Chapter 27
KNOX
Sleep is hard to find during the night, kinda hard to rest well when you’re being watched. Still, I’m a professional and I’ve got a job to do. I might not be in top form, but with the team that Toronto has this year, I don’t need to be.
My alarm goes off, and I force myself out of bed to take a shower.
I vaguely remember doing this last night, but after I walked in the door last night everything is kind of a blur.
I went out to dinner with the guys, and had a couple of beers.
Not my brightest idea considering I’d just swallowed another dose of the painkillers Dr. Frost doesn’t know I’ve had filled on the side.
Him doling out my pills sparingly wasn’t cutting it.
I should have forced myself to wait, but I was stiff from traveling.
Mostly, I’m tired of feeling like shit all the time.
The pills offer an escape from feeling the years of my career catching up to me.
I knew I’d fucked up on the cab ride back from the restaurant with Weston, Asher, and Jude, but I fought hard to keep them from noticing.
I thought I had it in control until I walked through the door of my room.
By then the room was spinning, and I thought I could snap out of it if I took a shower and went to sleep.
I remember starting to undress as soon as the door closed, in a hurry to start feeling better.
If my head were more clear I’d have realized sooner that taking a hot shower was a bad idea.
I remember feeling like the ground was tilting under my feet.
I turned the water to cold, but it was already too late.
The last thing I remember is sliding down the wall, and everything going black.
I try to be quiet when I come back into the room, since Sloane has finally been able to fall asleep.
She’s on the couch, not a great sign, but hopefully if she sees that I’m back up again we can go back to normal.
I’ve less hope that things will go as easily with West, but he doesn’t need me the way Sloane does.
“What are you doing?” she asks, struggling to sit up.
Kissing her on top of the head, I tell her, “You should sleep more. I’ve got practice before tonight’s game.”
The look she gives me makes me rethink my earlier hopefulness that everything will sort itself out between us. I get the sense that I’m on the verge of another major fuckup, and just like last night I can’t seem to avoid it.
“I’m going to practice,” I tell her. It’s clear she’s pissed off about this, but what does she expect? We have a game tonight, I have to go.
“I thought you were dying last night. Actually, I walked in here, saw clothes all over the place, and thought you brought a woman back. Then I found you in the shower—”
“I was alone,” I interrupt her.
She throws the blanket off and storms up to me.
Her gray eyes bore into mine. “You wouldn’t wake up.
Do you have any idea how terrified I was?
I had to call Weston because I didn’t know what to do.
He’s the one that decided to call the doctor because I knew, I fucking knew, you’d blame me if I did something to end your career.
I’ve been trying to be supportive, but what am I supposed to do, watch you continue to destroy yourself for a fucking game? ”
She’s practically yelling by the end. I react, and as soon as the words are out of my mouth I want to take them back. “I’ve worked for this my entire life. It’s who I am. It’s the most important thing in the world to me. I thought you understood that.”
“More important than your health?” Her voice is low, and she knows the answer before I speak, but I can’t stop myself from driving that final nail in.
“It’s everything to me.”
She takes a slow breath in through her nose. Her arms, which were wrapped around her middle, fall lax by her sides. “Then you best be going. Can’t have you be late for practice.”
Once the words are out she turns her back on me and stares out the window.
I watch her for what feels like forever, but is probably only a few seconds. She doesn’t turn around, so I quickly get dressed. Grabbing my gear bag, I stop by the door and wait again.
“We’ll talk tonight after the game, okay?”
She doesn’t say anything. I should have given that more thought, maybe stayed and made her answer me.
That thought nags me all the way through practice.
“You’re slow as shit today,” West says as we skate to the bench for water after a round of shooting drills.
“Fuck off, I had a rough night,” I grumble back at him.
“No shit. I had to carry you out of the shower and call the doc to get your ass to wake up,” he hisses.
I look around, thankful that no one is close enough to hear him. “Will you watch what you’re saying? I’m fine. You heard what Dr. Frost said. I was dehydrated.”
“Yeah, right. Dehydrated. It had nothing to do with the pills you’ve been taking, right?” he sneers.
“You know what this game takes. I’m not a fucking junkie. My shoulder is fucked, and I’m trying to hang on through the end of the season,” I say.
“Is it worth it?” he asks.
I slam my water bottle down on the bench. “Not you too.”
He shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m team Sloane on this one.
You scared the shit out of that poor girl last night.
When I got to your room she was shaking, and I don’t think it’s because she was soaked to the bone because your stoned ass decided to pass out under the shower.
Frankly, you scared the shit out of me too. ”
“I’m really fine. You don’t need to worry about me,” I try to reassure him.
West shakes his head. “I think you genuinely believe that, and it doesn’t make me feel better.”