Chapter 58
Chapter fifty-eight
Sawyer
When I open the door, Atty’s head pops out from around the corner.
“Back so soon?” he asks lightheartedly, fastening his watch around his wrist.
He isn’t surprised that we’ve already returned.
He knows how Ty gets in any type of medical setting. It’s rare he lets anyone even touch him, so despite the extent of his injuries, he’s already been discharged with a handful of pain pills and instructions to rest, ice, and come back to the emergency room if his pain worsens.
I’m frustrated, but I don’t have it in me to push. Especially because if I end up roped into any more of this, it’ll keep me away from my plans even longer.
His coach and the trainers shouldn’t have permitted me to take him to the hospital. But they obviously trusted that he would be forthcoming about his injuries, and clearly they were wrong to do so.
Tytus showed the doctor the bruising from where the puck hit his inner thigh, though he didn’t mention his ribs, and the staff never bothered to insist he take off his shirt.
He knew exactly what to say—and what not to say—to avoid X-rays or additional testing. He’s a pro at talking medical personnel out of doing their damn jobs.
The foundation of his noncompliance was born from self-preservation. His dad would beat him senseless, sometimes unconscious, but he never sought medical attention, knowing it would mean more trouble.
One time Ty’s helmet came off during a scrimmage and he needed an MRI.
Dad and I were with him at the hospital. Though I wasn’t permitted back in the room, he eventually told me what happened. He had two panic attacks and couldn’t hold still long enough to get clear imaging. He didn’t talk for three days after that.
That’s why he convinced the trainers and coaches to let me escort him to the hospital. He knew I wouldn’t push. He knew I’d let him get away with receiving a subpar exam.
It’s not the hospital’s fault. He’s mastered the art of downplaying. He stoically tolerated all the poking and prodding, reporting his pain level was between a three and a four. Then he flipped the switch and was brash and rude enough to goad them into wanting to be rid of him.
Inside the guys’ dorm room, I drop my bag and stretch my neck from side to side. It’s been a hell of a day. Between the excitement and adrenaline of the game and the stress of dealing with Ty and his injuries, I’m exhausted.
The standoff with Mercer was icing on the cake.
When I refused to leave with him, I could practically see his shields going up.
His reaction hurt, but I understand. I promised I wouldn’t shut him out again, and he thinks that’s what happened tonight.
This wasn’t a shutout, though. I wasn’t rejecting him.
In the presence of those people, and with Ty in that state, rocking the boat would have been disastrous. I knew where I needed to be most. Just like I knew we wouldn’t be at the hospital long.
I promised to check in with Mercer, which I’m anxious to do now. This early, there’s still a chance we can meet up for the night like we planned.
“What’s the prognosis?” Atty asks Tytus. “I’m assuming you’re not coming out tonight?”
When Ty doesn’t answer, I chime in.
“He’s got a contusion on his upper inner thigh. No broken ribs to report, because he didn’t bother showing them anything but his leg.”
“Oh shit.” Atty’s eyes go wide as he lunges toward me.
No.
Not me.
He’s lunging for Ty.
Heart in my throat, I turn.
Ty stumbles back, catching himself on the doorframe, his face pinched.
Atty dips under his arm and takes his weight. “Easy, big guy.”
Ty doesn’t reply. Masking his pain for hours at the rink and the hospital has clearly taken its toll.
“What’d they give him?” my brother asks as he guides Ty to his bed.
“He got a shot of ketorolac and exactly eight pain pills to take as needed.”
Atty scoffs. “Eight? So two days’ worth?”
I shrug. “Serves him right. He’s the one hiding cracked ribs.”
“I don’t want any fucking pills,” Ty mumbles as Atty helps him sit.
My brother turns, giving me a knowing look.
Ty has always hated pain meds. I used to think it was because his dad was an alcoholic, and he was worried about his predisposition for addiction.
But now that Ty’s old enough, he drinks occasionally.
I’ve never asked him outright, but now I assume it’s because the medication makes the nightmares worse.
“Let me see what you’re dealing with,” Atty says, reaching for the hem of his shirt.
Rather than put up a fight, Ty slumps against his pillow.
As I peek over my brother’s shoulder, I gasp.
Ty’s side is covered in crimson splotches. They don’t look like bruises at all. They’re too angry.
“Dude. You’re fucked,” Atty says. “Let me at least take a picture so we can keep track of any changes and make sure you’re not bleeding internally.”
Guilt washes over me. Why didn’t I consider that at the hospital? I should have been more of a pest. I should have insisted Ty show them his ribs. What if he does have internal bleeding? What if there’s tissue or organ damage and he needs surgery?
Tonight, I let him get away with his usual shit. But at what cost?
“He shouldn’t be alone,” I hedge. Looking from Ty to my brother, I gnaw on the edge of my thumbnail.
Atty sighs. “You’re right. Leave his meds on the nightstand. I’ll make sure he takes them.”
“No.” Ty points at me with a limp hand, then pulls it back across his chest.
Atty shakes his head. “No? I’m not one of the nurses or doctors you tricked tonight, man. You’re not fooling me.”
Groaning, Ty forces himself up and slings his legs over the side of the bed, his body slumping to one side. “No. I don’t want you. I want her.”
My heart catches in my throat. Thank god he didn’t drop his favorite “my wife” catchphrase in front of my brother.
Time stands still as my heart and my head war with what to do.
Already, I’m being dragged back into his orbit. No matter how mad I am at this boy, there’s an unbreakable tether between us, keeping us connected. But…
I take a tentative step back. “I have plans tonight. I can bring breakfast in the morning.”
Ty shakes his head, his movements jerky. “No. Stay,” he clips out, those two words dripping with pain. “I just want you, mon ange.”
Brows raised, Atty shoots me a questioning appraisal.
I sigh. “He’s drugged up.”
I leave it at that. No way am I going to explain that his best friend is operating under the delusion that we’re married. Or that he’s been calling me ‘mon ange’ for several years.
“If you don’t mind staying, Sawy,” my brother hedges, “I’m meeting someone and wasn’t planning to make it back here tonight anyway.”
Groaning internally, I side-eye him. “What time will you be back in the morning?”
“I can be home by eight?” he offers, his expression hopeful. “I’ll set my alarm now, and I’ll bring you the biggest, sweetest whipped cream-laden coffee I can find.”
I check my phone. It’s already late, and Mercer hasn’t replied to any of my previous messages.
I’m torn, but I’m also tired.
Tired of trying to placate everyone. Tired of getting it wrong, time and time again.
Considering Mercer hasn’t replied to my texts, it’s unlikely I’ll be able to smooth things over with him tonight, anyway.
“Fine,” I mumble wearily.
Blowing out a long breath, I resign myself to my fate. I’m going to have a lot of groveling to do with Mercer, but these are extenuating circumstances, and Ty looks seconds away from zonking out anyway.
“Have fun,” I say to Atty, my tone at odds with the sentiment.
“Thanks, sis. Text if you need anything, okay?” Grinning, he taps my chin with his knuckles. He stalks back to the bathroom to finish primping, and five minutes later, he’s gone.
As I suspected, Ty dozes off quickly. I confirm he’s breathing evenly, then take advantage of the solace and shoot off another message to Mercer.
Sawyer: I just got back from the hospital with Tytus. I think I’m in for the night. I’m so sorry about earlier, and that our plans had to change. I’ll make it up to you this weekend.
There. The rest of my groveling will have to wait until I see him next.
I raid Atty’s drawers and find a huge T-shirt to sleep in, then cast a wary glance toward his side of the room. I should have made him change his sheets before he abandoned me here for the night.
I’m rifling through the closet, searching for an extra set, when Tytus groans.
Wincing, I turn. He’s awake, somehow, and he’s trying to sit up.
“Hey,” I soothe from across the room. “Lay back down. What do you need?”
“Please,” he whispers hoarsely.
I rush to his side. “What do you need?”
His face is ashen, his whole body trembling. I don’t know whether he’s just hurting or whether something is truly wrong.
I place the back of my hand to his forehead, but it’s cool. No fever.
Eyes closed, he leans in, like he can sense me. Or like he’s going to get up.
“Ty, no.” I gently cup his shoulder. “Please lay down. I’ll bring you whatever you need.”
“Just you,” he murmurs, lashes fluttering.
“Me?”
Tear-filled dark brown eyes meet mine, and with the slightest nod, he licks his lips. “Just you, mon ange. You’re all I need.”
“Ty—”
“Will you lay with me?” he croaks. “Please?”
Sighing, I circle back to the door, confirming it’s locked, and turn off the lights.
For as long as Ty and I have been doing whatever it is we’ve been doing, I’ve never once lain in his bed.
Yet here I am, once again giving in. Keeping my movements slow and controlled, I crawl over his body and settle on the empty side of the mattress.
I should have known it wouldn’t be enough. With a painful groan, he hooks an arm around me and pulls me closer.
If he wasn’t already in agony, I would smack him.
“What the hell are you doing?” I scold even as my body inches closer.
I do it to ensure he doesn’t hurt himself even more, that’s all.
“Need you.” He pants, like he’s catching his breath.
Popping up on one elbow, I take him in.
He looks so young like this. Young and stupid for trying to downplay the extent of his injuries.
“I’m here,” I assure him. “Will you at least take a pain pill?”
He shakes his head sharply, then winces.
God, he’s a mess. He can’t play like this. He can’t even move without groaning. With pain this intense, I can’t imagine he’ll get much sleep.
But he needs it. We both do.
“Please?” I beg. “I’m here. I’ll wake you up if the nightmares creep in.”
He opens his eyes, peeking up at me through the dark, silently watching me watch him. Tension strums between us as we enter into a new but familiar battle of wills.
He clears his throat, then his Adam’s apple bobs. “Kiss me and I’ll take the pill.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re shameless.”
“I think you mean obsessed.”
Despite all the ways we’ve explored one another’s bodies, we’ve never kissed. Not on the lips. Not with intention.
An image of Mercer appears in my mind. Then Noah. My relationships with them are clearly defined but on shaky ground. I would be irate if either of them kissed anyone else. And kissing Ty wouldn’t be meaningless. Not for either of us, I realize.
“All I have to do is kiss you?” I ask anyway. “Then you’ll take a pill and go to sleep?”
Ty scoffs. “All you have to do is kiss me like you actually like me.”
I breathe out through my nose. Good grief, is he testing my patience tonight.
He cups my face, startling me.
As his warmth soaks into me, I peer down and take in the first boy I ever loved.
Even with his face contorted in pain, he’s beautiful. His dark, fathomless eyes, high cheek bones, and sharp jawline have infiltrated my fantasies for years. As I study every detail, sharing oxygen with him, inching closer, butterflies tickle my insides.
“Kiss me like the last three and a half years didn’t ruin everything. Kiss me like what we have is still pure and good. Kiss me like you know deep down it’s supposed to be you and me.”
Tears prick behind my eyes. “Ty—”
He weaves a hand into my hair and pulls me down until my mouth is hovering an inch above his.
“Kiss me like I didn’t fuck it all up, mon ange. Like at the end of this life, you’ll still be by my side.”
Eyes closed, I give up the fight.
I close the space between us and gently press my lips to his, giving life to the false promises he’s desperate to believe.
The reality is, I can’t give him what he wants. Because he can’t give me what I need. It’s time to choose who I am over who I hope he’ll be.
Ty deepens the kiss, holding me tighter, swirling his tongue around mine. I match him stroke for stroke, giving as good as I get, because while he’s desperate for hope, this is my goodbye.