"Damn, it's just a small concussion, will you just let me go?" This was the first thing I heard after entering a hospital room which I'd been instructed to go to.

I walked over to where Dr Stanley was standing in his long white lab-coat, a clipboard in his hands. On the bed in front of him was a dark haired man, with a very visible bruise on his cheekbone and light designer stubble along his jaw.

"Good, you're here," Dr Stanley spoke dismissively after registering that I'd arrived. The patient's eyes landed on me and his complaining immediately died down.

I was currently doing my third year in the four-year-long program to gain a bachelor's degree in nursing. This involved a great deal of clinical practice, which meant I got to practice all the things I'd learned in a controlled environment, mostly under the supervision of doctors.

Dr Stanley handed me the clipboard so I could look over the statistics. It seemed like the patient had a mild traumatic brain injury. It wasn't a serious concussion but still required him to rest for a few days.

"Well?" Dr Stanley seemed a little agitated, most likely having a bad day as he often did.

I cleared my throat and looked up at him, "acetaminophen and a few days of rest."

He nodded with a small and proud smile forming onto his lips, "good, Scarlett. I—"

"What the fuck is acetamino-shit? I have training tomorrow, I can't just 'rest for a few days'," the patient cut Dr Stanley off, his voice laced with frustration. Both of us looked down and found him with a very dissatisfied expression portrayed on his well-structured face while he eyed us both impatiently.

"Will you take care of the paracetamol and further instructions for him? I'm needed upstairs," Dr Stanley sighed after checking his pager. I nodded, still very eager to please on my way to becoming a licensed nurse.

"Yes, doctor."

With that, he left the room. I went to place the clipboard onto the holder at the end of the hospital bed.

"Acetaminophen is paracetamol. You'll need at least two days of physical rest, sir," I then looked up at the man whose eyes were following my every move closely.

"Not possible, Tinker Bell. The World Cup start in less than two months, I need to train," he was shaking his head, clearly not pleased to be here.

"You're a football player?" I decided to ask, needing him to understand that rest is what he needed after this concussion.

The man looked at me like I was completely mad, before chuckling to himself and shaking his head at me, "of course? Scarlett, was it?"

He seemed very stubborn and smug but then again, the situation he was in wasn't very ideal.

"Yes. I'll get you a paracetamol while you wait here, alright, sir?" I raised my brows at him a little with a small smile. He sighed and ran a hand through his soft looking hair, before looking away with a simple nod.

I left the room to get a paracetamol from a nurse.

"Is it for you?" Linda asked after handing me a small pill case with a few paracetamols, "clinicals getting on your nerves yet?" 

I chuckled and shook my head since no matter how much the doctors had me running around the hospital, I didn't mind at all. Being a nurse was what I wanted to do and I loved to do any type of work here.

"I have a football player with a concussion," I told her, and her brows immediately raised.

"Hot?" She questioned, earning a few curious glances from medical staff walking by along the hallways.

"See you at lunch, Linds," I sent her a small wink without replying to her question. I heard her half-hearted huff as I walked away.

Once I returned to the room where the football player was, I found him trying to stand up from the bed he was on.

"Sir, please don't," I quickly made my way over to him. His dark eyes raised to meet mine and he gave me a small look.

"I've brought you the paracetamol, it should ease your headache—"

"I'm bloody fine," he grunted and lifted himself up by his hands onto the side of the bed, preparing himself to stand in front of me, "I don't need a damn painkiller."

"Please, sit back down again," I instructed after he had had clear signs of disorientation which then forced him to reach down to place his hand onto the side of the bed for support.

With a quiet grumble, he did what I'd asked and returned to the position he'd been in before I'd left.

"Here's the paracetamol," I told him after having fetched a glass of water. He looked down at the pill in my hand before taking it, along with the plastic cup.

I turned to walk back over to the clipboard while he swallowed the pill down with a gulp of the water. Just as I was about to remind myself of his name, I heard two male voices enter the room.

I glanced to my side and immediately recognised one of the toned men. It was Justin Taylor, captain of our national football team. I knew relatively nothing about sports, but my father was a huge fan and often praised Justin Taylor whenever he had the chance.

"Not dead yet?" The other man grinned while I diverted my eyes back down to the clipboard. Theo Black read at the top of the stats, and I immediately recognised the name. I'd seen it and heard it almost everywhere for the past five years.

"No, I'm fine. We can leave now," he grumbled, beginning to get up again.

"He's good to play?" A deep voice made me look up. It was Justin Taylor.

Even with my disinterest and disregard for anything relating to sports, Cristiano Ronaldo had dominated my heart since my teenage years. He was my celebrity crush and just the idea of Justin Taylor having met him excited my inner fangirl immensely. 

"After a few days of physical rest, yes," I told him with a small nod. The other man was with Theo Black, who now hung his legs from the edge of the bed. The man in front of me chuckled, light blue eyes shining thanks to the light coming through the window on the wall.

"He's as stubborn as a mule, nurse. Nothing can keep him from playing," he told me. I wasn't bothered to correct him about the fact that I wasn't a registered nurse yet.

"The first 24 hours after a brain injury are crucial. He needs to rest and minimise mental and physical stimulation," I explained, slipping the clipboard back into its holder, "it's best if Mr Black doesn't attend training tomorrow."

"Coach is gonna be pissed," the other man sang, only earning a deathly glare from the man sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You were the one going crazy with your fucking kicking, dimwit."

Justin Taylor glanced back at the two men over his shoulder before looking back down at me with a small smile, "I'll keep him off the field. Thanks for your help."

"It was my pleasure," I returned his smile, before observing how Theo Black stood up and ran a hand through his dark hair. Slowly and carefully, he began walking towards the door without bothering to look at me or his two friends.

I was to change the bed now, before finding Dr Stanley again so I could help him and gain even more experience.

"See you around, Tinker Bell," he'd spoken before having left the room.

__________________

This story is fiction. I'm not familiar with the day-to-day life of English ⚽️football⚽️ players (normal ⚽️football⚽️, NOT 🏈American football🏈!!) in national teams, and even less familiar with programs to earning licensure for nursing.

The country in which the story is set is England, but all the people and players in it are made up.

There will be warnings at the start of a chapter that contains mature content, so you have the choice of skipping it if you find it cringy or uncomfortable to read.

I hope you will enjoy this book.

Much love,

paula. x