Chapter 44
Gracie
“He’s groggy, but he’s awake.”
I take my first deep breath since I saw Hunter go down. Even from a few hundred yards away, I heard the sound of his head hitting the metal goal post. I can still hear it.
My first thought was that no one hits their head that hard and survives. My second thought was that if anyone could survive, it’s Hunter. Purely out of stubborn determination.
And then the thought that has been ricocheting in my brain ever since—I didn’t respond to his last text to say I love him. If he never recovers from the crushing blow to his skull, he won’t know that I’ve never wavered in my feelings for him. That thought has haunted me ever since.
As I’ve sat here around the clock, I can’t stop the barrage of awful images. How the blow knocked Hunter out cold. How he had to be carried off the field on a stretcher with the entire crowd holding our collective breath, watching his unmoving body, which is normally so strong and full of vigor.
How I tried to block out the chatter I could hear in the stadium—or maybe I was projecting my worst fears—people wondering if he was okay, if he’d ever be okay, if he’d open his eyes only to stare blankly, if he’d live to play in another game.
How I pushed through the crowd and used my team credentials to get access to where the medical team was assessing Hunter before an ambulance took him to the hospital.
How I stood there with all the other concerned members of the Devils and understood that keeping our relationship under wraps meant I had no claim on him. Maybe I never would.
It didn’t stop me from driving to the hospital and planting myself here until I could get a definitive word about his condition. Kyler, who left on a last-minute work trip to Bali, has been blowing up my phone for information. I keep telling him I have none.
“Ms. Albright?”
The male voice from across the room has a quiet, lilting tone, as if from someone accustomed to delivering bad news.
“Yes?” I look up, ever hopeful.
“I’m Dr. Sanchez. I’ve been monitoring Hunter’s condition since the accident. He has skull fractures and severe bruising, but no internal bleeding. He made a big improvement last night. He’s awake in the ICU.”
“Really?” I light up with the thrill of hope. But it leaves just as quickly. “What does that mean? Like, he’s awake physically, but what’s going on mentally? Would he know me if I went in there? Am I allowed to go in there?”
The neurologist, a kindly woman in her fifties who’s been out here twice before to tell me Hunter was still undergoing testing, smiles patiently while the questions fire from my brain to my mouth.
I’m sure she’s answered them numerous times for the Devils managers and teammates who have been here around the clock, checking on Hunter’s condition.
I’m the only one who hasn’t gone home, though.
I can’t. I need to know if he’s okay, and I need to lay eyes on him rather than hearing the news from someone else.
“We’ll be doing another CT and an MRI, but I’m optimistic. He asked about you.”
“He did?”
She nods and motions me in the direction she came from, and we walk down the sterile hall of the hospital silently while I figure out what I want to know before I see him.
“Is there anything to know about his…condition?”
“He has a bad concussion, and because he took the blow to the back of the head, it caused bleeding that pooled in the soft tissue around his eyes. It’s common to get raccoon eyes from the type of hit he took, but don’t let that concern you.
It looks worse than it is. All the neurological tests came back fine. As I said, no bleeding in the brain.”
I’ve been here at the hospital for nearly twenty-four hours while they stabilized him and ran all the neurological tests needed to check for brain damage.
Brain damage.
My first thought when I heard that was regret over our last conversation. I didn’t want it to be the end for us. I still thought maybe we’d have a chance down the road of learning from what went wrong, but if Hunter’s injuries are severe…
I’ve tried so hard to stay in the present and keep myself from spiraling into worry and fear. I know who he is. He’s the kind of man who reserved an entire team box so I could watch the game without having to make idle conversation. I want to be with that man. I want to make sure he knows it.
“So there’s no brain damage,” I confirm.
“No evidence of that. Like I said, we’ll take another MRI tomorrow before we release him and monitor him for several weeks. But your guy has a hard head. A few skull fractures, but nothing that won’t heal.”
A chill runs down my spine at the mention of skull fractures, and not the blissful kind of chill I loved when Hunter touched my skin. I shake it off and tell myself to buck up and prepare to see the man I love with raccoon eyes and machines hooked up to him.
The fact that he asked to see me makes me brave.
The doctor shows me into the room, which has a curtain drawn around the bed for privacy.
I hear the door close behind her when she leaves.
Inside the curtain, I find Hunter sitting up, head reclined against a pillow.
He’s hooked up to monitors emitting a steady chorus of beeps and squawks, and there’s an IV taped to his forearm.
But other than the dark circles around his eyes, he looks pretty much like himself.
His features lighten and relax when he sees me, but only for a moment. Then the creases in his forehead dig in, and he frowns. “What’s the matter?”
I shake my head, unable to form words or explain the tears that have sprung free from the corner of my eyes. So many emotions rushing forth. How much I miss him. How sorry I am for letting him walk away without fighting harder. How much I love him.
Moving to his bedside, I open my arms to hug him, and he does the same, pulling me against his chest and burying his lips in my hair.
I push back, aware he’s bruised and battered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then don’t leave.” His voice is a sexy command. “Ever.”
My senses flood with dopamine, and for once, I let it happen without thinking about the physical processes are happening in my body. I let them happen and revel in this feeling that I’ve missed over the past few weeks.
“I missed you.” I know he may not be ready to hear how I feel about him, but I’m not willing to take any chances in case he lapses into unconsciousness again. “And I—I haven’t stopped loving you.”
He closes his eyes, and for a moment I worry that he’s zoning in and out, not really awake. When his eyes open, they’re watery. “I love you so fucking much, Gracie. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you always know that.” His voice is gravelly and gruff from disuse.
Hunter tries to sit up, but from the way he winces, moving seems to hurt his head.
“Don’t,” I instruct, leaning closer so he doesn’t have to move. “Or let me help you.”
He nods and I grab an extra pillow, folding it in half to bulk it up. Hunter takes my hand, and I pull him forward enough to stuff the pillow behind him. It props him upright enough that we’re sitting face-to-face.
“Thank you.” His voice sounds strained and weak. I’m about to tell him not to talk, but he beats me to it and begins talking. “I fucked everything up so badly by walking away from you, and—” He starts to cough, and I grab the cup from a tray next to the bed and hold the straw up to his lips.
“We don’t need to have this conversation right now. I’m so relieved you’re okay. That’s enough.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not enough. There’s so much I want to tell you—” He coughs again, his throat probably dry from the hospital air.
After another sip of water, he nods. “I guess it can wait until I can form a full sentence without choking to death.” He tries to laugh, but it comes out like another cough.
“But know this—I love the fuck out of you, Gracie Albright, and I’m not letting you go. ”