Read Online The Recruiter (A Thriller) by Dani Amore - Free Book Online
Authors: Dani Amore
Ads: Link
most severe of cases. You, unfortunately, Beth, are one of those severe cases.”
Beth closes her eyes. Her brave front is crumbling. She’s going to start crying. Goddamnit , she thinks. She’s tempted to tell her mom to leave the room when Dr. Cunningham starts again.
“In your case, you blew apart all three tendons. Something that happens in maybe one in a thousand knee injuries. Again, unfortunately, the patella also shattered, severing the tendon and damaging the nerve endings. A lot of damage.”
Through the tears in her eyes, Beth can see her mother put her head in her hands. Beth wants someone to touch her, to comfort her, but she won’t ask. If Peter were here, he would hold her.
I need Peter, she thinks.
“What were you able to do?” she manages to say. Her lip trembles, and she knows she’s about to lose it.
“We immediately prepped you for surgery, repaired the three tendons, and worked to reattach the nerves, cutting away the strands that simply couldn’t be saved. There were quite a few of them. Not a lot, but…”
“…enough.”
Dr. Cunningham nods.
“Enough to ruin me forever?” Beth says. Her voice is rising, unsteady. Don’t get hysterical, she thinks.
“Wonderful things… “
“Doctor.”
“ …can be achieved in therapy. Miraculous recoveries...”
“Stop.”
“…happen all the time.”
Beth slaps her hand down on the tray table next to her. Dr. Cunningham gives an involuntary jerk. “Tell me the truth,” she barks. Her voice is raw and ragged. I’m coming unglued, she thinks, just like my knee.
“You’re facing a lot of therapy. You will play basketball again. You most likely won’t play at the level you’re playing now.”
“How long? How long before I’ll know?” Beth is thinking. Six weeks. Didn’t a pro recently have knee surgery and was playing six weeks later? She’s sure of it. Six weeks. She looks at Dr. Cunningham. Wills him to say “six weeks.”
“You’ll have a lot of swelling. You’ll have to wear a brace. And you’ll need at least a year of therapy before you can play again.”
A year? Beth closes her eyes.
Gone. The scholarship. Getting out of Lake Orion. College.
It’s all gone.
The shot went in.
They won the game.
But it’s all gone.
Everything.
Finally, the tears come. She sobs into the pillow and longs for a caressing hand. A gentle touch. She doesn’t want to ask. But she needs someone to hold her, more than she’s ever needed anyone or anything.
When she finally lifts her head, she looks around the room.
It’s empty.
Twenty-Four
“What the fuck are you doing, Ackerman?”
“Loading ordnance, sir,” Samuel says.
“Ackerman.” Petty Officer Third Class Wilkins is a lanky black man from Alabama. His voice is like a rusty saw. His huge nostrils are flared.
“Yes sir.” The four sailors surrounding the bomb rack fall silent.
“No, you’re not. You are definitely not loading ordnance. You are fucking up the ordnance, sailor. You are creating a dangerous situation, Ackerman. Loading ordnance is about the only thing you are not doing.”
Samuel throws cold water on the fire that’s starting to burn in the pit of his stomach.
Wilkins looks at Samuel in wonderment. “A very dangerous situation. You see this here clasp? You gotta lock that down, Seaman.” Wilkins uses his long fingers to fold the metal hinge in place. It slams into place with a satisfying chunk . “Otherwise, ordnance pushes against it, it fails, and we got a live warhead clattering around the deck of our ship. Ready to blow your best buddy to hell and back. You understand the situation you could have created, Ackerman?”
“Yes sir.” The anger, the fire, is doused. But it is replaced by a bubbling thrill that shoots up Samuel’s spine. It’s a tingle of adventure, spurred by the memory of slitting Nevens’ throat.
“Dummy,” he says.
Wilkins turns back to him. “What did you say?”
“I said dummy. Good thing the bomb is a
Beth closes her eyes. Her brave front is crumbling. She’s going to start crying. Goddamnit , she thinks. She’s tempted to tell her mom to leave the room when Dr. Cunningham starts again.
“In your case, you blew apart all three tendons. Something that happens in maybe one in a thousand knee injuries. Again, unfortunately, the patella also shattered, severing the tendon and damaging the nerve endings. A lot of damage.”
Through the tears in her eyes, Beth can see her mother put her head in her hands. Beth wants someone to touch her, to comfort her, but she won’t ask. If Peter were here, he would hold her.
I need Peter, she thinks.
“What were you able to do?” she manages to say. Her lip trembles, and she knows she’s about to lose it.
“We immediately prepped you for surgery, repaired the three tendons, and worked to reattach the nerves, cutting away the strands that simply couldn’t be saved. There were quite a few of them. Not a lot, but…”
“…enough.”
Dr. Cunningham nods.
“Enough to ruin me forever?” Beth says. Her voice is rising, unsteady. Don’t get hysterical, she thinks.
“Wonderful things… “
“Doctor.”
“ …can be achieved in therapy. Miraculous recoveries...”
“Stop.”
“…happen all the time.”
Beth slaps her hand down on the tray table next to her. Dr. Cunningham gives an involuntary jerk. “Tell me the truth,” she barks. Her voice is raw and ragged. I’m coming unglued, she thinks, just like my knee.
“You’re facing a lot of therapy. You will play basketball again. You most likely won’t play at the level you’re playing now.”
“How long? How long before I’ll know?” Beth is thinking. Six weeks. Didn’t a pro recently have knee surgery and was playing six weeks later? She’s sure of it. Six weeks. She looks at Dr. Cunningham. Wills him to say “six weeks.”
“You’ll have a lot of swelling. You’ll have to wear a brace. And you’ll need at least a year of therapy before you can play again.”
A year? Beth closes her eyes.
Gone. The scholarship. Getting out of Lake Orion. College.
It’s all gone.
The shot went in.
They won the game.
But it’s all gone.
Everything.
Finally, the tears come. She sobs into the pillow and longs for a caressing hand. A gentle touch. She doesn’t want to ask. But she needs someone to hold her, more than she’s ever needed anyone or anything.
When she finally lifts her head, she looks around the room.
It’s empty.
Twenty-Four
“What the fuck are you doing, Ackerman?”
“Loading ordnance, sir,” Samuel says.
“Ackerman.” Petty Officer Third Class Wilkins is a lanky black man from Alabama. His voice is like a rusty saw. His huge nostrils are flared.
“Yes sir.” The four sailors surrounding the bomb rack fall silent.
“No, you’re not. You are definitely not loading ordnance. You are fucking up the ordnance, sailor. You are creating a dangerous situation, Ackerman. Loading ordnance is about the only thing you are not doing.”
Samuel throws cold water on the fire that’s starting to burn in the pit of his stomach.
Wilkins looks at Samuel in wonderment. “A very dangerous situation. You see this here clasp? You gotta lock that down, Seaman.” Wilkins uses his long fingers to fold the metal hinge in place. It slams into place with a satisfying chunk . “Otherwise, ordnance pushes against it, it fails, and we got a live warhead clattering around the deck of our ship. Ready to blow your best buddy to hell and back. You understand the situation you could have created, Ackerman?”
“Yes sir.” The anger, the fire, is doused. But it is replaced by a bubbling thrill that shoots up Samuel’s spine. It’s a tingle of adventure, spurred by the memory of slitting Nevens’ throat.
“Dummy,” he says.
Wilkins turns back to him. “What did you say?”
“I said dummy. Good thing the bomb is a
Similar Books
