“He’s in a bad way,” he admitted quietly. “Depending on what the doctors say when he gets to the hospital, he’s looking at some serious time out of the game.” Exhaling heavily, he ran a hand through his hair. “He’s out for the final, for sure.” “I don’t want to know if he can play rugby or not,” I squeezed out as a wave of guilt swallowed me up. “I want to know if he is okay! Him. Johnny! The person. Not the fucking rugby player!” Gibsie tilted his head to one side, studying me with a curious look. “Well, aren’t you a keeper?” he finally mused, tone low. “What?” “Never mind.” Gibsie shook his
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