Back in Play

by Lynda Aicher

  “You do that a lot,” she said, nodding toward his knee. “I don’t think you realize it.”

  His gaze landed on his hand. Damn. His derisive snort said it all. Was that one of his tells? “The pills are all within regulation. I follow the protocol prescribed by the doctors. I don’t drink or take anything not approved by the anti-doping agency or team doctors.” His voice had risen with his adamant insistence, and the sudden quiet rushed in to suck the wind from him.

  Who was he trying so hard to convince? He’d repeated that same mantra to Segar days ago, and it hadn’t changed anything.

  She smoothed her free hand over his calf, a touch of comfort he absorbed. “Have you tried a pain clinic?”

  His cringe was instantaneous. “It didn’t help.” The clinic he’d tried had been swarming with soulless eyes and dead expressions. That wasn’t him. And their solutions had focused foremost on getting him off the drugs and secondly on managing his pain—without skating.

  “What did then?”

  The fact that she didn’t drill him on why the pain clinic hadn’t worked had him opening up even more. “A regimen of anti-inflammatories, Vicodin, cortisone injections along with ketorolac or lidocaine shots and topical numbing agents before games.”

  “And now?” She looked down to trace a featherlight line up the scar on the inside of his knee.

  “That was surgery number two and four,” he filled in to avoid her question. He touched the two dots on the outside of his kneecap. “That was number one.” The other dots were closer to the incision scar. “Those are from number three.”

  “Another surgery is out then?”

  “No.” There were still options open before he’d have to resort to a full knee replacement—which would last only twenty years. “But nothing is guaranteed, and none of them will allow me to continue skating.” The many doctors he’d seen had all agreed on one thing: another surgery was pointless if he planned to keep skating competitively.

  She studied him for a moment, then very softly asked, “What about living without pain?”

  Posed with the same sincerity that poured from her expression, he was lost for a response. Pain had been a part of his life for so long, he honestly didn’t remember how it felt to function without it.

  Or the pills.

  He couldn’t meet her gaze, too ashamed of the silent admission. Jesus Christ. He was falling apart in front of the one person he really wanted to impress. Maybe he should dump all of his past evils on her just to ensure he scared her off.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He squeezed his eyes closed, his headache now throbbing across the back of his skull. His fingers bounced out a rapid rhythm on the wooden arm of the lounger. The urge to jump up and pace had his muscles twitching against his restraint. He swallowed, staring at his bobbing hand. “What?”

  “How many pain pills do you take a day?”

  He searched for the judgment in her voice, the ridicule or cynicism, and found none. Wasn’t that just like her? He’d yet to get any of those negative vibes from her. And did he really want to admit the truth to someone who’d probably never been tempted to fall into the path of addiction?

  Fuck. Only an addict would want to hide the truth.

  Which was what he’d been doing for how long?

  His hand started to shake and he quickly fisted and dropped it to his side. He really needed another pill. Two would be better, or three.

  Would this be the admission that had her scrambling to leave? “Somewhere around twenty or more,” he mumbled into the night. He didn’t admit that lately, with the extended playoff season and the pressures that’d been added to his life, it was probably closer to thirty.

  Her hand stilled where she’d been running trails over his thigh. Here it comes. The shock, followed by condemnations.

  After a moment, she restarted a slow circular motion on his leg, and he exhaled. Still unable to meet her eyes, he tuned in to her calm movements. Her even breaths and relaxed muscles.

  “You rub your knee a lot. Always carry a mint tin, but never use it,” she said quietly, catching him unprepared. “And you never offer them to anyone.” He cringed. Fucking mint tin. Her deep breath hissed through the air like a warning. “I also found your bag of pills in your T-shirt drawer.” It was his turn to suck in a breath. “And the other one beneath your towels.”

  What the fuck did she think she was doing, snooping through his drawers?

  His instant anger was cut off by her quick insistence. “I wasn’t snooping.” She plucked at the shirt she was wearing. His shirt from the pill drawer. Of course. It was almost like he’d wanted her to find them. Had he?

  His stomach cramped, heat rushing up his chest to inflame his face. Was that yet another act of cowardice? Leaving the pills where she could find them, thus saving him from having to admit it? Yet she hadn’t allowed him that easy out. He blew out a derisive breath, head shaking. He didn’t know if he should thank or curse her.

  “How long ago was that?” A flatness had fallen into his voice, much like the sensation that washed over his emotions. It was easier to feel nothing than to deal with them. Something the pills were great at doing. His chest twisted with that last admission.

  “Wednesday.”

  Two days ago...when he’d found her sitting white-faced in the bathroom. Shit, if he hadn’t known it was impossible, he might’ve thought she was pregnant, finding her like he had. Thank fuck—or not—that his current dick issues ensured that wasn’t a concern.

  They’d biked along the river that day, seen a movie and had dinner with Rock and Carter. Laughed a ton, had passionate sex and fought over whose turn it was to make breakfast in the morning before another day of being together.

  “And you’re still here. Why?”

  She shifted to straddle him, her movements so quick he had no chance to stop her. He pressed back, stunned and leery. Was this when the accusations came? Along with her dismissal after she shoved his failures in his face? His pulse raced with the fears that continued to dog him.

  Her palms were warm on his jaw when she cupped his face, gently forcing him to meet her gaze. The intensity in her eyes knocked his breath from him again. The moonlight provided a silver glow to her hair, and it didn’t take much to picture her as his own personal angel.

  “Are you listening to me?” The demand was clear, despite the hushed words.

  He managed to nod, holding her waist to ensure she was real.

  “Good.” She shocked him again by pressing a kiss to his lips. A soft, lingering touch that had him doubting his worth. How could he possibly be good enough for her? She leaned back far enough to study him. “I’m here because you’re an amazing man. You’re funny, kind, caring of others. A leader people look up to. A friend people want to have. An uncle and brother who cares. And from what I’ve seen, you’ve carried all that responsibility without complaining.”

  She brushed her fingers along the edge of his hairline before running the tips over his lips. Something broke in him then. It cracked wide open to split his chest in two. The reactionary part of him wanted to rebel, yet he couldn’t regret the freedom that came with letting the front go.

  “You’re dealing with something that’s become bigger than you,” she went on. “And what kind of a person would I be if I ran away because I discovered you’re not perfect?” Her dry chuckle came out hollow. “My girlfriends back home would have a field day with that question. Anyway,” she rushed on before he could comment, “tell me what I can do to help.”

  “Help?” He wasn’t trying to be obtuse, but really, what could she do? “You’re leaving in two days.” The statement came out sounding accusatory, and he immediately regretted it. This was his issue to deal with—all of them. There was no way he’d drag her into the mess.

  Any of it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rachel bit her lip, then straightened her shoulders. It’d be easier to take the open escape route and quietly disappear after t
omorrow. She’d left guys for lesser infractions than drug addiction. She wasn’t deluding herself into thinking she could change him, but she also couldn’t walk away without trying to help.

  She cared too much for him—about him—to do that. Or she would’ve left when she’d found the pills.

  Dealing with a drug addict was rife with disaster. Knowingly dating one was only asking to be dragged through the torture mill.

  But helping a friend who’d entrusted her with his pain and let her into his life was something she had to do.

  Rock had withheld his secret about being gay for almost twenty years. She’d known the entire time but hadn’t pushed him into admitting it. And he’d suffered alone in silence all those years when he shouldn’t have had to.

  She couldn’t stand aside, pretend not to know anymore and let Scott suffer alone. She wouldn’t do that to someone she cared about. Not again.

  “True,” she finally said. “I am leaving. But I think I can help you. If you’re willing to accept it.” She wasn’t shying away from his sarcastic brushoff. Heck, that was nothing compared to the icy man caves the men in her family erected.

  He dropped his head back, rocking it back and forth on the top of the cushion. “This isn’t your worry. I shouldn’t have dumped it on you like I just did. Sorry.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut.

  Her heart ached for him. For the battle he was trying to fight on his own and the struggle that was obviously tearing him apart. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him as tightly as she could. In many ways, she was hanging on too.

  If she was being honest like he was, she couldn’t walk away because she’d already fallen too hard for him. Despite knowing she was leaving. Despite the impossibilities of them lasting long term, her stupid heart had gone and gotten attached anyway.

  “But you did confide in me,” she informed him, resolve set. “And I am involved with you. This isn’t something you can shove away or I can ignore.” She took a deep breath, heart twisting with the firm truth of her next words. “We’re in this together now. Whatever happens next affects both of us, so it’s a joint decision that you don’t get make on your own. Not anymore.”

  His arms came around her, nose nuzzling into her neck. “I still don’t understand how you’re here.” His admission was muffled, but the disbelief was clear.

  “I’m here because I choose to be.” She rubbed her cheek on his hair, absorbing his scent and relishing the feel of him. She’d already been dreading having to leave and it was only worse now. How could she leave him like this? “And thank you for trusting me with your secret.”

  His scoff ruffled over her skin to send a river of tingles down her neck. “I should be thanking you.” She almost denied that but bit her tongue just in time. This wasn’t a contest to be debated.

  She wet her lips and gauged how far she could push. “I’m guessing this is the first time you’ve talked to anyone about it.”

  “Good guess.”

  “And?” She scrambled for all the tips and suggestions she’d learned about discussing drug addiction with an addict. Especially when she didn’t know if he’d fully accepted that he was. He hadn’t said the words yet.

  “How pathetic is it for a grown man to say he’s scared shitless?”

  “Not very,” she answered honestly. “It takes more courage to admit the truth than to hide behind a lie.”

  He snorted, a dejected sound. “I’d just told myself that when you came outside.”

  “See? I knew you were a smart man.”

  A shiver shook him to rattle her too. It had to be over ninety degrees with equal humidity. There was no way he could be cold.

  “Does your head hurt?” She’d caught his shaking hand before he’d hidden it earlier. And the tapping fingers. Plus his heart had been racing beneath her ear when she’d first snuggled into his chest.

  Even without his answer, she was pretty certain he needed more of the drug—Vicodin. She’d looked up the pill information when she’d gotten back to Rock’s. A commonly prescribed painkiller that was also very addictive. At over twenty pills a day, if he’d cut back even slightly, it was likely his body was beginning withdrawals, something she’d unfortunately witnessed with more than one of her former students.

  She sat up and barely resisted the urge to place her palm across his forehead to check his temperature. He wasn’t a two-year-old.

  “Would you consider going to a private rehab center?” She didn’t bother to mince the words or cage the question. Either he was ready or he wasn’t. It had to be his choice. She knew that much.

  His head dropped forward. “And then what?”

  “The one I know of also has an excellent pain management specialist on staff. He works one-on-one with patients to find ways of managing their pain without the addictive drugs.”

  “I don’t know if that’s even possible for me.”

  “Would it hurt to try? If nothing else, you’ll know.”

  “I can’t risk it getting out. The media would have a field day and it...” His face scrunched into a tight grimace before he exhaled. “It could ruin my image and name.”

  Ironically, that was something she understood. Her image was everything as a teacher. Any hint of misconduct or scandalous behavior would be the end of her job. And hers wasn’t in the spotlight like his.

  “Can I make some calls tomorrow?” she pushed, just a bit. “If I can promise you complete anonymity, will you consider it?” Her pulse took flight as she waited for his response. Her stakes in this were much lower, but her investment in him and them was already too high for her to fold.

  Another shiver raked his body before he could answer. His skin had gone pasty in the last few minutes and sweat beaded across his forehead, the little drops glistening in the moonlight. She vaulted off his lap the second he pushed on her hips.

  He launched out of the lounger, stumbled forward a few steps then braced his hands on his knees, sucking in big gusts of air through his nose.

  She was shaking now, hands trembling with the need to help. His body craved the drug he’d become addicted to, and that was the only thing that would help him now. With second and third thoughts, she rushed inside and raced up the stairs to the stash of pills she’d found. Part of her couldn’t believe she was feeding his habit, but there were better ways for him to deal with withdrawal than to endure these symptoms unsupervised.

  He was braced in the open French doors when she came back downstairs, and she quickly detoured to the kitchen for a glass of water.

  “No need,” he grunted. “Just bring them here.”

  He didn’t meet her eyes when she handed the baggie of pills over. A bag that held noticeably fewer pills than when she’d first found it. Two were in his mouth, his throat hitching in one big swallow a second later.

  Her stomach twisted with worry and an overriding sense of helplessness as he slid down the doorjamb to land in a heap on the floor. He tipped his head between his bent knees, hands clasping behind his neck. His rhythmic rock started almost immediately, a little bounce that screamed his pain.

  She was on her knees, arms wrapped around him an instant later. “It’s okay,” she soothed and prayed it would be true. “I’m here.” For now. Dang it. Why did she have to live so far away? Her throat swelled with all the words she wanted to voice but held back.

  Instead she simply held on. Caressed his back. Kissed his temple. Tried to be what he needed when she had no idea what it was he needed.

  The cooler air from the air conditioner inside collided with the muggy heat from outdoors to create an odd vortex of flexing temperature around them. Goose bumps rose on her back while sweat collected beneath her arms where they rested across his shoulders. She didn’t care though. Barely noticed, as everything was focused on Scott.

  Eventually his movement slowed then stopped. She had no idea how long it’d been—ten minutes, twenty, more? It didn’t matter. She’d sit there with him all night if he wante
d her to.

  “I need help.” His voice cracked on the last word, a raspy, strangled, choking sound following.

  “I can do that,” she rushed to say. She ran her fingers through his damp hair in another attempt to comfort. “I can be on the phone first thing in the morning. Just give me the go.”

  She wanted so badly to just push him into rehab. Didn’t he see how much this was killing him? But it had to be his choice. And what would she do if he refused? Could she really walk away and never look back?

  He released the white-knuckled grip of his hands from behind his neck and lifted his head in slow increments. His face was haggard and drawn when he finally looked at her. Color had returned to his cheeks though, which offered her a bit of relief.

  His hands were clammy when they found hers, lips dry when he pressed a kiss to her fingers. Her heart leaped in a stupid attempt to get to him. To give him the love and support he so desperately wanted but wouldn’t ask for. Stubborn, proud man.

  He kept his hold on her hands when he lowered them to his knees. There was a shine in his eyes that glared off the pale moonlight when he held her gaze. “Call.”

  The whispered word was almost too faint to hear, but she caught it. Her heart leaped again, this time in joy and determination. Yes! She held her relief to a tight squeeze of his hand though and kept her voice moderated.

  “All right. We’ll do this together.” It was a vow she intended to keep. Regardless of what happened between them romantically, she promised to be there for him as long as he needed her to be.

  And then hopefully longer.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Are you sure you’re okay with us dropping you off?” Rock asked as he opened the back of his truck. “It’s no problem to walk you in.”

  A car horn blasted next to them and echoed beneath the covered airport drop-off area to drown out Rachel’s response. She took a shaking inhale and gagged on the concentrated clog of exhaust fumes and gas.

  “I’m good,” she rushed in to say once Rock could hear her again. “There’s no point in you guys coming in.” Her stomach had been in knots since she’d awoken that morning, and a prolonged departure would only make it worse.