Chapter 31
Dylon
M y panic level has hit Defcon 1. I never dreamed my solo fight would leave me solo. Lars missed dinner and isn’t answering his door or his phone. I’m not letting this rift between us get larger. The front desk is busy, and I pretend to be Lars and that I’ve misplaced my room key.
It works and I all but run to the elevator. This is a huge invasion of privacy, but Lars can only dump me after he hears my side.
His room’s dark, but from the hallway light, I can make out his outline on top of the bedding. That’s my first clue something’s wrong. Lars hates lying on hotel comforters because they don’t get washed. He usually folds them in the sheet so they don’t touch his skin.
“Lars,” I say quietly, but it sounds loud in the still room. I reach out to him, and his skin is sweaty and hot. “Lars,” I say louder, rolling him over.
He moans, his body’s limp and burning up. I rush to the bathroom to make a cold compress for him, but my hands are shaking. If only I had checked on him before we left, he wouldn’t be this bad.
I place the cool washcloth on this forehead and text Grayson.
Me: Lars needs a doctor! EMERGENCY!
Thirty seconds later, there’s a pounding on the door and Gray’s kneeling by the bed before I say a word. “How long has he had a fever? ”
“I’m not sure. I thought he was avoiding me and that’s why he didn’t come with us to dinner,” I say, and Grayson swears.
He tries to wake Lars, but all we get are moans. There’s another knock, and our doctor enters wearing a mask. I’ll need to remember to put his number in my phone.
“Start the shower with cool water. We don’t want to shock his system, but we need to get his temperature down fast.” The three of us carry a semi-conscious Lars into the bathroom.
It takes a herculean effort to rouse him in the shower. He growls when the cold water hits him but doesn’t open his eyes.
I swear the water sizzles on his skin.
“Fuck,” I grumble. The water’s so cold, prickling shards of ice.
After drowning in Antarctica forever and a day later, the doc says we can get him out of the shower. He takes Lars’s temp, and it’s still 102 degrees.
“He’s going to need IV fluids, and we should determine if he has the flu or Covid or some other infection.”
Doc leaves to retrieve the necessary supplies, and Grayson holds Lars while I dry him off. By the time I rummage through Lars’s suitcase and find dry clothes for myself, Doc is back and a sleeping Lars has an IV. The doctor hands me a medical mask identical to Grayson’s and voices his concerns about Lars flying back with us tomorrow.
“I’m not leaving him here,” I argue.
Doc opens his mouth, but Grayson cuts in. “I’ll talk to Coach and Mr. Dimon to catch them up and your offer to stay with him.” He pins me with a stare, but at this point, I would rather quit my job than leave Lars.
They leave after the three of us watch him breathe forever and then some.
He becomes restless, and I climb into bed with him. Lars gravitates to me and buries his face in my side, inhaling deeply, then coughs rack his body. His fever turns the bed into a sauna, but I can’t stand the thought of moving away from him. My hand caresses the planes of his back, vigilantly tracking his breathing, soothing him .
Lars has been my rock, steadfast and strong since we met, and it’s unnerving to see him sick and weak. I slide down to rest on the pillow next to him. His nose works its way into my armpit and he sighs.
“Dyl,” he rasps, as if saying my full name takes too much effort.
“I’m here,” I murmur. “Go back to sleep.”
“Left me,” he whimpers. “Don’t go.” His large hand grips my waist, fingers digging in.
This man needs me, and I’m not letting him go. The very least I can do to repay him is not abandon him in a foreign country by himself, sick as a dog.
“You lied.” The sound grounds out so low and anguished my heart flops onto the bed to make amends.
I hurt him, and he still took it upon himself to avenge the hits I took in the game, all while suffering.
Lars is in and out of consciousness for the next few hours, but when Doc comes back and tries to roll him away from me to examine him, Lars bares his teeth, and if he had the capability of breathing fire, Doc would be incinerated.
Coach and Mr. Dimon stand in the doorway, witnessing the scene. I attempt to sit up so we don’t look like a couple spooning in bed.
He gets to choose if and when he comes out so I need to protect him. Protect our relationship. But for someone who can’t lift his head, he’s holding me like a vise.
The only thing I can do is make light of it. “I always said my charm is irresistible, and this guy’s proving me right.” The high, loud laugh gives away my discomfort.
Coach grumbles about me exposing myself unnecessarily, but Mr. Dimon simply raises an eyebrow. My mask lies on the bedside table.
“I get this looks awkward, but he dragged me out of my downward spiral and saved my hockey career. Once he’s conscious, I’ll pay my way back to the team and meet you at the next game.” I’m practically a child bargaining for an unrealistic outcome.
“He’s flu and Covid negative, but it is a serious viral infection. To contain the spread, I suggest quarantining myself, Grayson, and Dylon away from the team for at least twenty-four hours to monitor our symptoms,” Doc says pragmatically.
“Will he be able to fly tomorrow?” Mr. Dimon gestures to Lars.
“I don’t know. It will depend on his symptoms.” Doc adjusts the IV.
Mr. Dimon decides the team will fly back as scheduled, but he will stay with me, Lars, Gray, and Doc until Lars can fly. Once that’s settled, they leave us alone.
The next few hours change my perception of our relationship.
Lars wakes enough to guzzle a drink even after I warn him to take it slow. His system can’t handle it, and he vomits it back up tenfold.
He’s on his knees with his head in the toilet, hollering in Swedish, and I recognize a few swear words. I interpret it as “I do not need help.”
I ignore his words and continue to hold the cold compress to his forehead. “This is payback for you helping me through my withdrawals. You can hate me now and thank me later.” I keep my voice light and slightly teasing.
He grumbles more unintelligible words.
“I understand why you felt so helpless and insisted on staying with me even when I was a total jackass and deserved to be left for dead for the way I treated you.” I run my hand through his sweaty hair and massage the back of his neck.
“Go away.” He hits my leg again before more sports drink splashes into the toilet.
“I’m here for you for better or worse, in sickness and health, until the hockey gods strike me down,” I say, using a washcloth to wipe his mouth and pretending I didn’t basically spew wedding vows at his pale face.
I help him back to bed, and he insists on sleeping alone. When he moans, “Dyl, Dyl,” in his sleep, I cautiously crawl next to him and he once again embeds his face in my armpit. I imagine I smell rank, but I’m not pushing him away.
Weirdly, this reminds me of when we first met. Lars was well respected and liked on the team, but I noticed he didn’t have friends. Sure, he would hang out, but no one knew much about him. I made it my mission to gain his trust. At first, he flinched every time I touched him, but one fist bump and back slap at a time with light-hearted jokes, he got used to me .
Fully awake Lars might push me away, but sleepy Lars clings to me, and that solidifies my resolve to break down the wall between us.