Irresistible Bachelors: Books 1-5 by Landish, Lauren (bts books to read TXT) 📕

taken worse before. His struggles go weaker and weaker, and I think I have him. Suddenly, his knee comes up, hitting me in the balls, and my arms relax, letting him slam his head into my nose hard. Shocked and in pain, I lose my balance and fall backward, hitting my head on the pavement.

All sound goes fuzzy as if I’m underwater, and my vision immediately blurs. Somewhere in the background, I hear several startled screams and the director screaming, “CUT!” as I fade off into the darkness.

Shit.

I guess I fucked up again.

* * *

Oh, my fucking head. I groan, bringing my hand to my forehead. I feel like my head’s splitting in two. I open my eyes, immediately regretting it as I can feel the light pulse with my heartbeat. My vision is blurred. Not much is really that sharp, but I see a figure in white standing over me.

“Mr. Adams, I’m so glad you’re awake,” says a male voice. I’m trying hard to focus on his face but it’s still blurry. “I’m Doctor Harmon.”

“What happened?” I moan, having trouble remembering what went on. I remember starting the fight sequence for the final scene and everything going smoothly. I’d slammed the bad guy, we’d done the point where I was starting to choke him . . . and then just blackness.

“You had a little accident. Fell and hit your head on set,” Dr. Harmon says. “Split your head open pretty badly, but nothing that a few stitches couldn’t take care of.”

No wonder it feels like it’s about to explode.

“Am I all right? Any major bleeding?” I ask. Fear clutches me for a moment. The league is super strict on the concussion protocol nowadays, and if I’ve gotten a bad concussion, I could be sitting on the sidelines doing nothing but holding a clipboard and picking my nose for quite a while.

“You’re fine,” Dr. Harmon assures me. His face comes in clearer now. He’s a short, bald man with patrician features and wide goggle-like glasses. He’s looking at me with a faint smile on his face. “The bleeding was just on the surface. The stitches can come out in a week. The rest is just a small concussion. Grade one.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. A grade one concussion isn’t the worst. At least I can feel my damn toes, but it’ll still put me on the league’s concussion protocol. The team’s not going to like that, and there may be a chance I can’t get cleared to do the workouts. I’ll probably get docked pay. Fuck.

Dr. Harmon chuckles. “It’ll be fine, Mr. Adams. I’m sure you’ll be on the mend in no time. Just get a lot of rest and take your medication to treat the residual swelling, and I’m sure you’ll be able to play. I read your medical history. You don’t have a history of them.”

“I fucking hope so,” I mutter. I know I should be more graceful, but I feel like shit. Still, I try to make a joke. “At least the cut’s on my bad side.”

Dr. Harmon laughs again. “If you can sign this for me, I’d really appreciate it.”

He grabs something from the inside of his white coat. It’s a small, folded up girl’s t-shirt with my jersey number on it.

I stare at him like he’s a two-headed dragon. Is he fucking kidding me? I have stitches in my head, I’m now, for sure, on a concussion protocol, and this guy wants an autograph? “Are you serious?”

He cringes but doesn't relent, holding out a pen to me. “My daughter is a huge fan of yours. And she’d kill me if I didn’t at least try. Please?”

I’m about to refuse, but then suddenly, the image of Brianna comes to me. She’d say that pink doughnut lady would do it without a problem. Hell, if he were a guest in the hotel asking for extra towels, Bri would do it with a smile on her face, even if she didn’t want to on the inside. The man patched me together. I shouldn’t be rude. “Sure. You’re right, Doc. Who do I make it out to?”

“Tiffy,” Harmon says, and I nod. Before I can scribble a word, he adds, “Could you sign it Anaconda?”

I stop for a second, about ready to change my mind. He’s violating the laws of his job, and for some reason, I doubt ‘Tiffy’ is his daughter, but I’m able to stay calm and quickly scribble my signature. “Here. Hope she likes it.”

“Thanks so much,” Harmon says when I'm done, taking the pen and shirt back from me. “By the way, there’s someone waiting outside to see you. I’m going to let her in and then start working on your discharge papers.”

“I can go back today?” I ask, surprised but happy.

“You sure can. But like I said, you’ll have to take it easy. My nurse, Missy, will be in here to explain the protocol you’re supposed to follow before you're released. Just lie back, and we’ll have you out of here ASAP.”

He extends a hand to me. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Adams. It’s not everyday we get someone like you in here.”

I shake it. It’s a habit, and while the t-shirt was bullshit, I try to be at least a little grateful. “Thank you.”

When Harmon walks out, my heart thuds in my chest. He said a woman was waiting to see me. Having heard the news, it’s got to be Brianna, right? I try to sit up straighter and look stronger. I don’t want her worried about me. When the door opens, in walks . . .

Miranda. Of course, it would be her. I don’t know what I was thinking as my heart sinks anyway. “Oh, thank God! You’re all right!”

“Hey, Miranda,” I say, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. I'm happy to see her, but I would prefer Bri here instead. I know news had to have gotten back to the hotel by now, and Mindy would have called her.