"I'm gonna be fine."
She nods, but she's crying, too, relief mixed with the fear now. "Mom and Dad'll be here in the morning. They're pretty shaken up."
His brow furrows and then smooths. "They know I'm okay?"
"They know you're conscious," she replies, probably because okay is subjective. Alex is breathing and conscious, but that doesn't mean he's honestly okay.
After another minute, it becomes clear that talking is taking all of Alex's energy. His blinks grow longer as he fights to keep his eyes from staying closed.
Sunny says she'll go get Darren. No one makes me leave. Instead they rotate through in pairs, ignoring the two-people rule while I sit on the bed beside Alex, holding his hand in both of mine. Each time a new person comes in; curiosity and confusion dominate his expression. But he always smiles even though it seems to take him a minute to remember who he's talking to-except for Darren and Lily. He recognizes them both almost immediately. After ten minutes, the doctor comes in to tell us Alex needs to rest.
I don't want to go anywhere, but it sounds like I'm not being given much of a choice. I'm slow to stand.
Alex grips my hand tightly. "No."
I run my fingers through his hair. It's greasy, but I don't care. He's lucid and seems to have all of his faculties. For now. We've been warned that the confusion and memory loss can persist and recur. "You need to rest."
"I'll sleep better if you're here. They'll bring in a cot for you."
I look to the doctor, who doesn't seem to think this is a good idea, based on his pinched expression.
"She's my wife. She stays."
My head whips around. Or maybe he doesn't have all his faculties. I'm glad the doctor can't see my face, because I'm sure it's all about the shock. Alex isn't looking at me; he's glaring at the doctor as if he's challenging him to say no to the demand, because it certainly wasn't a request.
"Either my wife stays with me, or I go home."
"I won't sign your release papers."
Alex's smile is tight, and tired. "Then I guess she's staying."
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.
7
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."