A nurse came into the room. “Ashton, I’m glad you’re awake. I’d like to go over your postsurgical care with you.”
She had papers and a couple of medicines that she said they’d filled at the pharmacy next door. Evan took the papers and began to read through them while she talked to me.
The nurse told me to eat very soft foods, that I would probably prefer to have ice cream and Jell-O. I needed to stay hydrated and to take my pain medications as described every two to three hours. “Trust me,” she said. “You don’t want to be chasing your pain and trying to fix it. You want to stay on top of it. Which means you’ll probably need to set an alarm on your phone.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Evan said with a nod. She showed him the prescription bottles and told me when I could have the next doses, and he wrote it down on his phone.
“And take it easy when you get home,” she said. “Stay in bed, and let this guy pamper you. It’s hard to predict how you’ll recover—teenagers take about a week, but the older you get, the harder it is. Sometimes as long as three or four weeks. Days four and five are generally the worst. You’ll need to contact your work and tell them you need a week off, minimum. Hydration will help with the pain, so make sure you keep drinking. The doctor’s number is on the bottom. Please call us if you have any questions or problems.”
She went over to a large cabinet and pulled out a drawstring plastic bag that she placed at the foot of my bed. I recognized my clothing inside and looked down to see myself in a hospital gown. When had that happened?
Then she took my IV out and finished by placing an adhesive bandage on me. “Sorry about cutting you off from the good stuff,” she joked. “I’m going to go grab you a wheelchair and get the last couple of pieces of your discharge paperwork, and you’ll be good to go.”
I wondered how long it would be before the IV pain drugs wore off. My mouth felt dry, and I reached over to take a drink of water. It really, really hurt to swallow.
Which Evan noticed. “This sheet says we can try some ice chips. Maybe that will help. I’ll get you some when we get home.”
I noticed his casual use of the word. He was taking me back to my apartment. Where he didn’t live. It was like he was saying that wherever we were together was our home.
And I didn’t feel panicked or worried or freaked out. It just felt . . . right.
I leaned forward into a sitting position, and Evan put his hand on my back, helping me up. I swung my legs over the side of the bed as I grabbed my clothes. “I should get changed.”
“Sure.” But he just stood there, until it dawned on him. “Right! I’ll be just outside. Call for me if you need me.”
It was a bit slow-going to get the gown off and my clothes back on. I was able to slide my feet into my shoes, but the backs stayed bent down against my heels. I decided I didn’t care. I walked over and opened the door, and Evan hurried back inside, putting his arm around my waist to help me sit back down.
The nurse returned with a wheelchair, and Evan helped me into it. Then he ran out ahead of us to grab his car. When he picked me up and put me into the SUV, I tried to tell him I wasn’t an invalid but decided I was too tired to care. I texted Brenda again, telling her that I would need at least a week off work.
I kept expecting my phone to beep with her response, which I expected to be something along the lines of “then don’t bother coming back.”
But instead, she stayed silent. I would call her cousin in HR first thing in the morning and let him know what was happening, maybe forward some of my medical documentation over.
We arrived at my condo, and despite Evan’s protests, I did make him let me walk inside. The nurse had told me to walk around to avoid getting blood clots, and I figured now was as good a time as any to start. He got me into my bedroom and helped me take off my shoes when I sat on the bed. He left so that I could change into some pajamas and returned a few minutes later.
“You can take one of your Percocets now. Which will probably make you sleepy. I’m going to get the foods on this list for you to eat,” he told me after I was settled. I nodded and held out my hand for the pill. I put it in my mouth and then took a big drink of water from the glass he’d left on my nightstand, figuring I might as well try to get some fluids into me if I was going to be swallowing anyway.
Still hurt. But the pain medication definitely made me drowsy.
I woke up to the sound of Evan in my kitchen, and I got up to use the bathroom and to see what he was up to. Almost every countertop was covered in a grocery bag.
“Why are you out of bed?” he asked.
“Why did you buy the entire inventory of the store?” I croaked.
He ran a hand against the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure you were covered. That you had everything you needed.”
“Apparently all I need is water and medication. I’m like a houseplant with more complicated pain sensors.”
“Do you want something to eat?”
“Not if it means you’re the one who’s going to cook it.”
He rolled his eyes at me and smiled. “I was thinking something more like ice cream or frozen yogurt. I didn’t know what flavor you liked best so I bought them all.”
“You . . . bought them all? You have seen the size of my freezer, haven’t you?”
“I’ll go back tomorrow and load up on whichever flavors you want around. It’s not a big deal.”
It kind of was a big deal that he’d basically bought all the ice cream in Portland for me because he didn’t know which flavor to get. Wasteful, but sweet. But he’d go back tomorrow? He had practice. He shouldn’t have missed today’s practice, either. I was both touched by his sacrifice and a bit panicked at what it meant that he would miss practice for me. “I’m good with the basics. Maybe not stuff like cookies and cream that has chunks in it. And . . . don’t you have to go back to work?”
“I’m sticking around for as long as you need me.”
Now I was really confused. “What about the game on Sunday?”
He was in the middle of loading as much chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla ice cream into the freezer as he could. “The Jacks can play one game without me. We have a backup QB for a reason.”
The reason was not because I’d had emergency surgery. And it was one thing to miss a couple of practices for my sake, but an entire game? That felt . . . serious. Loaded. Like it really meant something. Panic won out over feelings of tenderness and gratitude. “What about your contract negotiations?” Wasn’t that the point of all of this? How mad would Chester Walton be if Evan just skipped a game?
He gave me a look that had a very “screw the contract negotiations” vibe to it. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
“You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll just call . . .” My voice trailed off as I realized there was no one else who could help me. My parents and Aubrey were on that cruise, and Rory had sneaked off to Mexico.
“I’m here. And I plan on being here for as long as you need me.”
The moment felt heavy and important, and I mentally wasn’t equipped to deal with it. “Well, if the Jacks lose to the New York Giants because you’re here with me, I’m never speaking to you again.”
That made him laugh. “Got it. You never did tell me if you want to eat.”
“I’m not really in the mood. I think I’ll just go back to bed.”
And even though I was perfectly capable of walking under my own steam, Evan insisted on escorting me, his arms around me to keep me from falling.
I suspected that it was too late. I don’t know if it was just the drugs talking, but I knew I’d already fallen.
Hard.
Evan stayed that week with me, initially sleeping on my couch. The first few days he woke up every three hours to make sure that I had my pain meds and drank my water. He got all my food for me and generally made my life easier. It amazed me that somebody so tough and masculine could be so gentle and caring. I
was beyond touched at all he had sacrificed just to make sure I was okay.
I tried telling him I was fine and that he could go, but the truth was I wanted him to stick around. I felt guilty about him missing so much work, but there was such a comfort and relief at knowing he was always there. And could get me peanut-butter-and-chocolate ice cream anytime I wanted it.
I called Human Resources to let them know about my emergency and the doctor’s advice that I take at least a week off. Evan scanned my medical paperwork and sent it in for me. I continued to feel better, despite the gross scabs I sometimes spit up.
Evan tucked me into bed, as he insisted on doing every night. He kissed me gently on the lips, and I found it frustrating that my accident kept us from kissing the way I wanted to. As he pulled away I grabbed his wrist.
“Stay with me.”
A million different emotions flashed across his face. “What?”
“Just to sleep.” I didn’t want him to leave. I needed him next to me, to curl into him and his strength.
He studied me for a moment, looking as if he was wrestling with his conscience. Then he slid his shoes off and tugged his sweatshirt over his head. My heartbeat throbbed loudly in my ears as he got into bed next to me. I scooted over, making room for him. He raised up his arm, and I rested my head against his shoulder as he pulled me flush against him.
“Good night, Ashton.”
For the first time since I’d gotten sick, I wasn’t able to fall asleep quickly. I snuggled against his side, wrapping my arms around his wide chest. His slow, even breaths let me know that he’d passed out. I reveled in his warmth, in the way his strong arms held me tightly.
Although I’d imagined the fun and physical aspects of sharing a bed with Evan on more than one occasion, what I hadn’t thought about was this. Lying in his arms. Having this feeling of belonging. Of being made . . . whole. Complete.
Realizing this was what I wanted in my life. Evan by my side, always.
And the idea didn’t terrify me.
The following Monday we both went back to our jobs, despite Evan’s protests that I should take off more time. “I’ve already missed a whole week. I can’t miss any more work.”
“You can, actually. You have this thing called a doctor’s note, and it means you get to stay in bed and heal.”
“Would you take two weeks off if you’d been the one who had a tonsillectomy?”
He paused. “That’s different.”
“It’s not.”
“It is,” he countered. “I get paid to be at my job.” Then he laughed when I chucked a pillow at his head.
When I got into the office, I expected Brenda to yell for me, but she ignored me and instead sat in her office ranting about bumping up the ratings. Since she still wouldn’t give me any work to do, I spent my time sending out résumés to other companies, hoping someone would call me in for an interview.
It didn’t happen. I’d confided in Evan about my job worries, that my boss had asked me to do something unethical and was angry I wouldn’t. And that I suspected I’d be out of work soon and would have to move back home. Or to a different location entirely.
He’d asked if I wanted him to make some phone calls for me, but I told him not to. I didn’t want to be another person in his life trying to take advantage of him.
That I had once very much tried to take advantage of him was something I wanted to forget.
Today I was tempted to take him up on his offer to help as I could feel the sand running out of my hourglass.
Evan called me on my lunch break, sounding completely exhausted. I guiltily wondered if that was partially my fault since he’d spent so many nights taking care of me. “So what are your plans this week?” he asked.
“Fetching and carrying for Aubrey, and then the reunion is this Saturday.” Everybody had returned from the cruise late last night, and I swear the first thing Aubrey did when her plane landed was text me with updates about the reunion. I had to help with decorating and the food. Evan was planning on going as well. But he hadn’t asked me to go with him. Maybe it was just supposed to be understood, given that I was his sort-of fiancée?
I was, yet again, pathetically waiting for Evan Dawson to ask me to a dance.
“Keep tomorrow evening open. I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise? Of the clothing-free variety?”
He laughed at my teasing. “No. And I’m not telling you anything because it’s a surprise, and that’s how surprises work.”
I was glad he didn’t tell me anything beforehand.
Because it turned out to be the best gift anyone had ever given me.
He took me to the Forest on Tuesday evening. “What are we doing here?” I asked.
“Just wait.”
There were a surprising number of cars in the regular parking lot and some people sitting in the stands. “There’s a game,” he told me. “Some kids who play football and got on their school’s honor roll were given the chance to come tonight and play against the Jacks. Including me.”
“Oh. You brought me here to watch?” It was sweet but not really my idea of a surprise. I’d seen him play plenty of times.
“Not exactly. There’s someone I want you to meet. Come on.”
Evan took me into a part of the stadium I’d never been in before, and I didn’t understand what was going on until he opened a door into the broadcast booth, and there sat Scooter Buxton.
I couldn’t speak. Which probably meant I wasn’t making a very good impression.
“Hey there, Ashton, right? Evan told me that you hope to be an NFL commentator someday.” He offered me his hand.
My head began to nod of its own volition, and somehow my right hand shook his.
“Have a seat,” Scooter said.
I didn’t even register when Evan left the booth to go down to his mini game. I finally regained the ability to speak, and what I said was, “I grew up listening to you.”
Scooter let out a little laugh. “There’s a way to make a man feel old!”
But it was true. He’d been the voice of the Jacks for KPRD since I was a little girl. He’d never even seemed like a real person to me. Just this phantom voice who was doing what I’d hoped to do.
“Tell me about yourself. Did you grow up here in Portland? Have you always been a fan of the Jacks?”
Scooter Buxton wanted to talk about me? I wanted to talk about him! But instead, I answered his questions, and we chatted for a few minutes, and he did tell me a little bit about his background and family.
“You’re probably wondering why I asked you about yourself,” he said. “Chemistry is the most important thing in the booth. It helps when the two people working together know a little something about each other.”
Then Scooter showed me the control board and gave me a pair of headphones for when the game started.
“You . . . want me to announce with you?” I felt an actual anxiety attack coming on. “I haven’t had any time to prepare!”
Had it been two professional teams, I would have had a board created with names, numbers, and positions so that I knew instantly who I was talking about. I would have watched game films to get a sense of their pass game and run game, what their specialty teams did, their defensive maneuvers, the sack reel, things like that.
And while I knew none of that mattered because it was just a pretend game, I didn’t like flying blind.
He picked up on my nervousness. “I understand wanting to be prepared. The thing is, if you do too much of it, you’ll want to share everything you learned. Which can be boring for the audience. Just follow the action. Let the game itself dictate what you should say. I think they’re getting ready to start.”
Scooter put his headphones on, and I did the same. I looked over the list Scooter had given me with the names and numbers of the elementary-age kids who were here to play with their heroes. I wanted them to have their moment in the spotlight; hopefully I wouldn’t mispronounce everything.
I couldn’t believe how panic-inducing this was. I’d called plenty of games live but never any of them in a professional stadium next to one of my personal role models.
“This is Scooter Buxton, and I’m joined today by Ashton Bailey. Say hello to our crowd, Ashton.”
“Hello, everyone! I can’t even tell you how excited I am to be here.”
He gave me a warm smile and introduced the players who were out on the field. The next hour seemed to just fly by. I did as he suggested and followed the game, and we quickly fell into a rhythm of who should talk and when.
It was everything I’d dreamed it would be. My throat didn’t even bother me, and I wasn’t sure whether that was due to finally recovering or all the adrenaline pumping through my system.
The mini game ended, and I faced Scooter as he turned off the microphones. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much of a dream come true this was for me.”
“Well, Evan Dawson asked for a personal favor. And who can say no to Evan?”
“I certainly haven’t.” My eyes went wide as I realized how that might have sounded. “I mean, except for that one thing. And I’m not the one who says no.” Gah! I was making it worse!
Scooter laughed and removed his headphones. “Evan gave me your audition CD. I was surprised to see you have real talent. Good instincts. Which you also showed me today. If this is your dream, I say keep chasing it.”
He walked me to the door while I kept shaking his hand and saying nonsense about what a pleasure it had been and how much I’d enjoyed it. At least, I think that’s what I said. I was possibly delirious with excitement and could not be held accountable for what came out of my mouth.
I’d only gone about ten feet down the hallway when Evan almost barreled straight into me. He picked me up in a bear hug and swung me around. “You did so good! I was so proud of you! I had a hard time concentrating on what I was doing because I just wanted to listen to you.”
“Thank you,” I told him, out of breath from his hug and his excitement for me, from the pride he took in what I’d done. It did something strange to my stomach, making it flip over a million times in a row. “You don’t know what this means to me. Literally the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”
#Awestruck (A #Lovestruck Novel) Page 21