Hook Shot (Hoops 3)

“Button.” I say it again, but I don’t know why. I can’t figure anything out. Can’t piece any of this together.

“How long?” I ask the nurse. “Asleep?”

“Three days.” She checks a tube running clear liquid into to my arm. “We had to sedate you.”

“Three days?” I ask incredulously. “That’s not possible.”

“You rest better and heal faster asleep sometimes.”

I try to sit, but sharp pain arrows across my chest.

“Shit,” I mutter weakly, touching my torso.

“You have a few broken ribs,” the nurse says.

“Was it a dirty play?” I ask, my voice hoarse. “Somebody kicked me on court?”

“No, Mr. Ross.” Her brows bunch in concentration while she checks the machines and tubes connected to me. “You weren’t playing basketball. You were in a car accident. Your body’s been through a lot. It’ll take some time for all your memories to come together, but it’ll happen.”

“Okay,” I mutter, sinking deeper into the bed.

“The doctor will want to examine you. I?

?ll be back,” she says, and leaves the room.

“You broke the rule.”

That husky voice from the shadowed corner penetrates my fog, startling me. “You’re only supposed to call me Button when we’re alone.”

“Lotus?” I try to sit, but that shaft of pain in my chest lays me out, pins me to the pillows.

“Hey, easy.” She comes to my side and presses my shoulders back into the bed. “You’ve been through . . .” Her voice breaks, and I look up to find her eyes shiny with tears. “You’ve been through a lot,” she finishes, her lips trembling in a smile.

“What have I been through? I don’t even know how I got here. I was driving, right? I remember that now.”

“You don’t . . .” She closes her eyes and breathes deeply through her nose before looking back at me. “You were driving from Laguna Beach.”

“Laguna Beach? Why the hell would I . . .” Memories sift through the fuzziness. A deadly cascade of cement pipes from the truck ahead of me. A crash. Glass shattering. The grind of metal.

“Simone.”

I force myself to a sitting position, and one of the tubes in my arms jerks against the motion.

Shit! That hurts.

“Stop.” Lotus presses me back into the bed again. “Simone is fine.”

“But I was taking her to . . . something. I can’t remember.”

“A dance camp,” she answers, biting her bottom lip.

My head hurts. I frown, trying hard to recall any of the events leading up to the accident, but it’s all a mishmash of pictures and flashes that I can’t piece together into a timeline.

“It’s a miracle your injuries weren’t worse,” she says. “You suffered significant internal bleeding.”

“That he did,” a doctor says from the door, followed closely by the nurse. “You are very lucky to be alive, Mr. Ross.”

The doctor examines me and tells me I’ll be here for at least another week, maybe longer.