her down with a smirk twisting his lips. “If it makes you feel better, I always wear a helmet when I ride.”

  “Yeah, well there’s no such thing as a tongue condom. And I’m sure your mouth has been in some pretty sketchy places,” Elle fires back.

  He tips his head side to side and presses his lips together. “You might be right about that.”

  She pretends to gag. “Just great. The one time I don’t want to be right about something, I am.”

  A knock at the door has Josh backing up to the foot of my bed giving him a clear view of the door. He nods at whoever’s there, waving them in.

  Zeke and Amelia come around the corner followed by Trevor, his eyes eagerly seeking me out. “Hey,” they call out in chorus. Zeke stops next to my family members, exchanging greetings, while Amelia smiles and maneuvers around the foot of the bed, moving over to the far side. Trevor follows close behind her. H
e takes hold of the metal railings and looks down at me, grimacing. I must look as good as I feel. “How are you doing, man?”

  I sigh. “I’m not really sure. I only know what these guys have told me, but I feel like I’m dying.”

  Trevor laughs. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re doing better than I expected,” Amelia says, her voice shaky. “We tried to get in here earlier, but this place is locked up tighter than a fortress.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t expect anyone to visit me.”

  Amelia laughs, “No, you wouldn’t, but there’s a whole group of people concerned about you. Grace and Leah wanted me to give you a hug, but since I don’t dare touch you, it will be a virtual one.”

  My lips arch in a small smile. “Zeke, don’t you know how to say hi?” I joke.

  He steps up to the other side of my bed, looming over me. “I was giving you a chance to catch up with the people you really want to see.”

  “You just wanted to make sure you didn’t have to find a new roommate.”

  “Yeah, that would suck. I don’t think we could find anyone to put up with Trevor besides you and me.”

  “Hey, how did I get dragged into this? I’m just standing here minding my own business.”

  “When can I get out of here, anyway?” I direct my question at Josh.

  “The doctor didn’t give us a firm date. He said in a couple of days, if everything looks good. But you might want to think about staying with Elle and me for a while. Then, if you need anything one of us can be there to help you out. Even when I’m at work, I’m just downstairs.”

  Josh owns and operates a tattoo parlor located on the bottom floor of the brownstone they live in. He opened Canvas last year and business is booming. I’m not surprised at all. He’s a true artist and I knew it wouldn’t take long for word to spread. For how large of a city Boston is, news travels fast. And your reputation is everything; especially if it’s not pristine. Negative gossip can stick with you like a bad habit and, no matter how much you try to lose it, there’s no shaking it.

  I know he’s worried, and he means well, but I’ll want to be back in my own space, not someone else’s. I must get in touch with Hannah. I need to know how her husband found out about us and make sure she’s okay.

  “What happened to the guy who beat me?”

  “He got arrested, but the police are going to want a statement from you ASAP.” Josh fills me in.

  “Good luck with that. I don’t remember anything.” It’s disconcerting to be in the hospital and not remember any part of what landed me here.

  “The cameras outside the building caught it all,” Josh reassures.

  “Don’t worry, little brother. If that punk doesn’t do jail time over this, he’ll be wishing he did.” Jameson cracks the knuckles on each hand, grinning maniacally.

  “Has anyone seen Hannah?” I glance between them.

  Josh nods. “I spoke to the police and they said she’s okay. He didn’t harm her, and she refuted his alibi.”

  “Who saw what happened?” My eyes move to Trevor.

  “Nolan left the stadium shortly after you did. When he got outside you were on the ground getting the shit kicked out of you. Literally. The guy had steel toed boots on for fuck’s sake.” That would explain all my injuries.

  “Is Nolan okay?”

  “Yeah, he’s fine. He tackled the guy and broke his nose. Flynn was the next one out the door. When he saw Nolan on top of the guy and you on the ground unconscious, he called the police. I walked outside right after all that. Flynn was next to you on the pavement checking to make sure you were breathing and trying to stop the bleeding.”

  “What bleeding?”

  “Your head was split open on your temple.” Trevor juts his chin toward me. “On the left side, above your eyebrow. It was a bloody mess. You had some cuts on your cheek too.”

  Tentatively, I raise my hand and trace over the bandage stuck to the side of my forehead.

  Is this why I can’t remember what happened? Is this why everything seems like it’s been glazed with a fog?

  The gauze on my head feels sizeable. Will I look disfigured when it’s removed? What about the cut on my face? My fingers slide down and discover a small piece of surgical tape. At least this cut seems smaller than the one on my head.

  “By the way, you owe me a new sweatshirt. You bled all over my favorite hoodie,” Trevor jokes.

  “Dude, peroxide gets blood out. Slap some of that on the stain and it will be good as new,” Jameson interjects, sinking down onto the plastic chair beside my bed. Pocket knife in hand, he uses the tip of the blade to clean the dirt from underneath his fingernails.

  He would know how to get blood stains out. My oldest brother and my dad are part of The Bastards, an outlaw biker club. Most of the time I try not to think about the questionable things they do in the name of the club. I might not agree with their choices, but they’re not mine to make. I learned early on that we all walk our own path. And thankfully, mine is one that no one else has gone down. I’m not interested in following others, unless it’s Tom Brady. Otherwise, I’m paving my own way.

  One of the nurses walks into my room and appears at the foot of my bed. “Guys, I hate to kick you out, but visiting hours are over. Owen needs his rest.”

  No one argues with her. One by one they say their goodbyes. A kiss on top of my head from Elle, and fist bumps from the guys. I’m sure they’re as anxious to leave this place as I am.

  “Elle and I will be by tomorrow and, just a heads up, we’re bringing Grammy,” Josh warns with a teasing smile.

  It helps to know they’re planning on stopping in. If they’re bringing Grammy that means she must be fretting about what happened and it guarantees she’ll be fussing over me while she’s here. Tomorrow, I might be ready for more company after lying in bed for so long. But now, I’m tired and looking forward to catching some shut eye when everyone leaves.

  “I’ll try to stop by, too, if I can. Dad wanted to come, but there was a crisis at the club he had to take care of. He said he’ll swing by as soon as he can.” Jam gives me a quick wave of his hand and disappears around the side wall, and Josh and Elle follow shortly behind. Amelia blows me a kiss and Zeke bumps my good fist, leaving me alone with Trevor and the nurse.

  “Don’t get down, bro. You’ll heal up before you know it. I’ll be back tomorrow. Do you want me to bring you anything?”

  “Nah. I’m hoping to be out of here ASAP.”

  “Knowing you, I’m sure you will be. Get some sleep.”

  “Thanks, T.”

  He smiles. “What are you thanking me for? I didn’t do anything.”

  “You’re here. That’s enough.”

  “Clancy, Nolan and Flynn were all out in the waiting room with me, but they’d only let a few of us come back.”

  “There’s not enough room in here for all those big guys,” the nurse clarifies.

  “Thank them for me.”

  “I will. Get some rest and I’ll see you soon.” He flashes me a quick grin before he disappears from my sight. My tired eyes fall closed and I sigh.

  “If it’s too much for you to have guests it’s okay for you to say so,” the nurse mentions as she checks the fluid level in my IV.

  “No. I’m glad they came, but now I’m exhausted. I haven’t done anything and I’m ready to sleep again.”

  “That’s your body’s way of helping you heal. You need to listen and get plenty of rest.” She takes hold of my wrist to check my pulse. “On a scale of one to ten, what’s your pain level?”

  “An eight. I’m sore all over. Why does my entire body hurt when only certain parts of me got injured?”

  “You got beaten badly and you’ve got bruises all over you. I’m sure you’ll be sore for some time to come.”

  “Great,” I mutter. With a sigh of resignation, I close my eyes. I might as well sleep. At least then I can’t feel the t
hrobbing body parts reminding me Hannah and I are through. I can only pray no one else knows about our affair.

  Chapter Three

  Owen

  “Fuck, dude. I can’t believe they kicked your ass out of the hospital so fast,” Clancy mentions as he lowers into the recliner.

  “That’s what they do now. Get you out before you catch something that will really kill you.”

  “Yeah, but you're a mess.” He gestures at my banged-up face with his hand. The blow I received to my temple left me with a black eye and bruising all the way down to my cheek. I also have an impressive row of black stitches on the side of my forehead that make me look like Frankenstein.

  “Thanks. It’s great to hear how I resemble dog shit.” Shifting my weight, I try to get comfortable, but sitting up hurts my ribs. Then again lying down does too. There is no comfortable position. Merely breathing hurts.

  “Nah, you don’t look like dog shit. More like baby shit.”

  “Good to know.”

  “What’s going to happen with the guy who did this to you?”

  “He was arrested and got out on bail. I gave the police my statement while I was in the hospital. Luckily, the cameras caught it all, so it doesn’t matter that I can’t remember.”

  Trevor walks into the living room and hands Clancy a beer before sitting down on the other end of the couch from me.

  “Where’s mine?”

  Trevor shakes his head. “Pain pills and alcohol don’t mix.”

  “Actually, they mix too well. Which is why people do both,” I retort. If someone told me a surefire way to take away this pain, I think I’d do just about anything.

  We watch television in silence until I catch a glance between Clancy and Trevor. Something’s going on. What aren’t they telling me?

  Shit. Whatever it is, I know it can’t be good. They would’ve blurted it out already if it was. Neither of them can keep a secret to save their lives. Which is why I never told anyone about Hannah.