Dax

by Sawyer Bennett

  In that time period, I had to attend a light practice skate with my team. I couldn’t concentrate, and I was an asshole to most of my teammates on the ice. Bishop told Coach Perron what was going on with me, but that didn’t earn me any concessions. As professional players, we are supposed to know how to put everything out of our head and concentrate on our jobs.

  I hated to tell him, but my head was not in the game, nor would it ever be, until I knew Regan was going to be okay.

  Four fucking hours before I got a solid update from Willow. As it turned out, Regan did indeed have an upper respiratory infection. But those types of things could cause an acute hemolytic crisis because of her PNH, and she needed to have a blood transfusion. Two units actually.

  My immediate thought was to hang up the phone and rush to the airport to grab the next flight to Phoenix. Before I could do such a thing, though, Willow said, “Regan wants to talk to you.”

  This shocked me. After all, I had thought she was probably near death’s door if she had to have a blood transfusion. As it turns out, she’d already had a unit of blood by then and sounded fairly strong.

  “I absolutely forbid you to come back to Phoenix,” she had told me in no uncertain terms. “This is entirely manageable, and we caught it early. I’m going to be fine, so you are to stay there, get your head in the game, and bring home a victory.”

  Those were her words. I wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, but that wouldn’t have been appropriate, of course. I’d also known I was being driven by emotion and a distinct lack of the ability to control anything. The only thing I could use for guidance was Regan’s own words telling me everything was under control and I should stay to play hockey.

  So I did.

  And I hated every fucking minute.

  We won, but not because of anything I’d done to help. It had been one of the worst games I can remember playing.

  The team plane was not set to leave until the morning after the game. As luck would have it—and I’m talking about piss-poor luck—there were no flights available for me to take by the time we finished the evening game, so I hadn’t been able to get to the airport early. I’d been stuck waiting to catch the team plane back to Phoenix. Luckily, the plane left early this morning.

  It was a two-hour-and-ten-minute flight. By the time we taxied and I was able to get an Uber, I didn’t make it to the hospital until almost ten. I jump out of the Uber without saying a word, slamming the door behind me. I make a mental note to go back and add a tip for him, but truth be told, I will probably forget until the next time I log into the app for a ride.

  I rush through the hospital, trying not to bowl people over in my haste. Regan’s room is on the seventh floor, and I choose what must be the slowest elevator in the entire world.

  I half walk, half trot through the halls, searching for her room until I finally come to it.

  7209.

  I realize I’m actually panting. While some of it might be that I’m a bit out of breath from my rush to get up here, I can tell by the pounding of my pulse that it’s also anxiety.

  I don’t know if I’m prepared to see her in a hospital room.

  With IVs sticking out of her arms and the beep of machines.

  In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m terrified.

  I take a deep breath in through my nose, then let it out slowly through my mouth. I do this two more times until I actually start to feel a little calmer, then push her door open.

  She doesn’t look as bad as I had built up in my mind. A little pale, with dark circles under her eyes, but when she sees me, I’m hit with a bright smile and her teasing, “Well hello, Mr. Monahan.”

  A huge wave of relief hits me so hard my knees feel a little weak. I shore up by concentrating on the kernel of anger deep in my gut that she’s lying there in that bed, battling a disease she doesn’t deserve.

  Willow sits in the corner in a recliner chair covered in blue vinyl. She’s surfing on her phone, but glances at me with a chin lift. “Welcome home brother.”

  I walk to Regan’s bedside, putting my hands on the rail to lean over and brush my lips across her forehead.

  “How are you doing?” I ask as I pull away to see her.

  “I feel much better from the transfusions,” she says reassuringly. “They’re probably going to keep me for another day just to make sure I’m out of crisis.”

  I straighten, scrubbing my hand through my hair, and the anger in me flares a bit. “How did this even happen? Does this mean your treatment isn’t working? Because if that’s the case, I want my thirty-five-thousand back and I’ll find something else that works.”

  Regan’s eyes go soft with understanding. She knows I feel lost. “The treatment is working fine. It’s doing what it’s supposed to be doing. But you have to remember, all it does is decrease the risk of my red blood cells being damaged. Unfortunately, infections can cause this to happen. The upper respiratory infection just tipped me over into crisis.”

  That is not what I wanted to hear.

  “Is this going to happen again?” I demand.

  She shrugs. “It could. Or it may never happen again.”

  I growl at her lackadaisical attitude. Turning away, I pace. I give an angry glare at the opposite wall before pivoting to face her with an incredulous expression. “How are we supposed to live with that?”

  None of this is fucking fair.

  Regan gives a small sigh. “You mean how are you supposed to live with it? I already live with it every day, Dax. I’ve made my peace.”

  I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to that. I think I’ve actually been put in my place, but I’m not sure I was really out of my place. Willow pushes up from the recliner, then starts around the bed toward me. She puts her hand on my upper arm, then starts pushing me toward the door.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  She glances over her shoulder at Regan before saying, “We need to talk.”

  With a huff of frustration, I follow Willow out of the room and into the hallway. She gently pulls the door behind her until it clicks shut. My sister turns, puts her hands on her hips, and scowls at me angrily. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “What is wrong with me? Isn’t it clear I’m fucking freaked out that my wife is in the hospital and could’ve potentially died while I wasn’t even here?”

  Willow takes in a deep breath, then lets it out. Her eyes turn gentle. “Look, I get you’re freaked out, but you are not helping matters by showing that to Regan. You need to calm down and be strong for her.”

  “I am being strong for her,” I snap.

  “No. You were not. You acted like a big, whiny baby.”

  “I did not.” But even I have to admit my tone sounds whiny right now.

  Christ.

  I want to punch my fist through the wall. It’s made of cinderblock, though, which will just result in a broken hand. I regard my sister, feeling incredibly helpless. “I don’t want her to die.”

  My sister doesn’t respond. Instead, she wraps her arms around my waist. She squeezes me hard, pressing her cheek against my chest. Reluctantly, I hug her in return.

  “None of us want her to die, Dax. And she’s fine now. She’s going to be fine.”

  “Until this happens again,” I mutter.

  Willow pulls back from me, her eyes solemn. “Maybe. But like Regan said, maybe not. Until that time, you need to get in there and treat this like a tiny bump in the road. You need to be reassuring and supportive of her.”

  My sigh is long and heavy. I hate when my sister’s fucking right. But still, because she’s shown good wisdom as well as patience with me, I admit, “I hear you.”

  “I’m going to go get some coffee,” she says with a kind smile. “Want some?”

  “Yeah.”

  I watch until Willow is out of sight before returning to Regan’s room. I fortify myself, promise I will do right by her, then push the door open.

  There’s a confident smile on my face when
I walk in. She watches me carefully, so I turn up the wattage.

  I stride to her bed and take her hand, squatting beside it. “Sorry I got a little wigged out. It’s my first time dealing with this type of crisis, but I am well aware it’s not yours.”

  She smiles tenderly, her thumb stroking the back of my hand. She’s reassuring me when I should be doing the same for her.

  “I understand this is scary stuff. But it doesn’t have to be. You just need a little time to understand how all of this works.”

  “This scared the shit out of me,” I say truthfully. “But you have once again shown me how so incredibly brave and strong you are. I’m just really proud of you, Regan.”

  “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” she replies. “I’m sorry I’m a burden—”

  “Don’t you ever fucking say that to me again,” I snap harshly. She blinks in surprise, her mouth falling open. I gentle my voice, but reiterate, “You are not a burden. You will never be a burden. Please don’t ever feel that, because, if you do, that means I’m not doing a very good job of taking care of you.”

  Regan stares, her eyes blinking slowly.

  “You understand what I’m saying, Regan?” I press my point. “You coming back into my life is one of the best things to ever happen to me. A burden is the furthest thing from the truth of what you are to me.”

  Slowly, she nods and whispers, “Okay. I understand.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Regan

  God, it’s nice to feel human again. I actually trot down the staircase, my stomach growling with hunger.

  As I turn the corner and the kitchen comes into view, I see Dax and Willow sitting at the kitchen table, both huddled over cups of coffee and talking.

  I’ve been out of the hospital for two days, and I’m feeling so much better. The heavy antibiotics knocked out the upper respiratory infection. My blood has been replenished and is manufacturing my red blood cells nicely.

  Dax doesn’t quite understand that. He’s been too overly attentive, hovering, which admittedly was nice at first but has now become slightly annoying.

  As evidenced by the fact he jumps up from the table and asks, “What can I get you? Sit down and I’ll make you some breakfast.”

  I merely point my finger at his vacated chair and order, “Sit back down. I am more than able to get my own coffee and breakfast.”

  I shoot a glance at Willow, who smirks at me. I think she has secretly been enjoying watching Dax flutter around me.

  Dax reluctantly sinks into his chair, and I can feel the weight of his eyes on me as I saunter over to the coffee pot.

  As I’m pouring my coffee, I ask Willow, “What time are you heading to the airport today?”

  “Not until about noon,” she replies.

  I’m going to be sad to see her leave. She has been such an amazing support to me not only these past few days when I got sick, but also in her general acceptance of me and her brother being together. On the flip side, there’s a part of me that will be glad to have Dax back to myself. While Willow is a pure joy to have around, I can’t be free to act the way I want to with Dax.

  For example, Dax has not touched me sexually since I got out of the hospital. I understand his reticence. He is new to learning the limits of what I can and can’t handle due to my illness. What I would have liked to do this morning as I walked into the kitchen in my bathrobe after having just gotten out of the shower was to go and drape myself across his lap and give him a kiss that might prod him to do something. The fact Willow is sitting across the table totally nixes that idea.

  With the coffee pot in my hand, I swivel and hold it up. “Anyone need a refill?”

  Both shake their heads.

  I set about making a couple slices of toast with some butter and jelly. While I make my breakfast, I ask Dax, “What are your plans today?”

  “Going to get a quick workout in and then come home to do my laundry for the road trip. We have a light skate at noon followed by a team lunch, then I will probably just stay at the arena.”

  Dax has a game this evening, which means he’d normally get to the arena around four or so. I’m really looking forward to going to the game tonight. But then he’ll leave with the team tomorrow morning for six days to cover three away games.

  I’m totally going to miss him, but that’s part of this business. As a kid growing up with Lance as my guardian, it was the same… having someone I care about travel for fifty percent of their work year. It’s definitely something that has to be adjusted to.

  I grab my plate with toast, then head over to the table. As I sink onto the chair, I tell Dax, “I’ve got your laundry covered so don’t worry about that.”

  Dax shakes his head. “I want you to take it easy. I’ll do all the laundry today, yours included.”

  I push my plate forward, crossing my arms on the table. Leaning slightly toward my dear husband, I give him a small shake of my head. “You see… this isn’t going to work.”

  His eyebrows shoot upward. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you coddling me when I don’t need coddling,” I say gently. “I feel really good. I’ve got strength. I can do laundry. And Dax, I need you to let me do it.”

  Strangely, Dax doesn’t reply immediately but instead shoots a look across the table at Willow. She just stares at him, giving away nothing on her expression. It’s almost as if they were talking about this very thing and Dax is waiting for her to say, “See… I told you so.”

  Reaching out, I touch his arm to get his attention, sucking in a breath when he focuses on me. God, I love that face, even if he is completely irritating me this morning. “I am fine. I promise. Now, in addition to the laundry, is there anything else you need me to do to get you ready for the road trip?”

  Dax is completely adorable as he tries to fight his own annoyance and alpha tendencies to want to take control of the situation. His jaw is locked tight and there’s a slightly hard glint to his eyes, but he eventually nods and gives me a smile. “We’re out of headache meds, and I always like to have a bottle with me when I travel. Do you think you can swing by the drugstore and get me some? That will save me a trip.”

  I grin broadly, giving a squeeze to his forearm just before reaching for a piece of my toast. “I would love to.”

  “Are you excited about starting your new job today?” Willow asks.

  I nod before taking a sip of coffee. “I’m not actually starting. Just going in to fill in the employment paperwork. They’ll show me around, maybe have me shadow one of the nurses for a little bit. But I don’t technically start until next Wednesday.”

  I had actually been given a formal job offer from the pediatric office I had applied to the week prior. It was a good thing I had been honest and upfront with them during my interview about my PNH, as they had wanted me to come in right away to fill in the employment paperwork so everything could get processed for me to start next Wednesday.

  Of course I couldn’t because I was in the hospital, but they were very understanding. I know exactly how lucky I am to have such a compassionate employer. Frankly, though, their business model makes it so I shouldn’t put any hardship on them. They have several part-time nurses who rotate a schedule, and there is usually always somebody willing to cover if somebody is out sick. They assured me it wasn’t a problem, so we made plans for me to come in today.

  I finish my toast and drink my coffee while Dax and Willow argue over the best fight scene in Game of Thrones. We’re all super fans of the show, although I’ve also read the available books.

  Dax is insistent it’s the Battle of the Bastards. Willow is partial to Daenerys torching the Lannister army and their wagon trail with her dragon. I’m a little bit more subtle in what appeals to me.

  I think the best battle or fight scene is when Arya practices sword fighting with Breinne after she returns to Winterfell. It’s not a real battle, but in my opinion it’s completely epic. A waif of a child pretty much gracefully defeats a giantess
who has battle experience. Dax and Willow think I’m completely crazy for that opinion, but whatever.

  I glance at the kitchen clock, noting I need to get a move on. I push up from the table, then take my empty plate and coffee mug to the sink where I just place it in there, intent on cleaning the kitchen when I come back from my job a bit later.

  Turning, I move to Dax, then lean down to place both my hands on his shoulders. This is an overt act of affection, which I’m slightly uncomfortable doing in front of Willow, but I want to give him one more reassurance.

  Leaning in, I brush my lips across his cheek and put my mouth near his ear so I can whisper, “When I say I am fine, I mean I am fine in all ways.”

  When I retreat, I’m rewarded with heat flashing through Dax’s eyes as he understands my meaning. I’ve just guaranteed we are going to have a nice catch-up session in bed before he leaves tomorrow for his away trip.

  Straightening, I start to leave, but give a tiny, surprised yip when his hand comes out and pops my backside pretty hard. Willow snickers as I shoot a mock glare at my husband over my shoulder.

  God, I really want him to be my husband. Not just in name. Not just as an excuse to have sex with someone I’m insanely attracted to. I want every bit of him, because he already has my heart.

  Now if I could only figure out if he’s willing to give me his in return?

  I make my way upstairs, then run through my regular routine to go to work. This means I blow dry my hair and put it into a ponytail. No makeup. After putting on scrubs, socks, and my nursing shoes, I am ready. I grab my purse and make my way downstairs, but when I’m halfway down the staircase, something catches my attention and I freeze.

  It’s Willow’s voice, and she sounds pissed. “You need a damn attitude adjustment.”

  My hand goes to the rail on the stairwell, and I lean forward a little to try to hear a bit clearer around the wall that separates us.

  “Trust me. I know,” Dax mutters, and I can hear the frustration in his voice. “But it’s hard, Willow. The constant worry about her. I can’t fucking concentrate on anything else. Every damn text or phone call I get now, I wonder if it’s someone calling to tell me she’s sick or dead. And I’m terrified to leave tomorrow. You’re not going to be here. What if something happens to her?”