Injury
Eric Desmond looked at the bleachers where the audience was chanting his name. He returned his gaze to the ball and concentrated. He knew this was a rare chance to right the wrong his team had made at the beginning of the match.
Since it was an international match, it kicked off right on time. As usual, Desmond had played to the best of his ability, but his team members were a little slack. Before the first half was over, the opposing team had scored three goals. During the second half, Desmond did a great comeback scoring two goals against the other team. Their midfielder had been lucky to score another one equalizing the two teams. All everyone hoped for was a miracle that came when a player from the opposing team committed a foul which granted the falcons, Desmond's team, a penalty kick.
Desmond was picked to play it, and as he now stared at the ball, his heartbeat accelerated. He hated failure. He knew this penalty kick would decide who will win since the other team was playing energetically like pros. Now the entire stadium was silent. Even the commentators were quiet, watching intently. Now, it was remaining just 10 seconds before the match ended. If the falcons lost the kick, there was hardly a chance they would survive the extra time.
With these thoughts, as soon as the shrill voice of the whistle sounded, Desmond ran forward and kicked the ball, aiming at the right-hand corner of the post. The force of his kick pushed his weight forward and he slipped, falling flat on his back on top of the field's green grass. He heard a sound. A sharp crack only he heard... and felt. A deadly pain shot up from his right leg straight through his body. He heard the crowd burst into a frenzy of excitement and screams before the whistle sounded indicating the end of the match. The Falcons had scored the goal from the penalty kick and had won the match. Desmond smiled to himself before he saw medics rush towards him. He smiled and allowed the weakness he was feeling to overwhelm him and force his eyelids shut.
×°~×°~×°~×°~×°~×°~×°
Desmond opened his eyes with a groan. He felt numb and weak. He looked around and noticed he wasn't in his room. The white curtains, antiseptic smell, and sounds of beeping machines drew his attention. He was in a hospital, he realized. Oh, heavens! He hated hospitals!
He took off the blanket he was under and tried bringing his legs to the floor. The sharp pain he felt forced a high-pitched grunt from his throat before he loosed his footing and collapsed on the floor, knocking over the tray of medications by the bedside.
A nurse immediately ran into the room. "Oh my God! Mr. Eric, are you okay?" She didn't wait for an answer; she hastily stooped and helped him back onto the bed. As soon as he was properly settled, the events of the previous day came flooding back. The match replayed itself in his head and he smiled. They had won and that was all that mattered. This wasn't the first time he was sustaining injuries during a game.
"I'm fine, thank you," he replied and smiled at the nurse to hide the pain he was feeling. That was when he studied her properly. She looked more like a model than a nurse and the curves outlined by her uniform were very pronounced. He stared mesmerized into her green eyes and swept his gaze over her brown shoulder-length hair. Her lips were glossed and her forehead furrowed in worry. "I'm fine", he repeated and smiled again. "I just wanted to get some water."
That was the only lie he could think of.
"Just sit still and I'll get it for you." She pointed to his legs. "You will need to limit your movements for now to aid quick recovery."
Desmond looked down at his legs. That was when he noticed the cast that had been set almost reaching his thighs. "What exactly happened?"
"Erm, it's just a crack in your tibia." He knew she was wisely choosing her words so as not to scare him. "Like most fractures, you may need some months to completely heal. Give me a moment let me go get you a drink." She turned around and walked out. Desmond watched with satisfaction the sway of her hips and the ample curve of her backside. Her uniform offered a good view of her long legs and fair lap, and he stared shamelessly. Just like football, he knew his way around women and appreciated pretty ones. Realizing he should be thinking about other things, he reached for his phone which was dropped by his side, and switched it on. Messages and notifications flooded in groups. He waited until they all came in before checking them. Mostly, they were congratulatory messages from his partners and publicists and worried texts from his four friends. He saw five missed calls from his twin brother, Benjamin, who was away on a vacation in Miami.
He sighed and was about to call back when the nurse walked back in holding a tray which held a bottle of water and a glass cup. She bent slightly to gently set in beside him and Desmond salivated as he was offered a fine view of her cleavage. She made to leave but was called back by him. "You never told me your name," he said.
"My name is Summer. Harrison Summer," she replied, smiling. Desmond loved summers because of how comfortable it made the weather. He wondered if she will also make him feel comfortable...
"Nice to meet you Summer. I am—"
"I know who you are. Everybody does." She smiled again. "Congrats on yesterday's game."
The football star pointed to his bad leg and winced, "Are you indirectly mocking me for cracking a bone?"
The laughter he heard from Summer was warm, and it seeped into his bones, igniting a fire he couldn't control. He foolishly smiled to himself when she left.
Now he had tons of messages and calls to attend to.
