A Friendly Game
He ought never to have asked the question. Silent as it was, fate had heard and responded to his challenge.
"This is your fault," Greg snarked through teeth clenched against pain.
"And how is it my fault?" Sophie demanded.
"You're the one who suggested we play."
"You're the one who found the gear."
"You're the one who bought it!"
"It was a gift!"
"All right. You're the one who put it in that closet."
"I'm finished," broke in John. "Keep that foot elevated for the next few days. Keep icing the contusion on your elbow until the swelling goes down. And change the bandage over your eye twice a day. Here's some antibiotic ointment."
Greg took the tube of medicine John held out. "No painkillers?"
"Whatever you've got on hand will do."
"I'll get you something now." Sophie disappeared into the other room, returning shortly with water and pills.
"Thanks." Greg downed the lot.
"Can I make another suggestion?" asked John.
"Next time you play rugby, wear padding. Even if it's only a friendly game." The unspoken addition was something to do with Greg's age. He could read it in John's almost-smirk.
"It wasn't rugby." Sophie grinned.
Greg cursed under his breath.
"It was croquet. He tripped over a wicket."
John bit back a laugh. "Brilliant."