Chapter 1 #2
I’m not really a social guy on the best of days.
I don’t trust strangers. I don’t want a fuckin’ babysitter.
All these caregivers . . . They treat me like a zoo exhibit.
They steal. They take photos of me to sell for gossip sites.
They peek and pry and fuck everything up.
It’s like walking on eggshells in my own home.
Something I haven’t done since my father was alive.
Was I an asshole to Colleen? Yes. Her stealing was the last straw. I haven’t told Alyssa about the one before her, who took pictures of me in the shower to do god knows what with. I caught him, I threatened to break his fingers if he didn’t delete them, and then I fired him.
Then there was the one before that, who stole the money I gave her for shopping. I didn’t turn them in. I just hoped I scared them enough to rethink their choices going forward.
I know I need help; it’s hard to get around. I haven’t gone to PT since the initial frequent visits after my surgery, because I never left feeling better. Most times I just left feeling worse.
I’m caught between wanting to get better and wanting to rot here in my own home until I die.
I just want to be alone, but also not. It’s weird. “I don’t need a babysitter!”
“Then stop acting like a fucking baby!” She screams the room silent.
Landon watches her, his fingers tapping on his knee.
Hand trembling, she pinches the bridge of her nose.
“I mean it. I’m giving you one more chance.
If you fuck this up, I’m done. We’re not visiting anymore. I mean it. You’ll truly be alone.”
“You can’t keep Lianna from me. That’s not fair.”
She shakes her head, walking over to me.
I lift my eyes to hers and hate myself more than ever as she cups my face, giving me a sad smile.
“I know you’re hurting, but hurting the rest of us isn’t going to magically make you able to play hockey again.
She doesn’t need to see this. One last chance.
I have someone I’ve interviewed.” My head lifts in surprise.
That fast? I only fired Colleen a few days ago.
“This one isn’t a nurse, or a caregiver from any agency.
He’s simply someone who’s going to help you with whatever you need.
Cleaning, cooking, taking your ass to your doctors’ appointments, or so help me .
. . Once the background check comes back, whoever they are is moving in with you.
” I go to protest. “That’s it. They’re living here, in your guest room.
You’re going to plaster a happy smile across your face, or you will not see Lianna or me anymore. ” Her words break apart at the end.
“I’m so sorry to inconvenience you with my health issues! I’m going through shit, and you think—”
“I’m trying to help you but you’re taking your anger out on me!” Her eyes harden to glass. “Don’t be like him.”
Icicles build along my spine. I can’t move or breathe.
“Fuck you!” I bite my tongue as fast as it comes out. My hands shake. Take a breath. Just breathe. I lower my voice. “Don’t you dare. This isn’t the same.”
She pulls back, eyes vacant. “Then prove it.”
Without another word she leaves, slamming my front door on her way out.
It takes me a second to realize that Landon hasn’t moved.
Almost forgot he was there. After a second, he stands, his blond hair disheveled from the fingers he kept combing through it while she yelled at me.
“Maybe it’s because you’re injured and I know you can’t hurt me, but I want to say this.
” He leans down to eye level with me while I sit on this couch.
“I don’t give a shit about how you treat me.
” He glares. “But if you ever speak to her like that again, not playing hockey is going to be the least of your fucking worries.” I think he’s done, but I look up and see he hasn’t moved.
“She misses you, Nani misses you, the team misses you, and you know what, you old prick? I miss you.” I scoff.
“Get your shit together and stop breaking your sister’s heart! ”
Then he’s gone and finally, I’m alone.
My knee is throbbing. I wake up in pain, walk around in pain, and go to sleep in pain.
My muscles are weak. My doctor would kick my ass if he knew how much moving I do throughout the day.
I thought that I’d be almost healed three months after my surgery, but I’m just as stiff and in almost as much pain some days.
With one hand on the kitchen counter, I try and move around without my cane.
I have a wheelchair too, but I only use that in emergencies.
I don’t want to rely on it too much. I thought it was just an ACL tear.
No problem. Surgery and then rehab. Back on the ice in no time. Except that’s not what happened at all.
My knee shattered. I had surgery and should’ve been on my way to a fast recovery, but it still looks ugly and swollen most days and it’s been two months.
It would have been fine in a player about ten years younger than me, and without all the injuries I’ve suffered over the last twelve years of my career, but it’s like having life points in a video game, and I just so happen to be on my last heart.
No respawn.
Not this time.
I still haven’t told Atlas or Oli; they believe I’ll be back next season. I know I’ll have to tell them soon, but they’re busy with games and schedules anyway. Most of their texts and calls go unanswered.
It’s like the devil himself hears my thoughts as my doorbell goes off.
I grab my phone, rolling my eyes. Pressing the speaker button, I bite back my anger. “What?”
“Daddy Grey.” Atlas sticks his face so close to the camera I can see up his nose. “Is that how you speak to your favorite person?” With a roll of my eyes I unlock the door, letting my pain-in-the-ass best friend in.
It might seem weird to some that my best friend is a decade younger, but I’ve never really felt the age difference. There’s something about Atlas that has always just drawn me to him.
Similar shitty upbringing and sense of humor probably. He’s the first person I came out to outside of my family, the first person who stood in my corner with me. On and off the ice, Atlas is the closest person to me.
And I still haven’t told him that I’ll never play again.
I sit down at my kitchen table. My knee is screaming at me. Maybe I’ll lie down after he leaves. Atlas walks in, his electric-blue eyes sharp on me. They’re a shocking contrast to his jet-black hair. “What?”
He pouts, a ridiculous look for a man as big as he is. He’s a brick wall when he’s out on the ice, with the speed of a race-car driver. He slumps into my chair, arms folded.
Oh yeah, and he’s also a fucking brat.
“Whatever this is, I don’t need it. I can’t deal with it right now.” The pain in Alyssa’s voice is getting to me the longer my thoughts linger on it.
“I’ve called you like three times today and you haven’t even responded. Not even with a meme. I even sent you a dick pick, just to cheer you up.” He grins wide, though I know he’s joking. I hope.
“Well excuse me while I torch my sim card.”
“Come on, do this shit to Oli, in fact, I encourage it since he’s all happy and in love now. It’s kind of gross. But stop being mean to me!” That pout is fucking ridiculous. “I gave you space. I left the hospital when I was asked—”
“The nurse used the words, ‘forcibly removed,’ but okay.”
He folds his tattooed arms over his chest, glowering. “I was a good boy, now stop being mean to me!”
“You left the hospital because I made you promise me that if either of us got injured, we had to leave the other so we could sleep. Hanging around in an emergency room does no one any good. You promised that if you didn’t listen, I could rip one of your rare Batman comics from ’42.
” And if I refused to leave him, Atlas was allowed to throw away the puck I got when I was thirteen from Doug Massey, my all-time favorite player on the Otters and the man who’d made me want to become one.
“Have sympathy for me. I had to sleep between Oli and Andre that night.”
“I thought the rooms had two beds?”
“I don’t understand the question.” Atlas unfolds his arms. “Andre snores so much, I don’t know how Oli deals with it.”
My head’s throbbing. I just want to be left alone. “Are you done? I’m not in the mood for visitors right now.”
“I’m not a visitor, you dick. I’m your best fucking friend, and I’ve been feeling a little bit neglected.
If you stop being difficult and go to PT, you’ll be good as new in no time.
” He looks down at my knee. “That looks gross, actually. It’s so angry.
All purple and veiny.” He recoils. “Like a mutant Grimace.”
“Get out of my house.” I only have a limited amount of time before this new person moves in with me, and then it’s back to being on edge all the time.
“What are we having for dinner? I’m thinking Thai.”
“No.”
Ignoring me, he flips through his phone. “Do you want to see the dick pick? I have extras.”
“Atlas, if you don’t fuck off—”
“Now pick a place that won’t kill me via peanut.” He blinks at me, that shit-eating smirk on his face.
“That’s not funny.” Not when I’m the one who’d had to give him his EpiPen when his throat nearly closed up one evening because he didn’t tell me about his nut allergy.
“Come on, Grey. Please? Just one dinner. Just one.” I watch him a moment, his eyes fixed on me. They don’t look real. When I first met him I’d thought they were contacts.
They’re not. I’ve woken up enough times next to this man to know they’re real.
Woken up together, not in a sexual way. Atlas is practically family to me.
“Fine, dinner, then you leave. I’m beat, okay?
” I struggle to walk across to my sink. I feel his eyes on me, and I think it’s this I hate the most—the watching, the waiting for me to fall and hurt myself, as if I’m incapable of doing things alone.
“Need help?”
“Need me to change my mind about dinner?”