Chapter Four
Nate stilled, waiting.
“That’s my cover name at the club. I’m an elementary school teacher. My real name is Wethley.”
Nate nodded. “Say no more.”
He totally understood. Being a gay man in a career field that didn’t look kindly on your sexual preferences...he knew all about that.
Wesley’s head dropped back against the gurney, his eyes closed. “Thankth for your help, but you can go now.”
Nate looked Wesley over once more, hesitant to leave.
Much as he itched to wash his hands of a beat-up stranger and go home, this wasn’t exactly a stranger.
For some reason, he felt compelled to stay.
It was the least he could do. Wesley, as Ashton, had been nothing but kind to him, had gone the extra mile. Nate could do the same.
“It’s fine. You, ah…” Nate scratched his head. “You did me a solid, so let me return the favor and hang out a little longer.”
Asht— Wesley gave him a hard stare. Well. Maybe it was a hard stare through a face puffed up like a tie-dyed marshmallow—or maybe the guy was having a stroke. It was hard to tell. A long moment passed before he spoke. “You thure?”
Nate had shared some of his secrets, and he appreciated Wesley giving him an out—which was precisely why he decided to stay.
A medical professional finally showed the hell back up and cleaned the split skin on his face and the asphalt debris from his abraded palms.
While the doctor worked, Nate’s gaze strayed to the rest of Wesley. The golden hue of his arms sent a flutter of appreciation through him, just as it had in the club. The nicely rounded shoulders, the well-formed muscles.
Jesus, Nate—the guy was beaten to a pulp.
His perusal continued nonetheless, and he swallowed a grimace at the reds and purples blossoming down Wesley’s otherwise tanned chest and abdomen.
Of course, Nate had been more focused on what Wesley was doing to him and for him than on Wesley himself, that he hadn’t given Wesley’s physique much attention other than a cursory once over and determining that he liked it.
The man was attractive, no doubt about it.
Combined with his empathetic and caring manner, he seemed like the complete package.
Nate shook his head to clear his wayward thoughts and focused on Wesley the wounded man, not Ashton the cute Dom.
The doctor performed an eye exam on Wesley’s functioning eye and asked him a litany of questions.
Wesley denied dizziness or nausea although he admitted that he hadn’t been on his feet since he’d crawled into Nate’s car.
He’d never lost consciousness, breathing through every throb of pain while in the backseat of the car, and since he’d answered all the fact-based questions correctly, the doctor decided a CT scan was unnecessary.
“But I would like to keep you for observation,” the doctor said as she applied some ointment to his hands.
Internally, Nate fist pumped. Not because he wanted Wesley to be in the hospital, but because it meant his part in this whole thing was coming to an end.
It was one thing to hang out here for a while and provide moral support while the guy was being treated, it was quite another to take on responsibility for a guy he barely knew, much as he liked Wesley or Ashton.
In his lifetime, he’d had enough duties thrust upon him that had never been his to bear. He didn’t want or need anymore.
“I can’t really afford a hothpital thtay,” Wesley said. “Can’t you releathe me?”
The lisp was a concern and his breathing was a bit labored, but then again, the man’s jaw and ribs had both taken a beating.
“Do you have someone at home—” The doctor glanced at Nate. “—to stay with you? Check on you every few hours for the next twenty-four?”
Wesley shook his head and winced. “No, he’th not— We’re not— I live alone. No family in town. No friends good enough to call at four in the morning.” At the admission, color licked up what flesh on his face wasn’t bruised.
“Then, I’m sorry, Mr. Byerly. I don’t recommend you be discharged.”
Wesley sat up and winced. “But you can’t keep me, right? If I leave under my own power, you can’t hold me, can you?”
“No, Mr. Byerly, we can’t force you to stay. But I really thi—”
“Okay, good. I need to go.”
The doctor’s lips pursed but she nodded. “I’ll have a patient care specialist return with your release paperwork and then you’re free to go.”
“Thank you.” Wesley sighed, slumped back against the bedding, his jaw clenching when he landed, and closed his eyes.
The doctor left, and Nate and Wesley were alone again.
“I really apprethiate everything you’ve done for me, Nate. But you can head out now.”
Nate had just received permission to jet from Wesley yet again. He should be halfway to his car by now. But something wasn’t sitting right. His stomach churned at the thought of walking out and never looking back. “What are you gonna do?”
Wesley’s good eye slit open. “I’m gonna call a ride share.”
“Ah.” If it wasn’t too far, maybe he could give the guy a ride. One last good deed. “Well, where do you live?”
“Plattthmouth.”
Nate cocked an eyebrow and his stomach sank. Plattsmouth was twenty miles south of Omaha, and it was an hours’ drive round trip when all was said and done, even at four in the morning. An expensive ride, to say the least. “Dude, you’re not gonna get a ride to Plattsmouth at four a.m.”
“I’ll go to a hotel then. This bill is already going to be ridiculous. I can’t thtay.”
Nate took a breath. He’d never known what it was like to live without enough money to cover any expense, any need, any want.
His dad had made enough to support two households and then some.
He’d also paid for Nate’s prep-school education.
As a rookie with signing and performance bonuses, Nate himself had earned in the lower echelon of six figures.
Now he earned a shade over four million a year.
Nate didn’t know what being a schoolteacher paid, but money was clearly an issue for Wesley. Nate could pay for a hotel room for a few nights. In the grand scheme of things, five hundred bucks was pocket change.
Or you could just drive him home. What’s another hour of your life?
Nate took another breath. “Listen, you can stay at my place for a few days, if you want.”
Shit. Not what he meant to say.
Wesley shook his head, made a face. “Oh, God, I can’t athk that of you. You barely know me. I— Thankth, but— Really?”
Nate closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and waited for his gut to scream at him to take back his words. The offer didn’t freak him out, surprisingly.
“Look, don’t worry about it. I can afford a hotel for a few dayth. I can even get the front dethk to call me ev—”
Nate held up a hand, eyes still closed.
Nothing about having Wesley as a house guest set off his radar.
If anything, leaving Wesley to deal with his condition on his own made Nate’s internal klaxon blare.
It was likely the guy’s first concussion.
Chances were good that there’d be no long-term damage, but if the doc thought he needed observation for a few days, it was still serious.
Thankfully, Nate had suffered few concussions in his career. He knew how to deal with those. He scratched the back of his head and nodded, opened his eyes. “Yeah, really.”
“I’m probably more trouble than I’m worth. I don’t know what to thay.”
He didn’t have to say anything. His face said it all. Despite the swelling, Nate could read the relief.
Shaking his head, Nate said, “You don’t need to say anything. Just sign the paperwork, and we’ll get the hell out of here.” He indicated the space outside the curtained-off area they were in. “I’ll be in the waiting room.”
Wesley nodded.
* * * * *
Nate wandered out, shook his head. What the hell had he done? He shouldn’t be taking Wesley home, but something about the man spoke to him. He’d felt it at the club too but had chalked it up to Ash—Wesley’s bedside manner and the experience as a whole.
Maybe there was more to it, maybe not, but in a day or two, he’d take Wesley home and that would be that.
Nate had been left in the lurch one too many times by those who professed to love him.
The people who managed hockey and hockey teams were just as fickle.
But hockey—hockey loved him and he loved hockey.
The game wouldn’t abandon him, but he couldn’t endanger his career by doing something so spectacularly stupid as fall down a relationship rabbit hole.
Nate went in search of the cashier. The older woman with tight gray curls and gold-rimmed glasses on the other side of the glass barely glanced at him when he said he wanted to make payment arrangements for Wesley Byerly. Just typed away on her keyboard.
Nate shouldn’t pay the hospital bill either, but he had money out the ass and could afford it. Wesley, clearly, could not.
The lady rattled off an amount well over two grand. “How would you like to pay for that, sir?” She finally looked at him...cocked her head and studied him.
He dug into his wallet and handed her his driver’s license and his credit card.
She peered at them both, blinked, and then looked at him again, eyes widening a bit.
Here it came.
“You’re not Wesley.”
Well, maybe not. “No, ma’am. Wesley’s a friend.”
“But...” She nodded. “You are the new goalie, right? I’m not imagining this?”
“I am and you’re not.” He should smile, make nice, but he was exhausted. It was almost five in the fucking morning. He quirked his lips instead.
“Wow. Okay. Cool.” She turned to her task, grinning and shaking her head as she typed.
When she was done, she handed him back his cards and a receipt. “Welcome to Omaha. Good luck this season.”
“Thanks.” He waited for the inevitable ask while he tucked his cards back into his wallet, but a request for a selfie or autograph didn’t seem forthcoming.
He breathed a sigh of relief. He liked fans who didn’t automatically presume.
Who treated him like a person. That made it easier to offer.
“Would you like an autograph and a picture?”
Her face lit up. “Oh— Yes, please! I’ll be right out.”
She disappeared through a door next to a wall full of pictures. Family and friends, no doubt, and Nate wondered if he’d end up immortalized there as well. She came around the nearby corner a moment later, holding her cell phone, credentials removed from her neck and hanging off her arm.
“Can you?” She held out her phone and laughed. “I have short arms and my selfie skills are crap.”
Nate chuckled. “Sure. Yeah. Okay.”
They stood in front of a blank wall, and he hovered one arm around her back and held the other out, phone in hand. They looked at the screen together, and the camera shutter whirred in the quiet space—the distant drone of the tv from the waiting room the only other sound.
“There you go.” He handed back the phone. “Hey listen...can you not mention this is where you met me? Wesley was attacked and he wants to keep a low profile. Being anywhere with me might bring him unwanted attention.”
Nate didn’t know if that was really the case since the police hadn’t been involved, but it sounded plausible and would protect them both. He sure didn’t need any questions as to why he was in a hospital in the middle of the night.
“Oh, my gosh. Of course.” She lifted her phone, a huge smile on her face. “Thanks again.”
“My pleasure.” If only every fan was so easily pleased.
With a final wave, Nate padded into the waiting room, where half a dozen sleepy people sat slumped in chairs.
National news droned quietly from a flat screen hung in one corner.
The time in the bottom corner of the screen said 4:47 a.m. Nate found a wall to lean against and tugged the brim of his cap farther over his eyes, but no one gave him a second glance.
His wait lasted only a few minutes by the time Wesley was wheeled out. Nate led them to his SUV and, after covering the front seat with the blanket Wesley had hidden beneath earlier, helped Wesley climb in and buckle up.