Do not pass out.
If smashing his face against the floor didn’t kill him, the embarrassment damn well would.
Out of the corner of his eye, Noah saw Wes and Sam looking at him in obvious concern. A quick look Lane’s way told him that his other Teammate was equally worried.
Oh, hell. They know something is up.
“What’s wrong?” Wes whispered, looking at him in confusion.
Noah opened his mouth with every intention of lying his ass off and say nothing was wrong, but then the pain in his knee flared again and he almost fell over. Wes was immediately at his side even as Lane appeared at the other, both reaching out to keep him from going down. He quickly waved them off, darting a quick look at Chasen to see if his chief had seen. Fortunately, Chasen was too busy talking to Woods to notice.
One look at his Teammates convinced Noah there was no way they were going to let this go. He grimaced. “I think I screwed something up in my knee when I fell from the second floor. I’m hoping if I can get back to the hotel and put ice on, it’ll be okay. But if Chasen finds out, I’m toast.”
It was obvious from their expressions that his buddies thought he was being stupid. And yeah, maybe he was. But the hell he’d gone through while on limited duty over the past two months was something he never wanted to deal with again. Fortunately, Wes, Sam, and Lane seemed willing to go along with his plea for help, which was good enough for now.
Lane casually moved closer to his left, giving Noah a shoulder to lean on so he could take weight off his bum knee, while Wes and Sam moved in front of them so Chasen wouldn’t be able to see anything if he happened to look his way.
By the time everyone was done talking, Noah was wiped out. While Chasen and Woods talked endlessly, he stood there dreaming of burying his whole leg in a mountain of ice, then keeping it there until he couldn’t feel a damn thing.
Noah’s plan was to hang out until Chasen and the other people left. Then he’d hobble his ass out to one of the Land Rovers and get the hell out of there. If he was lucky, he’d have a full eight hours to nurse his knee back to health before he and his Team had to board a plane home.
Unfortunately, Chasen didn’t leave with everyone else. Instead, he leaned back against the table, casually regarding Noah and his Teammates. Noah quickly straightened up, putting a little distance between him and Lane.
“Noah, could I talk to you for a minute?” Chasen looked pointedly at the rest of the guys. “Alone.”
Crap. So much for hiding this from his chief.
When Wes, Lane, and Sam hesitated, Noah gave them a slight nod. After a moment, they walked out of the building, but not before glancing back at him nervously.
“What’s up, Chief?” Noah asked, trying to sound chill even as he did everything he could to keep weight off his left leg.
Chasen pinned him with a look that was all too knowing. “How bad is it?”
Noah’s gut clenched. “What do you mean?”
The chief frowned. “I heard the damn thud when you hit the floor from all the way across the warehouse and I’ve seen the way you’ve been babying your left leg, so stop screwing around and tell me how bad the knee is.”
Noah sighed. What was the point? It wasn’t like he’d be able to hide it from Chasen forever. “I don’t know how bad it is. That asshole I was fighting landed right on my leg. I’m worried I may have ripped my whole damn knee apart.”
Chasen let out a curse. “And you didn’t think this was something you should tell me?”
“I was worried about what headquarters would do if they found out I hurt my knee again,” Noah admitted. “The doctor was already talking about a medical discharge if it didn’t respond to limited duty and physical therapy. And that was before some dumb bastard fell on it.”
Chasen didn’t say anything, instead getting on the radio to call in the medic who’d come with them in case anyone got injured. A few minutes later, a jackass of a man with a shitty bedside manner was prodding and yanking on Noah’s leg like it was a stuffed toy he was trying to steal from the county fair.
“I’m no doctor, but I’ve seen this kind of injury a lot,” the blond man finally said. “The ACL and MCL are most likely only sprained and torn, so you can probably avoid surgery if you stay off the leg for a while.”
Dammit.
“Define a while,” Chasen said.
The medic shrugged as he glanced at the chief. “Sixty days, maybe. He’ll need physical therapy, too.”
Chasen didn’t look too happy about that, but nodded and thanked the man.
“There’s no way in hell I’m shutting it down for another two months,” Noah said as the medic headed for the door. “I laid around on my ass for eight weeks already. I can’t do that again. I’ll go crazy!”
His boss scowled. “You and I both know you didn’t rest that leg as much as you should have while you were on limited duty. I saw you running, biking, and lifting weights. I took you at your word that you were good to go and you obviously weren’t.”
Noah opened his mouth to say he was fine until that jackass fell on him, but Chasen cut him off.
“I’ll call HQ when we get to the hotel and tell them you’re going medical leave for sixty days. So,
