Chapter 13 Tytus
Chapter thirteen
Tytus
Forcing my eyes open and blinking, I internally scan my aching body. My muscles hurt like they have all night, but the pain is dulled. My throat, on the other hand, is on fire. And if I focus hard enough, I can feel each incision on my abs and my side.
I’m fucked.
But at least—
A low grunt cuts into my thoughts. It’s followed by a whisper.
Adrenaline kicking in, I find myself scrambling to sit up. Immediately, my body protests, sharp pain zapping through me.
“Here.” Atty steps up to the bedside, offering a hand.
I grip it, and he wraps me in a half-hug, using his other arm to lift and support my weight. Without asking, he adjusts a few pillows behind me.
Once I’m sitting up and the pain from moving has subsided, I scan the room, my pulse hammering away against a potential threat that isn’t there.
Five people surround me.
Atty, of course. His presence calms my nerves slightly.
Coach is here as well.
Fuckin’ A.
Swayzee, Tanvers, and Haas round out the rest of the group, and every one of them is silent.
Warmth creeps up my neck. Fuck. I don’t want any of them to see me lying in a hospital bed.
“What?” I snap, my defenses clicking into place. They’re all looking at me like I’m a specimen to be studied. Or worse—someone deserving of their pity. “Jet and Ricki-Rick had class?”
Haas scoffs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “We all had class. But we decided being here for you was more important.”
Coach huffs, his expression not quite as friendly. “Couldn’t keep these three away,” he grouses. “Even threatened to bench them, but they wouldn’t crack.”
A smug smile paints over Swayzee’s face. “We took the calculated risk. We can’t afford to be down a defenseman and a center and a winger. Plus, the Kid’s dad is a doctor.” He lifts his chin, eyeing Haas. “Figured that makes him good at this shit by, like, the transitive property or something.”
Haas shifts his weight and scratches at the back of his neck, looking from me to Coach. “Yeah, my dad is a doctor, but he works at the pediatric urgent care center in my hometown. I don’t have any pull—”
Coach grips his shoulder, cutting him off. “Relax, son. No one expects you to be pulling strings around here.”
Wesley’s shoulders sag, his posture softening as he nods.
Tanvers steps forward, arms crossed over his chest. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Then, before I can reply, he whips out his phone.
“Smile,” he mutters, taking a quick picture.
Then, head down and brow furrowed, he taps out a message.
“Jet told me to send him proof of life. He’s worried sick. ”
My scowl softens, even if I’m still fucking mortified.
Atty perches on the foot of my bed and grasps my ankle, his focus fixed on me.
I hold his gaze as silence settles over us. It’s awkward, the discomfort only punctuated by the drip and occasional beep from my IV.
Atty ducks, and I take the opportunity to scan the room again. This time, my heart sinks. She’s not here.
A more reasonable person would assume she went for a walk, or to find coffee or food. Maybe she excused herself when Coach and half the team showed up. Maybe she’s outside that door, waiting in the hall.
I’m not a reasonable person.
My gut tells me that if I ask, I’m not going to like the answer.
She’s gone.
I don’t need anyone to confirm what I already know deep down.
I breathe in to steady myself, but flashes of fire like the ends of a heated fire poker prickle my skin, making me grimace.
“All right.” Coach claps twice, cutting through the uncomfortable silence. “You’ve got your proof of life, boys. You can assure the rest of the team that Tremblay’s going to be okay.” He folds his arms over his chest. “Everyone out. Except you, Davvies. I need a few words with my defensive line.”
The guys say their goodbyes, Tanvers offering a hand and Swayzee gripping Haas’s shoulders from behind and ushering him out the door. When they pull it closed behind them, the click reverberates through my chest and inspires a fresh ache in my bones.
The second they’re gone, the pain intensifies.
Someone else walked out that door earlier, and I didn’t have a chance to even try to apologize.
Slumping back against the pillows, I close my eyes and will myself to accept the truth.
I promised I was done trying to force Sawyer to do anything she doesn’t want to do.
That includes being here. She doesn’t owe me a damn thing.
If she wants or needs space, or—bile rises up my throat at the thought—she wants to go to them, that’s her prerogative.
The only way I can love her now is by letting her go.
And I do.
I fucking love that woman.
I’ll love her for the rest of my life.
But I won’t trap her. Not again.
When I open my eyes, exhausted and thoroughly defeated, my best friend and my coach are both staring at me. Atty is sitting in the chair by the bed and Coach is standing several feet away.
“Son.”
The word sends a hint of irritation through me. The term of endearment has always irked me, but less so when it’s coming from Coach Connors. Still…
He ambles closer, giving Atty a terse look before settling his focus on me again.
“We need to talk about this.”
This meaning my injuries, or…
“Why wasn’t I aware of how severely injured you were?”
There’s accusation in his tone, but there’s also remorse.
Fuck. The last thing this man should be doing is feeling guilty when it comes to me, and maybe I want to ensure he continues to trust me in the future.
Shifting to sit up—and fuck, does it hurt to do so—I say, “This isn’t because of what happened at the game on the other night.”
I can feel Atty’s eyes on me, but I don’t break my focus.
“I unintentionally hurt myself last night.”
It’s not a lie.
“I was volunteering at this big event for my marketing class,” I continue. “Thought I could make it creepier if I hid in a storage shed in the barn.”
My best friend grunts in surprise, but I don’t look his way.
“The space was smaller and darker than I realized. I got claustrophobic.”
Coach crosses his arms, still wearing a critical scowl.
I focus on keeping my tone even, keeping the story on track.
“When I tried to get out, the door was jammed. I thought if I just put my weight into it and shoved harder, I could wrench it free. When that didn’t work, I started to panic.
These injuries were caused by the way I slammed against the metal door, trying to get it to open. ”
I suck in a shaky breath and hold it until my lungs burn. When I exhale, I side-eye Atty to see if he’s connected the dots.
His glower confirms he suspects what really happened last night.
My heart thuds heavily in my chest. If Coach doesn’t take me at my word, I’m fucking screwed.
Might already be anyway, but I need him to believe me. While I haven’t known him long, I’ve discovered that I trust him more than most, and I don’t want to let him down.
Finally, he sighs. “Sounds like you’re telling me some semblance of truth, Tremblay.
Against my better judgment, I won’t press for more details.
But this can’t happen again. From this second forward, you’re playing by my fucking rules.
No arguments. No exceptions. You’ll do what I say when I say it until you’re fully recovered and cleared to be back on my ice. ”
He pauses, his expression hard. But I keep my mouth shut. I’m not about to argue. I’m fucking grateful he’s not pushing the issue further.
“You’re out until I say you’re in, and don’t bother trying to speed up that process or change my mind.
You will rest and you will heal and you won’t fucking argue with me.
Once you’re well enough to attend practice, you’ll be at every one, along with every film meeting.
If I can’t work your body, I’m going to work your mind. ”
I dip my chin. “Yes, sir.”
“You’ll become a fucking expert on our systems and set plays. You’ll be on the bench for every scrimmage and game. And eventually you’ll travel with the team.”
“I’ll be okay to travel right away,” I assure him.
“Like hell you will,” he barks.
The intensity of his response sends me rearing back against the mattress, the move making every incision and bruise burn.
I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth, willing the pain to ease.
Atty cuffs my calf and squeezes in support.
To his credit, Coach clocks my visceral reaction and reins it in.
“No,” he says, tone subdued now. “You will not push yourself. You will not travel until you’ve recovered and you will not overcommit in any capacity.
You’ve got to drop the bravado bullshit, Tremblay.
You’re injured, and I won’t have you doing any more damage to yourself on my watch. Do you understand?”
Heavy shame presses against my chest, making it hard to breathe and rendering me unable to speak.
“I’m not giving up on you, son.”
My gut twists. There’s that word again. Son.
Professor Davvies never used that term. Not with me. Not because he didn’t love me as much as he loved Atty and Sawyer, but because he was perceptive as hell and understood how that single word had been weaponized against me in the past.
On the surface, I want to hate the way Coach uses it. I want to snap back and lash out. Remind him that I’m not his son.
But the fire usually roaring inside me is barely smoldering right now. So much of my anger and resentment has gone missing. The untamable emotions have vanished.
It’s all been quelled, because none of the animosity that used to fuel me can compare to the enormity of my world crumbling around me.
It’s been superseded by the absence of her.
The realization slams into me like I’ve been rocked into the boards.
Where there used to be a frenetic energy, only calm remains. Where my rage used to live, there’s grief. Is it because she’s gone? Or is it because the last several weeks have changed me on a cellular level?
I had her. She let me hold her. She kissed me that night. She lay in my arms and chose me just hours ago.
She may be gone right now, but I refuse to believe she’s gone for good.
“You’re not bullshitting me any longer,” Coach says. “I need you to be honest about your injuries. And your recovery. As much as I want to trust you, Tremblay, I don’t. You’ll need to be cleared by Dr. McGrady as well as two independent doctors before you return to the ice.”
That sets my nerves on edge.
Coach holds up both hands, anticipating my opposition.
“It’s early in the season, son. You’ll get back out there. If the reps from the Galaxy come calling, I’ll deal with them. With any luck, you’ll be back in the game before our rematch against Great Lakes U in February. I’m still fucking pissed at Maxwell, by the way,” he adds, shaking his head.
“We’ll get them next time, Coach,” Atty assures him.
Wrong move.
Because now Coach is crossing his arms over his chest and homing in on him.
“As for you…” He points a beefy finger at Atty. “You’re either with me on this, or you’re against me. As his roommate and friend, I’m counting on you, Davvies.”
“Yes, sir,” Atty says without hesitation.
“All right, then.” Coach rubs his hands together and offers us a curt nod. “I’ve got to get back to campus and make sure the hooligans who insisted on coming with me actually make it to class. Keep me updated, you hear?”
We mutter our agreements as Coach exits the room.
The door shuts quietly behind him, and the room descends into a heavy silence.
Shifting closer, Atty smirks. “Why did that feel like we were fourteen again and Dad was yelling at us about leaving crusty tissues on the bathroom floor?”
I snort, then instantly regret it when pain lances through my abdomen.
“Fuck. Ty…”
The concern in my best friend’s tone makes my insides seize. I don’t want to get into this with him. I can’t. Everything hurts—my head and the incisions and the constant throb on my left side from my ribs to my groin—but it’s my heart that aches the most.
I lower my head and sigh, but it comes out a wrecked, shuddering breath. Emotion overwhelms me, heat gathering behind my eyes. With a sniffle, I fight back tears.
I’m such a fucking mess.
I’ve made such a fucking mess out of everything.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I finally eke out.
Atty’s attention is weighted, but I don’t dare lift my head and meet his gaze.
“I’m going to call the nurse,” I grumble. “See if I can get more pain meds.”
“It was those old guys, right? The professor and the guy who owns the apple orchard?”
I jerk my head one way, then the other, relishing the way my neck pops, while I figure out how the hell to play this.
“They did this to you because of Sawyer?”
Yes. But also because of me.
Because I was unhinged and out of control. Those old guys took matters into their own hands. As much as I’d love to cast them as the villains in this story, that’s not the full truth.
I could lie. I could play the victim and ensure I keep Atty on my side of all this.
But I promised myself I was done hurting Sawyer. I can’t cause harm to the other men she might—
Fuckin’ A.
I can’t even finish the thought.
Rather than let my mind go down a path I don’t know that I can come back from, I finally look up and lock eyes with my best friend.
His bright green irises make my heart do a subconscious flip-flop. Atty’s eyes are so similar to Sawyer’s. With a shaky breath, I nod.
“It was them. But I made the situation worse. And I would be lying if I told you what happened to me was completely unwarranted.”
Atty surges to his feet. Jaw clenched, he rakes one hand through his unruly red hair. “We have to tell someone. The school, or the police—”
“No. We can’t. I won’t.”
She would never forgive me.
Pathetically, I’m still clinging to the last sliver of hope I possess that forgiveness is possible. That she’ll take me back or that we can start fresh entirely.
I won’t force her, though. I won’t coerce or threaten or cage her ever again.
Just like I won’t pit her brother against the other men in her life or give them any additional reasons to hate me.
“This is bullshit,” my friend seethes.
“It’s what I deserve,” I murmur. Then, louder, I ask, just to be sure, “You didn’t see her when you arrived, did you?”
I don’t have to specify who I’m talking about.
He knows.
Just like I already know the answer to the question.
He stops, assessing me, expression shrewd. “She snuck out when I went out to the lobby to greet Coach and the guys.”
That’s what I was afraid of.
With a thick swallow and a resigned sigh, I settle back against the pillow and press the call button.