Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
EDDIE
Yesterday morning we’d parted ways so I could attend a meeting with my accountant about some recent purchases while Pearce went about his usual routine when playing away.
We did manage to grab dinner together last night, though. This time with an excited Lottie in tow. Her eagerness to spend time with Pearce, I could completely relate to. It also gave me hope that as soon as we were able to talk about Pearce and me dating, she’d be happy with the news.
While this coming summer—Pearce’s off-season—our time together was a given, since for at least six weeks of it we’d be at Montview together, we hadn’t discussed beyond that.
There was little doubt we knew the reality of our situations and being a flight apart, both with significant commitments and limitations to travel.
As far as I was concerned, I’d keep pleading ignorance. Not trying to work out a plan meant I didn’t have to stress or worry about the future. For the time being, I chose to believe we’d figure it out.
Having Lottie with me had meant no sleepover in Pearce’s hotel room.
It sucked, and I would have asked him to simply stay at my home, but that would have got him in a shitload of trouble with his coach.
Instead, I’d had to be content with a sly press of my lips to his neck when I hugged him goodbye, and a lingering look.
The video call last night had helped get me to sleep, though. Much easier when watching Pearce take himself in hand had dragged a spine-tingling orgasm out of me.
We’d texted each other throughout the day. I hadn’t been able to head to his hotel between his practice session and tonight’s game, but we had the promise of tonight. He’d already got his coach’s approval not to travel back with the team tomorrow.
Lottie and I had thirty minutes before we had to leave for the arena. Pearce would already be there, but we had time to kill.
“Lottie. Chair.”
The scrape of her fixing her chair and stopping from balancing the damn thing on two legs followed, right along with her huff.
“Have you completed it?” I peered at her laptop, looking for evidence she’d finished her math homework.
“One more question.” She didn’t look away as she spoke, a testimony to how focused she could be when being late to the game was at stake.
“Great. I’m just going to sort the washing out.”
I left her to it while getting on with the joys of domestic tasks.
Admittedly, I had a cleaner who came in twice a week to get on top of my five-bedroom home, but everything else I took on myself.
Working for myself as a stockbroking consultant and having invested super wisely during my years of playing pro put me in one hell of a position of privilege.
It didn’t mean I couldn’t handle washing clothes or making dinner, though.
Once the load was in, I made sure Lottie’s school bag was ready for tomorrow, as well as her lunch.
Tonight would be a late night. Not the first time she’d stay up way past her bedtime to take in a basketball game.
No chance I’d let her miss it, though. At least it was almost the weekend, so she could catch up with sleep then.
As I pulled a sandwich bag from the drawer, a loud scream rent the air, followed by a loud thud, then Lottie’s cry.
Fuck. I dropped the paper wrapper and raced out of the kitchen to the large study area just off the hallway.
My heart stumbled in my chest. Lottie lay on the floor, tears streaming from her eyes while she cradled her arm.
The chair that I’d just moments ago told her to stop swinging on lay on the oak floorboards beneath her.
I dropped to her side, eyeing her face while trying to take in her limbs and figuring out where she was hurt and how badly. The thud had been loud. Whether that was simply the chair or her head smacking on the hard wood, I had no idea.
“Baby, where are you hurt?”
With her legs still draped over the chair, she looked fragile and so small. Add in her snotty tears, and it took everything in me not to simply scoop her up.
“Baby,” I repeated. She sobbed, her breath stuttering as she stared up at me. “Your arm, is it hurt?”
“Yeah.” She barely got the word out between her tears.
“Anywhere else?”
“My h-h-head.”
I carefully moved aside the strands of hair latched onto her wet cheeks. “Shh… it’s okay, baby.” I glanced at her legs. “What about your legs?”
“Th-They’re okay.” A shuddered breath tore from her, and her tears settled.
I bobbed my head and refocused on her arm. “You think you can stand up if we go super slowly and I help you?”
Her face looked stricken. “Okay.”
I moved to the other side of what I thought was her injured arm and helped her up. She cried out, and fuck if my heart didn’t break. This kid of mine was having a shit run of it. “You’re being so brave, Lottie. We need to get you in the car and to the hospital, though.”
That she didn’t frown or cry that the hospital was the last place she wanted to go clued me in to just how much pain she was in.
We made our way slowly to the car, figuring her slow steps caused less jostling than if I swooped her up and carried her. I couldn’t see any blood or cut on the back of her head, nor did I want to start prodding around.
My focus was getting her safely to the hospital. I’d seen enough injuries in my years of pro sports to recognize a break when I saw one. I just hoped it was clean and didn’t require surgery. Two of the damn things in six weeks was a shitshow I didn’t want for my girl.
Once I’d settled her in the car, wincing at her small sob when I had to strap her in, I hurried back into the house to swipe up my car keys, my wallet, and my phone. A press of a button once I was strapped in opened my garage door, then my mission was getting to the emergency room.
As I drove, I murmured words of encouragement. She’d since settled down, only the occasional shuddering breath drawing out of her.
“You doing okay?”
“Yeah. It really hurts, but I’m okay.”
I stole a glance in the rearview mirror and my shoulders relaxed a fraction when she attempted a watery smile. “You’re a regular badass, kid. You know that?”
“I try.”
A laugh huffed out of me as I returned my attention back to my route.
I sighed at the ridiculous amount of traffic.
“Come on.” I tapped at the wheel, wishing the cars in front would magically drift apart so I could race on through.
Gritting my teeth when I had to brake for the fiftieth time, I wondered if it made sense to get off this route and work my way around.
A flash of color, a ribbon on a car, caught my eye, and my heart plummeted.
The game.
Pearce.
Holy shit, we were going to miss the game.
The car in front edged forward. I put my foot on the gas, hoping this time we’d get some movement. With my gut churning, my worry for Lottie slammed hard and fast with the ache in my gut for letting Pearce down.
It didn’t matter that he’d understand. Tonight’s game was make or break time. And what would I do if I couldn’t get hold of him? How the fuck would he react when he took to the court and spotted our two empty seats? Our courtside tickets would leave an aching gap.
Fuck. I squeezed the steering wheel. Pearce would be distracted, confused… fucking distracted. Everything I never wanted him to feel because of me.
Making a decision to turn off the main route, a few minutes later, I exhaled in relief. Thank Christ it was the right call. The traffic was easing, and it should mean it wouldn’t take much longer to get to the hospital.
A few moments later, Lottie interrupted the quiet. “We’re going to miss the game.” Distress pitched her voice high.
I winced. “I know, baby. Pearce will understand.” Nausea swirled in my gut as I tacked on a silent I hope.
“I really wanted to see him. Maybe we could go to the hospital after.”
A laugh punched out of me. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”
“But I can be brave, and I can ignore how much it hurts for a while. I haven’t cried in ages.”
Love for my girl caught in my throat. “That’s because you’re brave, but all it’ll take is one jostle and it’ll hurt lots again, and ignoring it could possibly make the damage worse.
” I didn’t add that she also needed to get her head checked out.
She could be concussed for all I knew. “Is your head okay?” I wanted to punch myself for not thinking to ask before.
“I don’t think there’s any blood, but I don’t want to check.”
The emotion clogging my throat threatened to spill over. “I don’t think there’s blood. But does your head hurt? Do you have a headache? Are your eyes fuzzy?”
She was quiet a beat. A glance in the mirror showed me she was thinking, no doubt cataloguing her injuries, knowing my girl.
“My eyes are sore,” she eventually said.
“But they always are when I’ve been crying.
” She scrunched her nose, as if the very fact that she’d cried in the first place offended her.
“Okay. And headache?”
“My head’s sore where I hit it, and my head hurts a little.”
“Okay.” I nodded. At least she wasn’t saying her head was killing her or anything. “We’re just pulling into the parking lot now, okay?”
“’K.”
We found a spot almost immediately, a rarity for this busy hospital.
After pocketing my phone, I helped Lottie out of the car, locked up, and we headed to the reception.
With every step, my phone called to me, desperate for me to at least attempt to reach out to Pearce.
It would be my next move as soon as possible.
I just hoped he’d get the message beforehand.
With just ten minutes left on the clock, the Jetts were dominating.
Lottie kept up a running commentary as she livestreamed the game on my phone while waiting for the results of her X-ray. The whole time, I could barely look at the footage.
Unsurprisingly, Pearce hadn’t picked up his phone before being on court or responded to my messages. Knowing he’d gone out expecting to see us sent a wave of guilt up my throat.
Routines were important. I’d lived and breathed basketball for so long that I was more than aware that when something shifted, it could impact your focus.
While I definitely wasn’t part of Pearce’s regular game routine, when I did attend, without fail, Pearce always sought me out as soon as his feet hit the court.
There’d always be a chin uplift, a tweak of a smile. That was it. Nothing especially significant or earth-shattering, but on games I attended, I became part of Pearce’s routine. Me not being there would impact him.
“Urgh. I can’t believe Wallumby missed that shot.” She started to shake her head but halted and winced.
“Your head hurting more?” It was easier to focus on Lottie rather than the guilt refusing to dislodge from my chest.
“A bit.”
“We’ll be able to get you painkillers as soon as the doctor sees what’s going on with your arm,” I reassured.
The emergency doctor expected it was a straightforward break just in need of casting.
Hopefully the X-ray would confirm that. The good thing was it didn’t appear Lottie had a concussion, but I’d still been advised she needed to take it easy and to keep a close eye on her over the next seventy-two hours.
“They’re taking forever. We could have been at the game,” she grumbled.
“Uh-huh. Just think how quiet and relaxing it is at a game. Nope, that wouldn’t have made your head hurt worse or anything.” I quirked my brow, trying to make my levity believable.
“Pearce just missed a shot.”
I huffed out a breath and rubbed the back of my head. Tempted to look, I instead stood under the pretense of stretching my legs. If I saw his face, saw his distress, how could I possibly break free from feeling so damn responsible for what was likely going to be a loss.
Pressing my lips together, I breathed heavily through my nose. The Eagles were more than one man. Rationally I knew that. It didn’t stop the reality of the team’s dynamics going wonky from one player being off their game.
“I don’t think I can watch any more.”
Concern had me whipping around back in the direction of Lottie. “Does your head hurt so much?” I stepped back to her side, examining her face closely.
“The only thing that’s painful is this game.”
In any other circumstance, I’d likely laugh my ass off at her quick answer, but not this time. I pursed my lips together. “Maybe just turn it off.”
She stared at me then, her eyes wide, full of reproach. “I can’t do that to Pearce.”
This time I snorted, despite the fresh blow of shame for me suggesting she should turn off the game. “I know.” I slipped into the chair beside her, feeling anything but the adult.
“It will take a miracle for them to pull this back. There’s less than four minutes on the clock and eighteen points between them.” She sighed. “But we should still watch. Even though we’re not there, we can support Pearce.”
Jesus. I was being schooled by a ten-year-old. Clearing my throat, I bobbed my head. “You’re right. We’re there in spirit, right?” My smile was tight, but I focused on the screen.
Between now and when I saw Pearce again, I needed to get over myself and make sure my focus was on him and how he was coping with the result. I just wasn’t sure how to stop the dread in my gut from gnawing away at me.
Just as the buzzer went, the game officially won by the Jetts, the doctor returned, X-rays in her hand. “Good news,” she said.
I took the phone off Lottie and closed down the app. “Yeah?”
“Sure is.” She held up the X-ray against the light box attached to the wall. “A nice clean break here, so no surgery. Just six weeks in a cast and you should fix right up.”
Relief released some of the tension weighing me down. “That’s great news.”
The doctor smiled kindly at Lottie. “How about we get you set up for a cast, then you can get out of here?”
Lottie smiled for the first time since hurting herself. “Okay.”
As we set about getting Lottie in a cast, I held on to my cell, checking it every thirty seconds, hoping like hell at any second now, I’d receive word from Pearce.