Forever Pucked (13 page)

The doctor clears his throat and looks down at his clipboard. It’s odd. It’s not like Alex can get out of the bed and pummel him or anything. Or maybe he can.

“I’ll have a nurse bring a cot and some blankets.”

Alex loosens his grip on my hand, and his body relaxes. As soon as the doctor leaves the room, he closes his eyes.

I lean in, kiss him on the forehead, and whisper, “Alex, we’re not married.”

A small smile makes his right dimple appear briefly. “I know, but we will be, and I got my way, didn’t I?”

I laugh a little. “You always get your way. I’m going to say goodbye to everyone. I’ll be right back.”

“’Kay.” He’s already half-asleep.

I’m pulled in for hugs, even by the coach. The mood is somber, tempered with cautious relief. He’s okay, but
how
okay is the question.

The nurse still hasn’t come with the cot by the time I return, and Alex is asleep again. I pull a chair up to the side of the bed and lay my cheek on the sheets by his hand.

I have to believe he’s going to be fine. Accidents happen on the ice all the time, but usually it’s bruises and aches and pains for a few days. This is so much different. It makes me aware of just how dangerous this game can be. And just how much I never want to lose this man.

I slip my hand under his, and he curls his fingers around mine. I watch his chest rise and fall, taking in the fly bandage across the bridge of his nose. I don’t think it’s broken again, which is good. He’s got a decent bump as it is. Another break would be bad. The bruising under his eyes is getting darker, and there’s some swelling.

I want to crawl into the bed with him, but he takes up almost all of it, so I stay in the chair, hold his hand, and wait for a cot. I’m emotionally and physically exhausted. Fear does that to a person. So I close my eyes and listen to the sound of Alex breathing until mine matches his.

Pain in the Brain

ALEX

Everything hurts.

My head feels like it’s going to explode. My face aches, and my right arm and shoulder are screaming in agony. What the fuck happened?

“All right, I need you to wake up there. Open your eyes.”

I don’t know that voice.

I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to do anything. I just want to stop feeling pain. There’s so much of it. I make a noise, but that’s about all I can manage.

“This’ll only take a minute. I need you to open your eyes, Alex.”

Alex
.

Is that me? That sounds about right. It’s familiar anyway.

I pry my lids open. It takes a lot of effort. My vision is blurry. The room is dark, so it must be night, but there’s a light somewhere. It stings my eyes. I try to raise my arm to shield them, but there’s something heavy on top of it. Heavy and wet.

“There you are. I was getting worried.”

I try to turn my head toward the voice, but this makes lights explode behind my eyes. I groan.

“I need to check your heart rate and take your blood pressure.”

“Wher’mai?” My mouth is too dry to manage anything else.

“You’re in the hospital, dear. Do you remember what happened?”

This feels like a conversation I’ve had recently. I blink a few more times, clearing my vision. I search my mind for events, things, places, but everything is hazy, indistinct. Thinking makes the ache in my head worse.

A feminine moan vibrates through my hand. I glance down and notice there’s a girl—no, a woman—sleeping in a chair with her head on the bed. I’m cradling her cheek in my hand. She looks familiar, unlike the woman checking my heart rate.

“I would’ve moved your wife to the cot, but I hated to wake her,” the nurse says.

Wife
?

I scour my foggy, sluggish brain for a wedding. It seems like that should be a monumental event, something I would recall, even as out of it as I am.

My
wife
rubs her face against my palm and moans, “Alex.”

I slip my hand out from under her cheek, wipe the sweat on the sheets, and stroke her hair. It’s soft. Waves of auburn tumble over her shoulders and across her neck.

Yes. This woman is mine
.

My brain might not be online, but my body is. The agony on my right side lessens as I touch her, as if I’ve been dosed with morphine.

She lifts her head, lids heavy with sleep as she blinks. She swipes her hand across her mouth and licks her lips. “Alex?”

Her voice clears the haze. Memories trickle in, like the beginning of a rain shower.

A pink leopard-print bra.

A first kiss that started a quest to get her to date me; green tea lattes and cake she shouldn’t have eaten because it had dairy in it; my air hockey table; me outside her apartment, begging to be let in; a public declaration; a proposal; an engagement party—loving her, being inside her, wanting her, needing her.

I may not know how I got here, or what happened to put me in the hospital, but I know I love this woman more than is probably rational. I also still have zero memory of this apparent wedding.

“Baby? Are you okay? Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital,” I croak.

“Do you know how you got here?”

I go to shake my head, but those white lights burst into my vision and steal my thoughts, shattering them. I suck in a breath and groan, struggling to piece together the mosaic of fragmented memories again.

“Alex? What hurts?”

My wife puts a gentle hand on my cheek. It’s warm, soft. I lift the hand that doesn’t hurt to keep the contact.

“Everything.”

“Can we get him something for the pain, please?” she asks the nurse, running the fingers of her free hand through my hair.

“I’ll be right back,” the nurse says.

“Water?” One word seems to be all I can manage.

“Of course.” She disappears into the hallway, leaving us alone.

I look back up as my wife leans down and kisses my forehead. Then she dips lower and brushes her lips over mine. It’s brief, but it feels like love.

“Do you remember what happened?” She sits on the edge of the bed.

“No.”

“Do you know who you are?”

“Alex.” I rest my hand on her thigh.

She’s wearing jeans. They’re tight. She’s small—tiny even—but she’s curvy and gorgeous. God, she’s just beautiful. Perfect.

“What’s your last name?”

It takes me a second to find the information. “Waters.”

She threads her fingers through mine and brings them to her lips, exhaling a shuddering breath. “What do you do, Alex Waters?”

“I love you.”

She smiles. It makes her even more beautiful. “And you do it very well. But I’m talking about your job. What do you do for a living, other than love me?”

I close my eyes and think. My head throbs. “I play hockey.”

She releases another long breath. “That’s right. You play professional hockey. You’re the team captain.”

“For Chicago.”

“Exactly.” She kisses my knuckles. “Do you know who I am?”

“Mine.”

She nods, a soft smile curving her lips again. I return the grin, but it hurts my face, so it’s short-lived.

“What’s my name, Alex?” Her voice is so soft, I barely hear the question over the beep of the machines.

I keep my eyes on her instead of closing them. I see purple. Flowers. “Violet.” A single tear drifts down her cheek. I brush it away with the back of my fingers. “Don’t cry, baby. I know all the important things.”

“I was scared tonight,” she whispers.

“C’mere.” I slip my hand behind her neck and urge her closer. She puts her head on my chest, and I hold her with the arm that works. Breathing hurts. Thinking hurts. Everything hurts.

There are still a lot of missing pieces, like what happened to put me in this kind of pain, but I’m too tired to think any more.

The nurse comes back and gives me water, which I sip. I feel sick. Then she hooks another bag up next to the IV, presses a button, and I feel nothing but warm. Violet moves away from me, and I want to protest, but my tongue isn’t working.

-&-

I wake up sometime later confused, disoriented, and in pain. It’s still night, and it takes me a good minute or two to remember who I am and where I am. Violet—my fiancée, who I said was my wife, because she will be eventually—has pulled a rolling cot up beside my bed.

Her arm is stretched out, fingers gripping the sleeve of my hospital gown. I check the clock. I don’t think I’ve been asleep very long. The nurse keeps coming in, checking me, shining a damn light in my eyes. Last time I told her I wasn’t in pain. I wish I’d lied because I sure am now.

“Violet?” It comes out as a rasp.

Her eyes pop open, and she sits up. “Alex? Are you okay?”

“Can we get the nurse?” The words slur together.

Violet strokes my hair. “You in pain?”

“Yeah.”

She presses the button, not to call the nurse, but to release a dose of painkillers. I’d forgotten we don’t need the nurse for that.

Violet sits on the edge of the bed, stroking my hair. It feels nice. The medication is starting to work. She presses her warm lips to my forehead. “I love you, Alex.” She moves as though to get up.

I grab her wrist. “Lie with me.”

She looks at the bed. There’s hardly any room for her, but I don’t want her away from me.

“I don’t know that the nurse will like that,” she says.

“Fuck the nurse.”

“She’s not really my type. I prefer dick, yours specifically.”

I smile, even though it ramps up the pain in my face. I tug her wrist, and she swings her feet up, carefully stretching out beside me. She adjusts the covers, easing one leg over mine because there really isn’t room for two bodies in this bed. She’s right up against the bedrail, but at least she’s not out of reach anymore.

She settles her head on my chest, and I suck in a breath as the pressure causes a sharp pain to shoot down my side.

“Are you okay? Am I hurting you? Maybe I should go back to the cot.”

“No.” I keep my arm around her.

“Alex.”

“No.”

“You’re so stubborn.” She eases back down, but puts her head in the crook of my arm and my shoulder, which doesn’t cause pain.

I grunt because she’s right. I want to tell her I already spend half my nights without her beside me, and I’m not willing to lose more, but the medication is making me groggy again, so I close my eyes instead.

The next time the nurse comes in to check on me, she gives me a look. I’m holding Violet’s boob, and her hand is conveniently covering my dick. Whatever. I don’t care. I have what I need right beside me.

My sleep is repeatedly broken, and I’m exhausted and in even more pain when the sun starts to come up. Every time I wake, I’m confused again, and I have to wait for some of my memories to return. At least I can remember who I am and who Violet is, but except what people have told me, I still have nothing tying me to why I’m lying in this bed.

I’ve taken a hit before, but the memories have always come back, even if it took a while. That I still have nothing from this one is scary. I’m aware that too many hits is bad news.

My parents stop by early in the morning. Violet’s still half-asleep, curled up along my side, as they enter the room. I’m still holding her boob. I move my hand to her ribs and give a slight squeeze. She nuzzles me, and the hand tucked under her chin unfurls and smooths down my chest. I don’t have an extra one available stop her from sliding her fingers under the sheets and grabbing my semi-hard junk. I’m in too much pain for a real hard-on, thankfully.

“Violet, baby, wake up. My parents are here.”

Her eyes fly open, and she retracts her hand like she’s been bitten by my dick. “Robbie! Daisy! Hi!” Violet pushes up to a sitting position, throwing the covers off. Which would be fine, since she’s completely dressed, except that my hospital gown has ridden up during the night, and now my semi is on display.

My mom gasps and turns away.

My dad lifts his eyes to the ceiling while Violet pulls my gown down and the sheets back up, mouthing
Shit. Sorry!
at me. I’m too medicated to care, but she looks embarrassed.

Getting off the bed is more awkward for her than it should be, but she’s flustered, so she’s even more uncoordinated than usual. She’s coordinated as hell in the bedroom, but outside of it… not so much.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” She hugs my dad, who squeezes her tight.

“I wish it was under less distressing circumstances, but I’m glad we’re here, too.” He’s looking at me, his concern obvious.

My mom stands with her palm covering her mouth, and tears track streaks of black mascara down her cheeks. I must really look like hell.

She hurries over, her hands fluttering in the air around my face. “My baby! Oh, God.” She looks like she wants to touch me, but she’s afraid to. “That’s going to leave a scar. Robbie? Will that leave a scar?” She’s motioning to my face.

“I’m sure they had a plastic surgeon do that, honey. You’ll hardly know it happened in a couple of years.” My dad goes back to whisper-talking to Violet.

“But the wedding! We’ll have to cover it.”

She’s been here less than a minute, and already we’re on to the wedding business. I look at Violet to see her reaction, but she doesn’t seem to have caught it since she’s close-talking with my dad.

“They have Photoshop now, Mom, and we don’t even have a date set.”

“If you’d gone to the Olympics like you should’ve, your beautiful face wouldn’t look like this.”

“Daisy!” my dad snaps.

Oh, shit
. The last thing I need is my parents arguing, or Violet having to listen to my mom’s projected lost dreams.

Violet disengages from my dad, and her expression reflects a lot of things: concern, stress, anxiety, fear, love. “Daisy, you must be exhausted. Can I get you something from the cafeteria? Maybe you’d like to come with me?” She looks to me. “Alex, do you need anything?”

It’s then that I notice her red, lacy bra hanging off the foot of the bed. I check out her chest. Oh yeah, she’s braless. Her nipples are extra nipple-y.

I look down, and then back up, and back down until she notices her bra.