by Lynda Aicher
“Damn it, kid.” The rough growl was familiar. How? Who?
He gulped in a lungful of air and willed it all to stop. His eyes snapped open. Light stabbed through his retinas. He jerked back, eyes squeezed shut.
The pain exploded within him. Fuck. Where’d that come from? It consumed his pelvis and shot up his back. His heart pounded in his skull and threatened to burst through the bone and explode out the top. What the fuck?
His moan competed with his heartbeat to echo inside his head. He needed water. His throat was so raw there had to be sandpaper in it. He wet his lips and found them bumpy and sore.
“Come on, Dylan. Wake up for me.”
Coach O? Had he hit his head on the ice? Was that why he had the screaming headache? That didn’t explain the serious fucking pain in his hip.
He peeled his eyelids back with more caution this time. Squinting first before he slowly let them flutter open. Thankfully, someone had dimmed the lights so he wasn’t blinded again.
Coach O came into focus, Doc right next to him. They both peered down at him, heavy frowns of concern on their faces. He tried to smile but couldn’t get his muscles to cooperate.
“Hey, Rylie,” Coach O said, a bit of relief in his voice. “Take it easy. You were sedated. The drugs are just wearing off.”
Sedated? His “Why?” came out as a garbled croak that burned his throat.
Doc went to the other side of the bed and held a straw to Dylan’s mouth. “Just a small sip.”
The water was lukewarm and about the best thing he’d ever tasted. It flushed out the sand in his throat and he tried to gulp down more, but Doc took the straw away. Bastard. He attempted to scowl at the man. Coach’s chuckle said he wasn’t doing a very good job at it.
“How are you feeling?” Doc unwrapped a stethoscope from around his neck and proceeded to listen to Dylan’s chest. He’d swapped out his Glaciers jacket for a standard white doctor’s coat. That detail seemed to open the floodgate of other details that poured into his mind.
The hospital, ambulance, the game, being slammed into the wall, the pain in his hip and leg. Fuck. He’d been taken off the ice on a stretcher. Suddenly, he didn’t want to remember. He closed his eyes and tried to sink back into the darkness that’d left him clueless.
“Dylan!” Doc barked.
He jerked, winced at the flash of agony that hugged his waist and mentally cursed the man. “What?” he rasped, eyes stubbornly still closed.
“I need you to stay awake for a bit,” Doc said. Cold fingers wrapped around Dylan’s wrist, tips pressed on his pulse.
“Why?” He wasn’t ready to hear how screwed he was.
“It’s not that bad,” Coach said. “But you need to make some decisions.”
Like he was in any state to make decisions. He opened his eyes to stare at the man he’d come to trust over the last three years. The man held Dylan’s gaze, instilling a confidence that somehow flowed into Dylan.
“All right,” he said with a calmness that came mostly from the drugs. “Tell me.”
“How much do you remember?”
“Most of it.” He wet his lips. “Being checked into the boards. Knowing my hip and leg are fucked up.” The rest wasn’t important. “How bad is it?” Was his career over? Would he play again? When? He bit his tongue to hold in the rest of the questions. It was better to take them one at a time.
“Your right hip was partially dislocated during the hit,” Doc said. “You were sedated so the hip joint could be reset.”
That explained the immediate pain that’d taken him down. “Anything broken?”
“No.”
The tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding slipped from his chest and shoulders. “That’s good, right?” It sounded good, but Doc wasn’t smiling. Neither was Coach. There was enough of a pause to put Dylan back on edge.
“Yes,” Doc finally answered. “If that had been the extent of the injury. Unfortunately you also have a tear in the labrum in the hip joint.”
“The what?”
“There’s a tear in the connective tissue that surrounds the hip joint.”
Shit. That didn’t sound good. It didn’t help that his head was still foggy from the drugs and pain. He was getting tired and needed to skip to the end of the explanation. That was all that really mattered anyway.
“Give me my options and outcomes.” His voice sounded flat like he felt. He didn’t care. “What will get me playing again the fastest?”
Doc glanced at Coach O, silently communicating something before he laid it all out for Dylan. In the end it boiled down to having immediate surgery to fix the tear, which would take him out for the rest of the season. There were other options, ones that involved a wait-and-see-mixed-with-rest approach. Those could get him back on the ice this season, but it might be temporary.
“How soon do I have to decide?” As hard as he was trying to stay awake, his eyes kept closing. It was a lot to take in. A lot to decide on his own.
“Sleep on it,” Doc said.
“I contacted your agent,” Coach added. “Jeff said he’d be here in the morning.”
That was good. “Thanks.”
“Is there anyone else you want me to call?”
There was only one name that popped into his head. Would she come? He forced his eyes open to catch a hazy image of his coach before he gave up and let them close again. “Samantha,” he managed to say, his tongue a leaden weight in his mouth.
“Yates?”
Dylan caught the surprise in the man’s tone. Yeah. That was her. A smile lifted the edges of his lips before he let the darkness take hold.
*
“Yates.”
Sam jerked away from the wall, head snapping up to find Coach O staring at her. She was instantly chilled and hot, her heart reentering the race from earlier. “Yes?”
He gave a slow head shake. With his suit jacket held open by hands braced on his hips, he appeared to be hovering between annoyed and amused.
She’d been loitering at the edge of the waiting room since she’d followed Feeney into the ER over an hour ago. He hadn’t said a word to her, and she wasn’t about to get him in trouble by trying to talk to him.
Finally a tired smile cracked Coach O’s features before he wiped a hand over his mouth. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”
She stepped forward to hear him better. “How’s Dylan?” She didn’t care what the man thought. Her patience had reached its limit, and he had answers.
Six other players had gathered in the waiting area and they all came up behind their coach. Every one of them stared at her, their expressions ranging from confusion to amusement.
“Do you have news, Coach?” Walters asked. He shot Sam a tight smile that held more question than anything else.
Coach O checked the area then glanced at the guys who’d surrounded him. “Yeah. He’s resting right now. He had a partially dislocated hip, and they had to sedate him to set it back in place.”
The wave of relieved sighs rippled through the men. Sam still held her breath.
“Will he be okay?” Feeney asked.
“Nothing’s broken,” Coach said. “But he’ll be out for a while.”
“But he’ll be back, right?” Feeney persisted.
Coach glared at the big enforcer before he tugged at his tie and scratched his goatee. “As far as I know, yes.”
Sam finally inhaled.
“Good.” Hauke’s single statement was met with nods of agreement from the other men. “Is he here for the night?”
“Yeah. Doc’s staying with him.”
There was a pause where no one seemed to know quite what to say next. Sam had a dozen other questions, but now wasn’t the time.
“Here’s his stuff,” Walters finally said and handed a duffel bag over. “Practice still at one tomorrow?”
Coach O gave him a short nod. “You guys should head home. Rylie’s out for the night.”
There was a round of grumbled agreement befor
e the men slowly headed toward the exit. Sam was frozen though. There was nothing for her to do there. No way to help, yet she couldn’t get her feet to move.
She looked up to find Coach studying her. He checked the area then reached into his pocket and held out a piece of paper. “He asked for you.” He kept his voice low but she had no problem hearing him.
Her hand shook when she took the paper and unfolded it. There was only a number written on it. A room number. She smiled, her relief so huge she barely resisted hugging the man. “Thank you.”
His jaw worked before he shook his head, sighed and stared at the ground.
“What?” she asked, inching closer. The waiting room was fairly crowded and no one appeared to be listening to them, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t.
“Nothing.” He hesitated, lips pinched together. “Just stay discreet. We need to keep the gossip to a minimum.”
The overblown speculation on an injury could harm a player’s career for years. “You can trust me.”
He snorted and stepped back. “Thank God for that.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’m heading out. Your name’s been added to the visitor list.” His gaze flicked over her as he passed the duffel bag to her. “Take care of him. He needs someone like you.”
He left before she could respond. That was good, since she didn’t know what to say. He needs someone like you. Was that true?
She had no way of knowing if it was or not. All that really mattered was that Dylan had asked for her and she was here. She focused on that as she searched out the directory and made her way to his room.
Chapter Nineteen
Dylan stared at the woman curled into the chair next to his bed. Her hair was caught in a drooping knot at her nape, a few escaped pieces resting against her cheek. Her lips were pink and slightly parted, lashes dark smudges on her pale skin.
She was tucked under a white hospital blanket, legs and feet somehow bent on the seat so only her empty boots remained on the floor. Traces of sunlight filtered in through the blinds on the window and one of the rays drew a line over the back of the chair to leave a streak of gold through her hair.
His chest tightened then expanded, the contentment filling him despite his situation. He was still dazed, the drugs fogging his brain, but he knew one thing—she hadn’t left.
She’d been in that spot almost continuously for the last two days. Through the first day of doctors, tests and talks that outlined everything from the labral tear in his hip joint to the impact to his skating and career. The parade of people through his room had included multiple doctors, the Glaciers’ owner and GM along with Coach O, the team’s development coach, his agent Jeff and a few teammates. He’d relied on her direct approach and sharp questions before deciding to have the arthroscopic surgery to repair the torn tissue in his hip joint yesterday.
And she was still there.
Holding his hand. Deciphering medical jargon, hashing out the pros and cons of his options, refusing to go home. She’d been his stabilizer when his world seemed to be skidding sideways.
He sucked in a breath and willed back the swell of emotions that constricted his throat. Damn drugs.
He shifted on the bed, adjusted his shoulders and tried to find a more comfortable position. The numbing from the Novocain they’d injected in his hip had worn off overnight, amplifying the throb and ache that burned through his groin. It was a reminder of how much work he had ahead of him. In some aspects though, his back hurt more from lying in one position for too long than his hip did. That had to be a good sign.
He rolled to his left side, his grimace squeezing his eyes and jaw tight. He held in the grunt that wanted to spring free and finally relaxed with a long exhale. He opened his eyes to find Samantha staring back at him. The deep blue of her eyes held him captivated, reminding him once again of the big open skies from his childhood.
“Hi.”
Her soft greeting and hesitant smile whispered over him to ease some of the stiffness that clung to his muscles. The dim sounds of the hospital were muted through the closed door, and he longed for the quiet of his own home. “Hi back.”
“How do you feel?”
She hadn’t moved from her curled position, which left her too far away for him to touch. He held out his palm. “Come here.”
Her movements were slow as she uncurled, feet dropping to the floor before she leaned forward to clasp his hand. The warmth flowed up his arm and encircled his heart. A tug had her standing. He reeled her in until he could trace the line of her jaw in slow passes of his thumb that matched the feelings growing within him.
She’d stuck by him because she’d wanted to. After weeks of dodging and avoiding any type of a relationship with him, she’d been here when he’d needed her. Her presence had chased away the painful memories of his dad’s hospital stay whenever they’d tried to creep in.
“You could’ve gone home last night.” He’d told her to, but her stubbornness had won out.
She brushed his bangs from his forehead with a stroke that spoke of familiarity. “I was worried about you.”
He huffed out a soft laugh. “So was I.”
Her smile was gentle like her fingers that trailed down his jaw. “How’s the pain?”
“Manageable.” He urged her down and pressed a kiss to her lips. One long touch that weaved into every fiber of his body. He let her ease back, swallowing away the desire to yank her into bed next to him. He settled for shifting back to make room for her to perch on the side of the mattress.
“You ready to go home today?”
“God, yes.” He’d wanted to go home yesterday.
A knock on the door boomed through the room, and he turned to see Doc poking his head in. “You’re awake. Good.” He smiled as he came in, white doctor’s coat showing a collared shirt and navy tie beneath, tablet tucked under his arm. “Morning, Sam.”
“Morning, Doc.” She stood as the doctor came up on the other side of the bed.
“How’s our patient doing today?”
She didn’t even glance at Dylan. “Fine, I think. He won’t admit that he’s in pain but I’m sure you’re used to that.” Those two had become besties in the short time he’d been in the hospital.
Dylan snorted. “I can speak for myself.”
Doc lifted his brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “How are you feeling this morning, Dylan?”
They went through the standard dialogue as Doc proceeded to listen, prod and poke at him. He typed some notes on his pad and seemed satisfied with whatever he found. He glanced at Samantha, who’d stepped behind the chair. “Are you taking him home today?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. They hadn’t discussed it, but the determination in her voice said she wasn’t backing down. That made him happier than it probably should.
“Good,” Doc said then looked to Dylan. “I’ll get a printout of the recovery steps to you before you check out. The surgeon will be by later to clear your release.”
He was just starting to think of the next phase. It wasn’t his first injury, but it was his first surgery. And the first one that would keep him off the ice for more than a couple weeks.
Another knock came, and Jeff Anderson breezed into the room, designer black suit matching his styled hair. “Hey, Dylan,” the man boomed. Direct and loud, that was his agent. He glanced at Doc, frowning. “Everything okay? I thought the surgery went well. Our boy’s going to be back on the ice soon, right?”
Doc didn’t bother to answer the man. His once-over glance was brief before he focused back on Dylan. “I’ll see you tomorrow. You have someone who can drive you to the appointment, right?”
“I will,” Samantha said.
“All right.” Doc nodded then left. His frank dismissal of Jeff almost had Dylan feeling bad for the other man.
Jeff didn’t seem fazed. He took over Doc’s spot to study Dylan. “So everything’s on track? Nothing to worry about?”
“Everything’s fine,” Dylan reassured him, dete
rmined to make it true. “How are the talks going?” His contract negotiations were still in the works, and no one had to tell him how badly this injury could fuck them up.
Jeff’s poker face was firmly in place. “We’re on hold until everyone sees how your recovery goes.”
He’d expected that. Understood it completely. It didn’t stop the shiver of dread from dropping into his gut. What if he didn’t heal on schedule? What if something else was wrong? What if…
His frustration spiked every time he thought of how close he’d been to having the whole thing behind him. One more week, and the contract would’ve been signed.
A multi-million, multi-year deal—damn, he wanted that so badly.
“I’ve got a flight this morning.” Jeff glanced at his watch. “But I’ll check in later. Let me know if anything changes. We need you back on the ice ASAP.”
Well, no shit. Dylan’s smile was stiff with the disdain he couldn’t hold back. “I’ll work on that.”
The door swung closed behind Jeff, cutting off the hallway noise to leave a sudden lull in the room. The guy could be a total dick, which he usually didn’t have an issue with. He hadn’t hired Jeff to be his friend and had no expectations that the man cared about him past Dylan’s ability to make him money.
“That man is an ass.”
Dylan’s burst of laughter was rough and sharp before he sucked in a breath at the flash of pain that shot up his side. Damn.
“Sorry,” Samantha said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
He shook his head. “It’s true. He’s a jerk, but he’s good at his job.”
Her soft hum said she wasn’t so sure about that. “I’m going to run home and change.” She folded up the blanket and left it on the chair before she slipped on her boots. “Give me your house key, and I’ll grab you some clothes to wear home.”
“I can wear the things in my bag.”
She tilted her head, her look doubtful. “You really want to wear a suit out of the hospital?”
Right. He hesitated for a second more before he motioned to the closet where a nurse had stuffed his belongings. “They should be in my bag.”