It was a fun night—another win for the team and a celebration for me. Champagne, flowers, music, and, best of all, pretty girls on each arm. Music blasted in the background, sexy girls danced and poured drinks. This is what being the best of the best feels like.
This team wouldn't have even passed the quarter-finals if it weren't for me. And they all knew it… these pathetic teammates of mine. I could feel their eyes on me, their fake smiles. Ha! I could feel their envy. You wish this celebration were for you… Sadly, life's unfair.
"Dude… slow down with the girls. Aren't you married?"
My eyes turned to one of my teammates. What was his name again? Ron? Rob?
"And?"
I laughed. So did the girls in my arms, pressing their bodies against me, probably hoping I'd take them back to my hotel room.
"Aren't you afraid the paparazzi will catch you? The brands aren't gonna like it if you get caught up in a scandal."
Yeah, right. As if they have any better choice. Getting me to wear their products should be a blessing.
"You guys continue… I'm gonna go."
Taking one of the girls with me, I left the crowd. I could hear the other girls' disappointed whines. Too bad for you—I'm in the mood for a blonde this time.
The plan was to go back to the hotel and have some fun with the pretty girl. But before I could even reach the hotel, all I saw was a bright light before everything turned dark.
The beeping of the machine beside me became a witness to how my life crumbled to pieces. My career, my fame, and my affairs… One moment, I was on top of the world, with fans young and old cheering as I entered the field. Brands rang my assistant's phone every second, and women screamed my name, begging to be in my arms. Now, all I hear is the cursed machine counting my heartbeat. Not a single phone call from any of the brands offering condolences… and not one of those women came to visit.
My gaze fell on my right leg, wrapped in a plaster cast. They said I was lucky to still have both legs.
Lucky?
What a joke. How is this lucky? What's a man without his career? With all the money I've poured into this hospital, they can't even guarantee I'll get back on the field. What's the point of me staying here if they can't fix me?
"Hey… stop that."
My thoughts were interrupted by a gentle voice—the voice I knew best. Her hands slowly pried my hand away from my head.
"Oh gosh… are you planning on going bald?"
Her voice sounded panicked as she stared at my hand. From the corner of my eye, I could see loose strands of hair. I must have been pulling at my hair hard enough without realizing it. Oh well, what's the use of some hair? Going bald is the least of my worries.
"Hey… you should rest."
And now, besides the constant beeping of the machine, I have one lousy woman beside me—my wife of five years.
Not by choice, of course. I wouldn't even look at this woman if it weren't for my old man. He and her father were buddies growing up, and once they found out they had kids close in age, my old man never shut up about tying the families together. Now that he's dead, why haven't I divorced her? She probably stayed despite knowing about my affairs so she wouldn't have to go back to her family farm.
I could've married a model, a singer, or even one of those thirsty fangirls—anyone would've been prettier than her.
"Hey… are you listening to me? The doctor said you—"
I slapped her hand away and glared at her, making her stop talking.
"Yeah, shut it. I don't need you yapping in my ear."
The room fell into silence, with only the machine beeping in the background. Her lips sealed tight, and her eyes grew glossy. Sadly, she doesn't have a pretty enough face for me to take pity on her.
"How about you do us both a favor and leave my sight? This room is ugly enough as it is—I don't need to look at you too."
Silence filled the room, broken only by the machine's beeping. Her lips quivered as I stared back at her. God, why do I have such a useless woman as a wife? She took a deep breath before grabbing her bag. Her head hung low, her hair covering her expression.
"Right… I'll go check on the doctor."
The sound of her footsteps echoed before the room returned to its usual boring state. Well, at least I don't have to keep looking at her face anymore.
As if on cue, my phone, which had been sitting on the side table, started buzzing. The name "Lucy" flashed on the screen. Well, well, well… if it isn't one of my favorite girls. With a swift motion, I grabbed my phone and answered quickly.
"Hello? Daddy? Hiiii…"
Her sugary-sweet voice immediately filled my ears. Finally, something to actually cheer me up in this depressing place.
"Hello to you too, baby."
From the phone, I could hear multiple other people and music blasting in the background. Is she… partying? Does she not know I'm in the hospital?
"Hii, Daddy… listen, I'm out with some friends. Can you transfer some money to me?"
Really??? I was in a road accident. It was on the national news, and the first thing she asks for is money?
"Is that all you're gonna ask me for? Money?"
I could hear her and her friends giggling over the phone. I could picture her batting her eyes and pouting her filler-enhanced lips.
"Aww… is Daddy stressed out? Don't worry, Daddy, I'll visit you this weekend. Just trans—"
Of course. It was stupid of me to think an escort girl would have some decency and express even a hint of concern. I doubt she even knows I'm in the hospital. The accident happened a week ago… or maybe she just never cared enough about my well-being.
"Mr. Blythe..... sorry to interupt... I just got the result of your X-ray result"
"and I'm afraid….. its not looking good for you"