Chapter 40
forty
. . .
Nick
I’m going stir-crazy. Nine days into my concussion recovery, and I’m restless. If it weren’t for the stinging headache I get every time I breathe or think or move, I’d be totally fine.
But, I have to admit to myself, I’m not fine.
Bex is back to full-time in the arena, but she races home as soon as the workday is done. She hasn’t left my side since everything happened.
And while I should be glad about that, instead I feel… stifled. Claustrophobic.
As if I’ve summoned her, she appears in my bedroom doorway, wearing her work uniform of a pencil skirt and silk blouse. She’s already kicked off her heels and stands in her black tights.
“How are you doing?” she murmurs, lingering in the threshold.
“Fine.”
“I was thinking…”
As I turn to face her, I immediately regret it when a piercing stab hits right behind my forehead. She rushes to my side, perching on the edge of my bed. I’m unable to hide my wince. I can’t hide anything from her.
“How bad is the pain?” She runs a hand through my hair, and even though I’m irritated and hurting, I can’t keep myself from leaning into her touch.
“About a four.”
She makes a pitying noise deep in her throat. “Want me to dim the lights?”
“Nah. I just moved too fast.” Slowly, I force myself into a sitting position, and when my head doesn’t erupt in agony, I let out a heavy exhale. “I’m ready for this to be over.”
Bex’s ruby-painted lips tip into a frown. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. You didn’t tell Hastings to run me off the ice.”
She cups my cheeks and kisses my forehead, and damn it, her touch feels so nice. The headache is still there, still pounding a staccato beat in sync with my heart, but her simple affection comforts me. It soothes that need pulsating deep inside me, desperate for love.
“I’d take away your pain if I could.”
“I know.” I cover her hand on my cheek with my palm. “How was work?”
“It was…” She sighs, her warm brown eyes losing some of their fire. “It was fine.”
“Anyone else injured?”
Because I don’t want anyone else to be hurt. To have to battle what I’m facing. But I also don’t want to be alone in this.
Her grim smile does little to comfort me. “Not yet.”
There’s no game tonight, and tomorrow, the team leaves for Minnesota. It’ll be the first time Bex and I will be apart since we got together. Since I was injured.
“You sure you don’t want me to stay home?” she asks again.
I’d love for her to. But I don’t want her to have to take care of me. I want us to spend a few days naked, rolling around in the sheets. To be wrapped up in each other, not coming up for air.
Not… like this.
“This is your job. The team needs you. Besides, I have Dr. Palmer on speed dial.”
When Bex explained that she couldn’t be my doctor, I have to admit, I was relieved. As much as I love her, I don’t want her to treat me like a patient. Like an invalid. Sure, I’m a little banged up, but I’ll recover. I’ll get better. Because she’s taking care of me.
Because I couldn’t do this without her. I love her. Even when she crowds me, even when her face creases with pity, I still love her.
I just have to figure out how to tell her.
Do I do some big, grand gesture? Do I blurt it out? Is it too soon? I don’t want to scare her away.
Need bubbles up inside me. I have to tell her. Now, now, now.
Opening my mouth, I’m ready to blurt it all out. But when she nods, carding her hand through my hair, I lose my nerve.
“I know you’re a fully capable adult. I just want to take care of you. Want you to feel better.”
“It’ll just take some time.” That’s the only way to get through this.
Time that I don’t necessarily have.
I’m not worried about my position on the team.
My second line center spot will be there when I’m ready to take it back.
Yes, Reynolds stepped into my position when I got hurt, and a kid from the minors backfilled his spot, and it might take some work to get back to game-ready, but I’ve done this before.
I know what it takes. Without being conceited, this team loves me. They need me.
I just don’t know if it’s what I want.
Eight brain injuries, this one the worst of them all. I know there’s a risk of them getting exponentially worse, but I always kind of chalked it up to a scary threat and not the actual reality.
And my actual reality? It’s pretty fucking scary.
It’s been nine days, and I still can’t move quickly without a headache bursting out, much less skate. How the hell am I supposed to play hockey like this? How am I supposed to put my life on the line every night?
Two and a half seasons left. Can I last that long? I honestly don’t know. I don’t want to retire. I don’t want to be done with hockey. But I might need to be, before it’s done with me.
Like McKittrick—
“Are you hungry?” Bex asks, pulling me out of another spiral.
Not for food, only for her.
I thread my fingers through her hair, bringing her mouth to mine. I take her lips in a soft, needy kiss.
But like she has every time since my injury, she pulls back first.
“Let’s get you something to eat,” she says, getting to her feet. She holds out her hand, and I take it, hating that I need the help to get up.
My head spins as I stand, and I pause, letting my equilibrium adjust. When I finally feel like I won’t keel over—or worse, puke—I squeeze her hand.
The lights are dimmed in the main room, too.
I settle at the kitchen counter and watch as she pulls two glass containers from the fridge, heats them, and dishes them onto plates.
When Bex started staying over, I increased the portions Tyler made to include food for her, too.
Because she doesn’t need to eat the high-protein, low-fat slop I have to force down.
We’re silent as we eat. I don’t want to talk about the team, or my recovery, or how I’m feeling, and I definitely don’t want to snap at her for asking.
Whatever’s on her mind, she doesn’t bring it up.
I can’t decide whether I’m grateful for that or resentful.
Maybe it’s six of one and half a dozen of the other.
A knock on the door interrupts the silence, and I start to slide off my stool, but Bex gets there first. She opens the door to MacGregor and Logan.
“Hey, Doc Whitney,” the captain says with an easygoing smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here. The patient doing okay?”
Grumbling under my breath, I ease off the stool and around the kitchen peninsula.
“Fuck off.”
Logan rolls his eyes. “We wanted to check on you. Make sure you have everything before the road trip.”
“I’m fine.” Standing behind Bex, my hands on her shoulders, I glare at my teammates. “Off you fuck now. Bye-bye.”
Her melodic laugh makes my brain buzz—in the good way. “You hang out with your teammates. Ceci invited me for a drink, but if you’d rather I stay…”
“No, you should hang out with your friend.” I kiss the top of her head. “I’ll be fine here.”
“We’ve got him,” Logan adds oh so helpfully, ignoring the glare I send his way.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
But my protest falls on deaf ears.
“I’ll be back in an hour. Maybe two,” Bex says, turning in the circle of my arms. She kisses me softly. “Text me if you need anything.”
She slips into her heels, grabs her coat and purse, and slinks past my teammates.
The three of us linger in the threshold before I finally sigh and relent.
“Well, you might as well come in.” I hold the door open for them.
“I didn’t think you’d be up for some video games yet,” MacGregor says. “How do you feel about Scrabble?”
My bark of laughter surprises both them and me. “I can’t spell for shit on a good day, much less when my brains are bruised.”
“You okay with screens? Montreal is playing Toronto,” Logan says.
Our two conference rivals. All three teams are part of the Original Six, and some rivalries run deep.
“Yeah, that’s fine. You guys want a drink?” I snag my water glass from the counter and inch toward the leather sofa, sprawling over the corner.
“I’ve got it,” Logan says, bustling over to my bar cart. “Aids, your usual?”
MacGregor grunts, his attention occupied by turning on my TV.
“I think that means yes,” I sass, and Logan chuckles.
“I’ve learned how to speak his language over the years.” He fills two glasses with club soda, adding a splash of cranberry to one.
“You’ve known each other a long time?”
Logan is engaged to MacGregor’s sister. They’re cute together. She’s small and blond, and sometimes uses a cane or a wheelchair, and MacGregor is a big, burly redhead with the most freckles I’ve ever seen. If it weren’t for the matching cornflower-blue eyes, I’d never know they were related.
“Hailey and I were in the same class growing up,” Logan says as he hands over MacGregor’s drink. He settles in the recliner with his own. “Aidan is two years older, so we never played on the same team, but were always at the rink at the same time. Small town, you know?”
I grunt in acknowledgment.
“We were friendly, and when he graduated, he asked me to look out for her. Didn’t expect me to fall for her.
” Logan chuckles. “I’ve had feelings for her since we were fifteen.
Life took us in different directions, and then I signed with the Grizzlies, and the three of us have been best friends again ever since. ”
“And you’re okay with them together?” My eyes flit to our captain. If I had a sister…
“Hailey loves him,” MacGregor says simply. “Who am I to stand in the way of that?”
Logan snorts.
“Okay, so I wasn’t always so enamored with the idea. Took a long time to come around.” He shrugs. “But seeing them together… All I want is for my sister to be happy. If this asshole does it for her, I can hardly force them to stay away from each other.”
“Like you and Doc Whitney,” Logan adds.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.
“Please. Everyone’s seen the way you look at her,” MacGregor says. “Coach says you’re officially together. The forms are all filed with HR.”
That’s the only saving grace, that we finalized everything before I was injured.
“I love her.”
My teammates look at each other.
“I love her, and I don’t know how to tell her.” My head pulses with the coiled tension that’s kept me twisted up all week. “I want to make this big, grand gesture. But I can barely walk through this apartment without keeling over. How am I supposed to show her?”
“You could, I don’t know,” MacGregor says, rubbing at his chin. “Just fucking blurt it out?”
Logan laughs. “And this is why you’re single, man.”
“Fuck off. You know why—” He cuts off abruptly, taking a heavy gulp of his drink.
“Yeah, yeah, woe is me.” Logan rolls his eyes, then turns to me. “What sort of gesture do you have in mind?”
I sigh. “Nothing I come up with is good enough.”
“I have an idea.” He pulls out his phone, fingers flying over the screen, and a moment later, my pocket vibrates.
My head pounds as I read the text sent to the entire team.
Logan:
Mitchell finally pulled his head out of his ass. We need backup.