25. Brody
25 /
brody
I woke up feeling like I’d been flattened by a Zamboni, dragged through the slush, and left to freeze in the rink overnight. My head throbbed with every heartbeat, making the thought of opening my eyes unbearable. My throat was as raw as if I’d swallowed sandpaper. I groaned, pulling the covers to my chin, but even the weight of the comforter was too much for my aching body.
Of course. Because why not? Like things weren’t already bad enough.
I peeled my eyes open and turned my head toward the window, squinting at the gray light seeping in through the blinds. I was drenched in sweat, and as I turned over, trying to find a more comfortable position, the damp sheets slithered over me. I needed to use the bathroom, but when I started to get out of bed, shivers rattled all over me.
I’d spent half the night staring at the ceiling, replaying my conversation with Gabe. It was impossible to forget the look on his face when I told him how much he’d hurt me, and I’d always remember how he’d knelt in front of me, begging me to believe him. The thing was, I did believe him, or I at least wanted to. But every time I started to hope, that stupid, humiliating bet reared its ugly head and put my thoughts back into a blender.
I loved Gabe. God help me, I loved him so much it hurt, but love wasn’t a magical fix. It didn’t erase the doubt gnawing at me or the fear that I’d let myself get too close, too soon. I’d allowed myself to be pulled in by someone who may have asked me out to win a bet.
A wave of nausea surged through me, twisting my stomach into knots. I barely stumbled into the bathroom before collapsing over the toilet and retching my guts out. When the heaving stopped, I leaned my head against a nearby cabinet. Lying on the cold tile floor made me remember being sick in Dallas, but Gabe wasn’t here to take care of me now. Fuck these fucking tears. I’m too sick to cry. While I tried to find the strength to go back to bed, Otto padded in, his claws clicking against the floor. He nosed my arm and whined.
“I’m fine, buddy,” I whispered, though we both knew it was a lie.
That brought back the same loop of thought that had kept me awake half the night. Had Gabe lied, or was he telling the truth? And for such a small, silly thing, did it even matter?
Of course it did. The bet may have been silly, but I wasn’t. I deserved to be treated with respect, not manipulated and used to satisfy someone’s ego or need for company. And suck their dick. Mustn’t forget that.
But Gabe didn’t do that, did he? He told me the truth last night. I’d felt a little better after he left, but now a fever was dragging me back down. I’d barely managed to hold on to my sanity yesterday, and now I wondered if today would be a lost cause.
After that cheery assessment, I took towels back to the bedroom and spread them out on top of the wet sheets. Under the covers, bundled up like a burrito, I stared at my phone on the nightstand. Gabe had sent a string of texts after he left last night—apologies, reassurances, and declarations of love. I hadn’t answered because I wasn’t ready. I’d even rethought riding to the airport together and decided to accept his offer not to talk. We’d find comfort in being near each other, but until I figured out how to get through this, I didn’t think more talking would help. This morning, I wasn’t so sure. With my body betraying me and my emotions frayed to the breaking point, the urge to call him was almost irresistible.
Em was on my mind too. I’d promised to let her know how things went with Gabe, but I hadn’t texted her after he left. If I didn’t get in touch soon, she’d start blowing up my phone. At least I wouldn’t have to see her because she wouldn’t come to get Otto until after work, when I’d be in Florida. I loved her to death, but I’d had all the advice I could stand until the fog in my brain cleared.
“Get it to-fucking- gether ,” I muttered, burying my face in the pillow. I couldn’t think anything through while I felt like death warmed over. A glance at the clock told me I had an hour to recover from this plague before I’d need to get in the shower, so I closed my eyes and tried to rest.
I must have fallen back asleep because the ringing phone felt like it was drilling through my skull. Of course Emma would call at the buttcrack of dawn, wondering what happened last night. Fuck it to shitty hell. If I had to talk to her, maybe she’d at least know a miracle cure for the creeping crud. I reached for the phone and answered without looking at the caller ID.
There was a pause before the most beautiful voice in the world asked, “Brody?”
Sweet mother of fuck, why did I answer? I should shove this phone so far up my ass I’ll burp ringtones. “Yeah.”
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Do I sound fucking okay?”
“No. Are you sick?” Before I could say anything, he added, “Never mind. Be right over.”
He hung up before I could tell him not to come, and my eyes crossed when I tried to look at the screen to figure out how to call him back. By the time my vision had cleared, he was pounding on the front door, each blow setting off explosions in my aching head.
Why did he think this was a good time to stage a SWAT raid on my house? If I don’t die on the way down there, I’ll strangle him with the doormat.
“Brody! Can you come to the door?” He kept hammering away, and when I finally untangled the covers and got on my feet, he shouted, “If you don’t answer the door in one minute, I’ll break it down.”
My feverish body revolted at the thought of cold wind blowing through the house. It was enough to put a dead man’s version of a spring in my step, but when I was halfway down the stairs, he started pounding again. “I’m coming in.”
“Wait,” I yelled, except it was a husky whisper. Something hit the door very hard, and I realized he must have thrown his entire weight against it. My feet hit the parquet floor of the foyer, and I hurried to the door and unlocked it.
Gabe was red-faced and sweaty, with a frantic gleam burning in his eyes. “Babe! Thank God.”
His arms were around me before I realized what was happening, and I clung to him like he was the only thing keeping me upright—which, honestly, he was. After the herculean effort of stumbling downstairs, I was about two seconds from collapsing into a flu-ridden heap. “This feels amazing,” I mumbled into his shoulder, “but fair warning. If you let go, I’m taking us both down.”
Keeping me firmly in his grasp, he pulled back enough to kiss my forehead and look at me. “You’re burning up. You’re sick.”
“No shit, Sherlock. I need to sit down.”
I turned toward the living room, but he caught my arm. “No. You should be in bed.”
My throat was so swollen I croaked, then had to cough. Coughing with a goddamn flu-throat hurts like hell, and it was a moment before I was able to say, “That’s where I was until you made me get up.”
He shifted his grip, keeping one arm around my back and using the other to steady me. When we started toward the stairs, he said, “We need to trade keys.”
“If I can get it together enough to go on with this, we will.”
He said nothing while we started up the steps, moving at least ten feet per hour. We were about halfway up when he said, “Can’t we please just…” He stopped himself and sighed heavily. “I understand.”
After tucking me back into bed like I was a cranky toddler, he went into the bathroom. Soon, he reappeared with a cold cloth for my head, making me remember again the previous morning in Dallas. His scent was everywhere, so warm and familiar it made my already delirious brain spin while he fussed over me.
While I suffered, he took my temperature, poked at the glands in my throat—like he’d know a swollen gland from a regular one—and then smoothed the covers with the precision of a nurse making a hospital bed. By the time he finally straightened up, I was ready to beg for mercy, but he gave me a reprieve.
“I’ll go make some tea,” he said.
“There’s no time. I need to shower so we can get to the airport.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and reached for my hand. I had the presence of mind to pull away, though it took most of my remaining strength. Fixing me with a stern look, he said, “You’re about as ready to go on that roadie as I am to wear a pretty cocktail dress. Stay in bed. I’ll call in for both of us.”
My breath caught. “I need to go. But even if I don’t, you can’t stay home.” I was tempted to add that I couldn’t think clearly with him here 24/7, but I thought better of it. “The team needs you. I’ll get Em to check on me.”
We argued for a few minutes, but he soon gave up. “I don’t like it, but Criswell would probably have a shit fit if neither of us went. You’re sure Em will come and check on you?”
“I promise she will. And I am well aware of how to call 911 if I begin to die in the meantime.”
He snickered, then caught himself and gave me the evil eye. “Not funny. We’re going to have a long, happy life together.” Tears sprang to his eyes, but he went on in a choked voice. “I believe in that because we love each other, and nothing else makes sense. Please forgive me, Brody. I’ll never do anything so stupid again.”
“I’m trying. You said you’d give me a little time.”
He blew out a long breath and stood. “I’ll have to go soon, but let me get you some supplies first.”
Too worn out to argue, I managed a weak smile. “Thank you.”
To a casual observer, it would’ve looked like I was on my deathbed. Gabe returned from downstairs hauling a cooler packed to the brim with juice, water, applesauce, fruit, two bags of ice, and a pair of plastic poolside glasses.
“Why two glasses?” I asked.
Breaking into a sheepish grin, he said, “I thought you might get bored drinking from one, so I brought yellow and blue.”
Too tired to think of a brilliant, snarky retort, I settled for nodding.
He disappeared again, and on his second trip up, he brought a thermos of chicken soup—canned, unless he was a miracle worker—and another thermos of hot tea, accompanied by sliced lemons and an actual mug. As if that weren’t enough, he produced crackers and parmesan cheese.
I gaped at him. “Are you expecting me to host a flu-ridden charcuterie party?”
“What?” His confusion appeared genuine.
“You think I’ll be putting cheese on things?”
“You put parm on everything.” He quirked his lips into one of his cute sideways smiles. “Wouldn’t want you skipping the soup because you didn’t have the subtle flavor of cheese.”
My heart did a double backwards flip. That was so sweet I wanted to give him a huge kiss, but two things held me back: I didn’t want to give him the flu, and I needed to figure out how to forgive him first.
We bantered while he watched me drink a bottle of water, and then he said he had to go. He turned around at the door of my room. “I’ll be texting to check on you. If I don’t hear back, Goldilocks, I’ll say fuck the games and fly home. Got it?”
I wanted to yell at him to stop. Stop being so sweet and charming, stop caring so much after he ripped my heart out, and stop making me feel guilty for being hurt. But I couldn’t because… damn it, I loved him too much to injure him that way. “Go on now,” I said, flashing him a grin of my own. “You need to be there early so you can convince Criswell I’m really sick.”
He tapped over his heart twice and pointed at me.
Well, shit. My hand went rogue, and I did it back to him.
“Why didn’t you call me today? I assumed you and Gabe made up and fucked all night, then flew away to the sunny South. Now, I find out you’re still upset with him, and you’ve been in bed all day with the flu.”
Otto barked like he agreed with her.
I rolled my eyes and gave a dramatic huff. “Come on, Em. You can’t expect me to forgive him just like that. I need time to wallow in my misery and figure things out.”
“You’re wallowing in something, all right.” She fussed with the thermometer and stuck it in my mouth, probably to keep me quiet. “Look at you. You’re a sweaty mess, your bed looks like a tornado hit it, you’re as white as a ghost, and this room stinks of sick-person funk.”
I held up my hand and turned my index finger in circles, rolling my eyes again for effect.
“Stop putting on that dizzy queen act. If you’re well enough to make fun of me, then get it together and think about Gabe.”
“Mm-hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm.”
She took the thermometer out of my mouth. “What did you say?”
“I’ve been thinking about him all day. No decisions yet.”
She replaced the thermometer, then looked around the room, gesturing dramatically. “Look at this. He left you with a plague version of a feast, with a cloth and bowl of ice water so you can keep your pretty little forehead cool. He even opened the drapes just so. Did he give you a massage too?”
“No.” I didn’t add that he probably would have if I’d asked.
“It’s a wonder. You’d have liked it if he had, and who wouldn’t? A big, sexy man putting his hands all over you. That’s why you need to pull your head out of your ass and forgive him already. I’ve thought about this all day, and what he did wasn’t that bad as man-screw-ups go. Honestly…”
Whenever I was sick, calm, sensible Em always became a little hysterical. After the thermometer stayed in for at least twice as long as it needed to, I removed it from my mouth and looked at it. The number sucked, and I hoped she wouldn’t see it.
No such luck. She snatched it out of my hand and grimaced. “A hundred and two? Holy shit, that’s high enough to blast off a rocket. Don’t move.” She disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a bottle of ibuprofen. After shaking two into my hand and giving me a bottle of water, she folded her arms and watched me take them. I was surprised she didn’t get a flashlight and ask to look under my tongue.
Giving me the pills seemed to calm her down, and she dragged the chair from the far wall over beside my bed. “How many times has Gabe texted you today?”
Nice Emma was back, thank God. “Three, and he said he’ll call before he goes to bed tonight.”
She nodded approvingly. “And have you responded?”
“Twice.” She raised an eyebrow, so I explained. “One message came in while I was asleep, and I was reading it when the next one arrived.”
“All right. You haven’t been mean to him, have you?”
“Em,” I barked, waking Otto from his nap and making him jump. The sudden movement at the foot of the bed made my stomach lurch, and I held my breath hoping I wouldn’t have to go hurl. Worrying about Gabe and the damn bet was bad enough, but my sore muscles and awful headache had me at the breaking point. “Shouldn’t he be worrying about being mean to me?”
“Oh, he is.” She gestured around the room again. “Like I said, he left you fixed up like a prince, and he’s been in touch three times already even though he knows you’re mad at him.”
“Not mad. Hurt.”
She snorted. “A little mad, right?”
“Fuck off.”
Her snicker gave way to a full-throated laugh. Otto’s tail thumped against the bed, and I barely managed not to smile. “You’re exhausting, you know?”
“You only think that because you’re sick and cranky,” she shot back.
Otto climbed onto my belly, which had an unexpected soothing effect, and I stroked his fur while I waited for Em’s next zinger. When it didn’t come, I glanced at her and was surprised to see her eyes had softened.
She patted my arm and smiled. “You know I love giving you shit, but you love him, Brody.”
My throat filled up, and it took too long to say, “Never denied that.”
“Then don’t lie here rolling around in your man-flu misery while he’s in Florida wondering if he’s lost you. You’re Brody Tanner, the big, bad defenseman. Get your head on straight and figure out what you want to say to him.”
“A little late for me to get anything on straight .”
My humor crashed and burned. She crossed her arms and glared at me. “This is serious, Brody. You’ve waited so long to be happy. Don’t squander it because your alpha-male pride was injured by a meaningless bet.”
“It wasn’t meaningless.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Was it smart? No. Was it considerate of your feelings? No. But you weren’t dating yet, and he barely knew you. The big dumbass should have known better, but—guess what—he’s human. I can remember a few times you’ve screwed up big. Life isn’t about being perfect because we all fail that test. It’s about staying the course, being there even when you’re discouraged or pissed off. Those things help us rise above our humanity.”
When she started sounding like a philosophy professor, I always listened. “Do you really think I should let this go? Say everything’s okay and get back with him before I have a chance to process it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You know what happened in Boston. Wes singlehandedly destroyed my ability to trust, and the players and management showed me I had no one to rely on but myself.”
She reached for my hand and put on her most serious expression. “I know it was hard. It was also unfair, and they will answer someday for all the ways they harmed you. Karma will make sure of that, even if I have to kick her ass to get her to remember.”
“I’m glad you understand.”
“They stomped on your heart and soul, and they hurt your beautiful body, but they didn’t destroy you. Please tell me you survived so you could find the person who’s meant for you and live your best life, because no one deserves it more.”
“I did, but…” Tears silenced my words, and I cried for the millionth time since hearing about that asshole bet. She patted my hand and gave me space to vent my hurt.
When my tears dried up, she patted my hand again. “You need to forgive him and take advantage of what you have. I know it will take a little time, but if you get serious about processing it and forget about feeling insulted, you?—”
“Humiliated.” I shuddered, remembering the mortification that had burned through me when I heard Gabe and Holky talking. “How could he do that to me?”
“He wasn’t trying to hurt you. Rewind to the part where I said you’re both human.”
She squeezed my hand and let it go, then wrung the ice water out of a cloth and laid it across my head. “I can’t tell you what to do, my friend, but don’t blow this. Get your shit together. Read Gabe the riot act if you must. He stops flying pucks, so I’m sure he can take a well-deserved dressing-down. But then you’ll need to let it go. Who knows, someday you might do something stupid and need that kind of grace from him.”
“Maybe.”
After she refilled the cooler and heated more soup, Em asked if I wanted her to spend the night, but I said no. Ordinarily, I’d have enjoyed her company, but what she’d said made sense. I had to get over myself and decide how to fix the situation with Gabe. I was hurt, and he probably deserved to do a little more groveling, but I didn’t want to lose him over a stupid mistake.