Chapter 29
MADDY
“God, I missed your snoring.”
Ben’s lopsided smile is a welcome sight first thing in the morning. He’s sitting on his king-size bed, back against the headboard, long legs stretched out in front of him.
I narrow my eyes. “Were you watching me sleep?” My throat is dry, making my voice crack.
“Yes. And snore.”
“You’re creepy.”
“You’re pretty.”
I laugh and pain flares in my abdomen, making me wince. The last forty-eight hours come back to me in bits and pieces. The pain. The hospital. The surgery. Ben.
After spending the night as an inpatient, I was officially discharged late yesterday afternoon.
The doctor was pleased with my progress.
She said everything looked great and that I should be on track for a smooth, speedy recovery.
Still, the short ride from the hospital back to Ben’s place left me completely drained, like my body had used up every ounce of energy just making it through the day.
The moment we walked through the door Ben insisted I stay in his room, not giving me a chance to argue.
He claimed it made the most sense since it’s the only one with an attached bathroom, and I was too exhausted to put up a fight.
The truth is, I appreciated his thoughtfulness more than I could say.
The moment he tucked me into his bed, the soft weight of the blankets pulled me under and I passed out.
Ben, registering that I’m in pain, scrambles off the bed and walks around to my side. “Try not to move. Here.” He grabs a glass of water from the bedside table and two of my prescribed painkillers. “Can you lift your head a little?”
I nod and tilt my head up, opening my mouth. Ben pops the pills onto my tongue and brings the glass to my lips. The cool water floods my mouth and I greedily swallow several mouthfuls before dropping my head back on the soft pillow.
“Thank you,” I rasp. Motivated by accomplishing the small task, I brace my hands on the mattress and prepare to sit up.
“What are you doing?” Ben sounds like I’m about to walk into traffic blindfolded.
I pause, staring up at his panic-stricken expression. There are dark circles under his eyes. Did he get any sleep the last two nights?
“I’m sitting up.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Yes, why?
“Because…it's the first step in my three-part plan to get up.”
The way the colour drains from his handsome face, you’d think he was the one who just had surgery. His mouth falls open as he looks down at me. “You don’t have to get up. Just tell me what you need and I’ll bring it to you.”
“The doctor said I can get up and move. I just need to take it slow and not lift anything for a bit.”
“But–”
“Ben, I am getting up and you are not stopping me.” I take a deep breath and as I exhale, push myself into a sitting position. It hurts, but compared to the pre-surgery stabbing pains, it’s nothing.
Ben watches helplessly as I slowly turn, swinging my legs over the bed, and finally push myself to stand. Once I’m vertical, everything feels better. I’m swollen and sore, but I’m upright and that’s something.
I move slowly at first, placing one foot gingerly in front of the other. I feel Ben hovering behind me like I’m going to shatter into a million pieces and he’ll have to glue me back together.
I don’t shatter. As I reach the bathroom, I step in and attempt to close the door, but Ben stops it with his hand.
“Don’t lock the door,” he begs. The worry in his voice gives me pause.
“Why?”
I watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows. “What if you lock the door and then you need me? I don’t want to have to rip the door off its hinges. I will. I just don’t want to.”
I sigh, exasperated but also touched by his concern. I’ve never been good at staying mad at this man. Instead, I offer a compromise.
“If you promise not to hover outside the door, I promise not to lock it.”
“I just want to take care of you.” He speaks the words so softly I barely hear them.
“I know. But I need to pee by myself. If you want, you could get me some breakfast.”
His expression brightens at the promise of a new task. “Of course. God, you must be starving. What do you want?”
“Maybe just plain toast to start. And coffee, please.”
He leans in and kisses the top of my head. It’s familiar and comforting. “On it. Holler if you need me.”
I don’t need him, thankfully. By the time I use the bathroom and wash my hands, I’m exhausted and ready to climb back into bed. I’ve just settled myself in a fairly comfortable upright position when Ben comes back with a steaming cup of coffee and plate piled high with toast.
“Did you use an entire loaf of bread?” I tease, eyeing the stack he places in front of me.
“No, but I can.” Ben fluffs my pillows before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He continues to stare at me while I eat my breakfast. I think he’d be happier if I let him hand feed me.
After I’ve finished two pieces I set the plate aside.
“Do you need anything else?” he asks, hopefully. It’s obvious how much he wants to take care of me.
“Could you bring me my phone? And my laptop?”
My request is met with a frown.
“You just had surgery, Madness. You don’t need to do work.”
“Yes, I do. The Gala is only a few weeks away and there is still so much to do.” I don’t want to think about how many things fell through the cracks in my absence the last two days.
He runs his hands roughly through his hair leaving it adorably tussled. I know he wants to fight me on this. I also know he won’t win. And so does he.
“Promise you’ll take it easy?”
“I promise. Just emails. No heavy lifting.”
He relents with a sigh and walks out of the room, returning a minute later with my phone and laptop.
True to my word, I keep my activity light. My inbox is full, so I spend the morning responding to media requests and messages from donors. Everything is on track and thankfully, there haven’t been any catastrophes to untangle.
Ben putters around the condo, starting a load of laundry and refilling my coffee. He brings me my medications at timed intervals. But mostly he just watches me, waiting for any indication that I need saving.
Just before noon, he steps out to take a phone call. I’m not sure how long he’s gone for, maybe ten or fifteen minutes, but when he comes back, his expression is stormy.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, setting my laptop aside and patting the bed next to me.
“Nothing,” he answers too quickly. “Can I get you anything? Lunch, maybe?”
“Ben…”
I pat the bed again, more insistently, and this time he flops down beside me.
“I just got off the phone with Coach Stetson.”
“Is everything okay? Wait.” I wince as I sit up and turn to face him. “Aren’t you supposed to have practice today?”
Ben gently takes my hand, careful to avoid the bruise caused from the IV I was hooked up to yesterday. “I was, but I got permission to skip it.”
He skipped practice? “Is that even allowed?”
“They’re calling it a Therapy Day. Players take them sometimes when they need rest or to go to physio.”
“Oh. That was nice of them.”
His face hardens. “But my request to not travel with the team to Tampa tomorrow got denied. If I don’t go, I’ll be suspended.”
“What? Suspended?”
“It’s not the end of the world,” he continues, unconvincingly. “I’ll just be benched for a game and won’t get paid.”
I gasp loudly. “How much money will you lose?”
He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Ben…”
“I don’t know…around a hundred and twenty thousand.”
My mind reels from his answer and I think I’m going to need stronger meds. “Dollars?!?”
“I don’t care about the money, Madness.”
“You don’t care about losing more money than I make in a year?”
“Not if it means I have to leave you, no.”
His voice is steady, resolute. He doesn’t want to leave me.
The lump in my throat is immediate. I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his and giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
“Ben,” I say softly, “I’m okay. Really. You’ve taken such good care of me, and I’m so grateful, but you have to go tomorrow. This is your career. It’s important.”
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. “Nothing is more important than you.”
And I believe him.
He’s willing to disappoint his coaches, let down an entire locker room of teammates, and probably spark outrage from fans. Just to be here, with me, while I recover. The weight of that kind of devotion is too much for me to process.
“I want you to go,” I whisper, even as part of me wants to beg him to stay. “I swear, I’ll be fine. I’m already feeling so much better. I don’t need a babysitter. I promise.”
He studies me for a long moment, like he’s trying to see if I really mean it.
I do. Even if my heart aches at the thought of him walking out that door.
“I thought you might say that.” He lets out a long exhale. “That’s why back up plans are so important.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
A knock sounds at the door.
“Perfect timing.” He presses a kiss to the tips of my fingers before bounding off the bed.
“Who is at the door?”
When he looks back at me over his shoulder there’s a smirk playing on his lips. “The backup babysitter.”
I panic as he disappears. Who would possibly be coming to stay with me?
Beth is the obvious answer. She texted me this morning to let me know she was thinking of me. She also attached eight hundred pictures of her new dog, a three-year-old mutt of unknown parentage named Cujo. Apparently Foster named him in honour of a legendary Ontario goaltender.
I feel terrible about uprooting her life just so Ben has eyes on me while he’s away. She’ll be so busy with a new pet. Not to mention her own life, and job.
I’m patting down my hair in an attempt to look more presentable when Ben comes back.
“Here is your patient,” he tells whoever is behind him. “She can be difficult at times. I hope you can handle her.”
“I’ve got some experience.” My mother appears in the doorway, beaming at me. My annoyance evaporates.
I thought I’d been holding up pretty well, up to this point. I’ve endured loneliness, and have been navigating a stressful working environment without complaint. I ended my engagement and called off my wedding and didn’t miss a beat. I had to have an emergency operation to save my life.
Finally, I’ve been wrestling with the possibility of giving my heart back to a man I’ve spent the last ten years convincing myself I couldn’t have.
I’ve handled all of these changes, all of these ups and downs with as much grace and composure as I’ve been able. And the moment I see my mom, the floodgates explode.
My sob comes out strangled and raw. Before I can put a hand over my mouth to silence the next one, my mother has crossed the room and thrown her arms around me. I cling to her so hard I’m afraid I might pop a stitch.
“It’s okay, my love,” Mom says over and over and over again. “You’re okay.”
And for the first time since I moved here, in my mom’s embrace, in the safety of Ben’s home, I really feel like I am okay.