“Two months?” I question, hoping I heard him wrong.
“Levi, your body can’t take many more hits, and it definitely deserves a full
recovery.”
Trying to sit up in the bed, I begin to argue again. “But football is my…”
“It’s only going to take one wrong hit on your spine, and you’re done. Done, as in the
rest of your career, or finished, as in a wheelchair. Without a full recovery, your chances
of being in a wheelchair the rest of your life is heightened.” Dr. Valentine hesitates a
moment, jotting down some quick notes on a prescription pad, and then continues. “It’s
your choice, Levi. You need to give your body the time it needs to heal. I will be the
only one clearing you to play again.”
The doctor’s words are crystal clear, and I can see none of my razzle dazzle and shit
talking will convince him otherwise. The words finished and done scare the living shit
out of me. They are my worst nightmare and truly haven’t been a reality for me until
now. I feel it every morning when I get out of bed. Muscles, bones, and joints all scream
in protest with every single movement. Just the simple act of tying my shoes has been
painful.
I knew it would be a vicious tackle to take me out, and it was. In a fucking preseason
game where it’s understood to take it easy on the players, especially the first string. I
guess karma is a bitch. I saw number eighty-two flying in my direction, but chose to put
all my faith in my linemen to block him or at least hold him off until I released the ball.
There was a wide-open receiver for a gain of about twelve yards, but I wanted the long
bomb for the TD. When I saw my receiver finally open up in the end zone, it was just
about the exact time the defender took me out. Lost the ball, lost the game, and lost my
opportunity to play for two months.
“Want me to contact your father? You’ll need someone around.”
“No, I’m good.”
“Levi, I can’t stress to you how important this recovery is. You’ll need someone
around for physical and mental support. I don’t think any of your blonde bombshells
will be much assistance at all.”
His last words make me laugh because he’s absolutely right. None of my frequent
weekend entertainment is in it for the long haul. They’re all plum satisfied with a
weekend full of hot and heavy sex.
“No, don’t call my dad. I don’t need his judgmental, overbearing ass on me.”
“Well, you’re going to need some type of assistance over the next two months. Who
else is here in Dallas?”
While finally being able to shift my head enough to look out the window, I answer,
“I’ll have my driver pick me up.”
“You’ll need help, Levi.”
“I’ll fucking take care of it.”
Everything inside of me wants to pick up the nearest object and chuck it at the
window or the doctor’s face. Glass breaking or some bones crushing under my hands
would feel brilliant right about now. I have nothing left to live for until I can get back
out on that field.
If I were my brother, Lincoln, I’d have a loving wife and a dog at home to comfort
me while I heal. Instead, I have trophy case after trophy case to console me—oh, and my
three Super Bowl rings. The one thing about the trophies and rings is they are amazing
and life altering to win in the heat of the moment and during the passion of the game,
but the metal grows cold mighty fast, leaving behind rapidly fading memories.
My dad has always groomed me to be a living legend, something to talk about for
years and years. Football was and has been my only option, throwing the pigskin in the
back yard after school and on weekends, attending every single football camp within a
hundred miles of home, and watching tape after tape of game films. I could recite any
playbook when I was six years old. Lincoln, on the other hand, loves football as well,
but played it his way. He did it without dad’s approval. And that’s my biggest regret; I
wish I could’ve been strong like him. Instead, I was molded into my dad’s dream.
Feeling guilty and like a typical ass, I finally let the surgeon know I’ll be okay and
taken care of.
“I’ll call my driver and fly back to Colorado to one of my homes.”
“Who is there to help you?”
“Lincoln and Lynlee.”
“Good, I’ll set up a physical therapist for in home services. We’ll do everything on
our end to get you back out on the green.”
“How many nights do I have to stay here?”
“With how smoothly the surgery went, I’d just like to observe you for the next couple
days. Why don’t you make arrangements to fly out on Thursday?”
“Fine.”
“Do you want to call any family or friends?”
“Nope.”
“Then I need more pain meds.”
Moments later a nurse walks in, and I watch as she injects something into the tube of
my IV. She’s quite the hot piece of ass. I’d definitely be tapping that shit all night long.
She even has a sweet smell covering her body that I could easily visualize myself
consuming.
“Levi, this will make you drowsy,” she says, capping the needle.
I can’t seem to pry my eyes from the back of her as she reaches up to dispose of the
needle and syringe in the red container. A strip of her flesh peeks out between her
scrubs, and this narrow glimpse sets me on fire. I find my hand willing itself to reach
out and touch her before she turns around.
“I’ll be your night nurse, so if you need me, push this button. Oh, my name is
Ashley, so just let me know if you need anything, and I do mean anything.” She finishes
off her words with a flirty little wink in my direction.
My insides turn with her looks, scent, and presence. I’d definitely be taking this one
home for a couple nights. Yes, she’d be granted a VIP pass to the Wilks’ Wild Weekend
Express, hosted smack dab in my bed at my mansion in Dallas. My hand finally
responds, stretching out in her direction, and when she places her petite little palm in
mine, I know I have her.
“Ashley, I could do so many things to you. I’d love to see those panties of yours…”
Before I can finish my last word, everything goes black.
***
“Sir, you’re not supposed to walk. I’ll get your wheelchair.”
“Just shut the fuck up and get my bags.”
I let Lincoln know I was coming to stay for the next couple months. For fuck’s sake,
in reality it’s my house. Lincoln and Lynlee have lived here since they married. They
both wanted to stay in Colorado since it was the place they met, and Lynlee wanted to
go to college. Lincoln lucked out and was drafted to Denver.
The assholes have the perfect life just the way they want it. I can’t deny the fact; they
fought tooth and fucking nail to get it. They didn’t pussy out and let someone else call
all their shots, and I, for one, wasn’t going to allow them to live in the home Lincoln and
I were raised in.
Dad and Lincoln have truly worked through most of their shit, and Lincoln still came
out the way he wanted. Played defense, went to the college he wanted, majored in what
he wanted, dated who he desired, and let his middle finger fly to the rest who didn’t
approve. Not me. I’m the oldest, and yearned for approval around every corner, leaving
me with a hollow life.
“Sir, you are not supposed to walk.”
Turning to the naive puke of a driver, I lay into his ass. “Do you fucking realize
you’re talking to? Do you?”
The young douche clams up. The look on his face is almost comical. Even in my
weakest state, I have the power to bring pussies like him to his knees, and I enjoy every
fucking second of it. It might make me an arrogant ass, but being a dick is the only
saving grace I posses.
“And you weren’t supposed to be born, so shut the fuck up, already,” I add to sting
the wound a little more.
I feel muscles rip and tear as I try to peel myself out of the limo. The pain is familiar
and immediately reminds me of my younger days when my dad demanded perfection
from each pass. I now have the same sensation years later trying to simply walk from a
car to the front fucking door of my own home. The pain is so intense I want to ask the
young puke to honk the horn to get Lincoln’s attention to come help me, but then again
it might even be worse to have the brother I envy help me.
I never would’ve thought ten simple steps would be the longest of my ever-loving
life, but I want to be the dick to knock on my own door. I bet Lincoln is about to sit
down and eat dinner with his wife, with his dog lying obediently at his feet. Fuck, I bet
she’s the kind of woman to bake his ass chicken potpie every Thursday night. What a
douche.
Before my hand instinctively turns the doorknob, I decide to ring the doorbell at the
last minute. I chuckle to myself, imagining Lincoln complimenting Lynlee on his dinner
and petting her knee under the table, only to mutter curse words when he hears the
doorbell ring. Lincoln may be a wild spirit, and we might as well have different fathers,
but I can call his next move from a mile away. Some might say we haven’t been brothers
for years, yet I know him better than anyone on this earth, and right now he wants to
knock the lights out on the fucker ringing his doorbell, because he was moments from
taking his wife to bed.
When the door opens, it’s neither Lincoln nor Lynlee looking back at me. To my utter
amazement, my fucking little bro has gone and hired the hottest fucking home nurse. A
blonde bombshell stands before me, and I try hard as I can to keep my jaw from
dropping wide open. Every muscle in my body is aching, yet my cock has no problem
springing to action for the juicy blonde. It’s obvious my home nurse hasn’t had the
chance to change into her naughty little nurse outfit.
“Well, are you going to invite me in, Nurse Nancy?”
“Excuse me?”
Talking slowly and deliberately, I say, “Are. You. Going. To. Invite. Me. In?”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” she asks, and the rush of her hot breath
brushes my lips.
The smell is so sweet and tender it makes my cock bulge even further. I know one
thing for sure; this nurse will be checking my blood pressure topless tonight.
“Levi,” comes a familiar voice, Lincoln. “You’re supposed to be in a wheelchair.
What the fuck you doing walking already, bro?”
“Well, if Nurse Nancy here could help a fellow out...” Not only do I say it, I also gesture with my hand, grabbing myself.
Another voice joins the mixture, and it’s Lynlee’s this time. “Levi, you made it.”
When her gaze hits mine, I see the same concern as in my brother’s eyes. They know
I should be sitting and not standing. They know the consequences all too well.
Without allowing her to respond, I relieve their stress. “Well, if Nurse Nancy would
move her ass, I could get up into my bed and get down to business. I knew Valentine
was setting up in home therapy, but not an in home nurse.”
Grabbing the inside of the doorjamb, I force myself up into my house, and looking
around the place, I really like what they’ve done with it. Looks like a home, the perfect
loving home complete with two dogs to kick.
The big tittied blonde looks mystified and almost a little horrified with my arrival.
Doesn’t the bitch realize this is, in fact, my house? Or maybe she has no idea a three-
time world champion just graced her with his presence.
“Weren’t expecting your patient to arrive so early or what?” I finally ask, breaking
the silence.
“I’m not a nurse.”
Losing my patience with this stuck up bitch, I demand, “Then who the fuck are you?”
The bitch really has some balls, as I watch her step up into my face, pinning me down
with her best death stare.
“Stop,” Lynlee yells and pushes her way in between us. “Levi, this is my best friend,
Jazzy. She’s staying here with us.”
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