Delay of Game (The Baltimore Banners Book 6) (14 page)

He was tired. So fucking tired. Which made no sense. He'd been out of it for…he wasn't sure how long. Long enough that he shouldn't be tired. But all he wanted to do was sleep.

No, first he wanted something for his arm, something to make the pain go away. Or at least reduce it to something a little more bearable. Then he wanted to sleep.

The talking and laughter died down, followed by some throat clearing and foot shuffling. Someone's rubber soles squeaked against the floor, followed by a solid thump and low grunt, then another rough throat clearing.

"Justin, dude. Wake up."

"Christ, Mat. Stop with the fucking 'dude' all the time. I thought—" Someone yanked on Justin's foot, twisting his toe under the thin blanket. He kicked out with his foot, jarring his arm in the process. "Fucking shit, you fucking asshole—"

Justin opened his eyes, ready to tear into whoever had twisted his toe, then promptly snapped his mouth shut. All four of his teammates were suddenly glancing down at the floor, shifting their weight, looking more like guilty kids than brawny hockey players as the doctor hovered just inside the doorway, watching them.

"Gentlemen."

Justin understood their sudden discomfort. The doctor looked like he was maybe all of eighteen years old. Short, maybe five-feet-six, if that, with a slight build. Intense dark eyes looked out at them from a light brown face, a ghost of a smile hovering on thin lips.

No, he wasn't a kid. The liberal sprinkling of gray in his dark hair and beard said that much. But the intensity of those dark eyes looking out from what appeared to be such a young face was a little disconcerting at first.

The doctor ignored the shocked looks of his teammates and stepped into the room, all business as he moved around the bed and gently lifted Justin's arm. Justin tried not to wince, tried to control his breathing as pain shot through the limb again. The doctor looked up at him, his face carefully blank, then went back to studying the arm. He reached into the edge of the soft cast and checked Justin's pulse, pinched his fingers, had Justin wiggle them.

"Does that hurt?"

Justin wanted to tell him that fuck yes, it hurt. But not with his teammates standing at the foot of the bed, watching him. So he clenched his jaw and tried for a nonchalant shrug. "Maybe. A little."

"You are so full of it, Tome. You look like you're ready to pass out." Of course Mat would be the one to say that. If Justin could, he'd jump out of bed and slug him, just on principle.

The doctor gently placed Justin's arm by his side and gave it a gentle pat, wisely ignoring Mat and the other guys. "Surgery went well, and all the bones are now together and happy. I'll have one of the nurses give you something more for the pain while we work on getting you discharged."

He patted his arm once more then grabbed a clipboard and started making notes, the tip of the pen scratching against the paper. "I have some motion exercises I want you to do, as tolerated. Ice. And I want to see you in a week. We'll see how the swelling does, give you a different cast then."

The doctor finished with his notes and replaced the clipboard. Then he looked at Justin with those too-intense dark eyes. "You can probably start therapy in six weeks."

Six weeks, just to start therapy? That meant the end of June. Training camp started in September, which didn't give him a whole hell of a lot of time.

"What about—" Justin paused and cleared his throat, almost afraid of asking the question. He glanced around, saw the same question on his friends' faces, the same hesitation. Justin cleared his throat again and looked back at the doctor. "How long before it's back to normal?"

"You mean before you're back to playing? That's going to be up to the team physician. It could be anywhere from three to six months."

Justin knew the doctor was still talking. The man's mouth was moving, sounds were coming out. But he couldn't make sense of any of them, not when all he heard was two words, repeating over and over.

Six months. Six months. Six months.

Justin closed his eyes, unable to look at the doctor, unable to look at his teammates. He didn't want to see their pity, didn't want to see his own horror reflected on their faces.

Six months.

Justin squeezed his eyes shut and forced his throat to work. Deep breaths, in and out, forcing himself to breathe normally.

Forcing himself to pretend that his world hadn't just crashed around him.

Val pulled into the closest open space, hitting the brakes just a little too hard before putting the car in Park. She heard Justin's swift intake of breath, more like a hiss of air through clenched teeth, and she winced.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. I'm good."

He didn't look good. He looked like he was ready to pass out, with his pale face and the sheen of sweat covering his brow, dampening the edges of his hair. She opened her mouth to apologize again, then snapped it shut and climbed out of the car, moving around to the passenger side. But Justin was quicker and already had the door opened, was grabbing the edge of it with his right hand and trying to stand. She hurried over to him and wrapped her arm around his waist, helping him.

"Val, it's a broken arm. I'll survive." The words were nothing more than empty bravado because he looped his right arm around her shoulders, accepting her help. She slammed the door shut then remembered his bag, the oversized white plastic one from the hospital. Never mind, she could get it later. It wasn't like there was anything in there that he needed right now. Or anything he was likely to wear again, considering he'd gone straight to the hospital from the game.

How long ago had that been? The game had been Tuesday night, he'd had surgery yesterday. Two days. It seemed so much longer, like a lifetime had gone by in the last forty-eight hours. She could only imagine what it felt like for Justin.

She led him up the walk and into her building, across the lobby to the elevator. Justin leaned more heavily against her, his breathing harsh, his face a little paler.

"Why do I have this weird feeling we've done this before?" Even his voice was ragged, drained and tense. Lines of pain creased his face even though he was doing his best to hide it.

"I don't know why you didn't let them give you that last dose of medicine."

"And I don't know why you didn't just take me to my place." He tried to smile. At least, she thought he did. It came out as more of a grimace. He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead then pulled back, watching her with a frown.

"Yeah, definitely creepy déjà vu. I'd swear—"

"Look, elevator's here. Let's go." She tightened her arm around him and stepped into the elevator, thankful for the interruption. Justin didn't have déjà vu. No, what he had was a glimpse of memory from that night she'd brought him back here, after he'd had too much to drink. She didn't want him to remember, at least, not more than what she'd told him. Because how embarrassing would that be, for him to remember she'd actually made out with him, right here in the lobby, in the elevator?

Even though he'd been so drunk he could barely stand. Yes, it was embarrassing. For her. It didn't matter that they were dating now. They hadn't been then. She still wasn't sure what she'd been thinking, what possessed her to be so…so…she didn't know what.

So yeah, she didn't want him to remember. Which only proved that sometimes she really was as silly as Randy accused her of being.

They made it to her apartment, Justin leaning against the wall as she thumbed through the keys in her hand. Then they were inside, Justin leaning even more heavily against her as they moved to the bedroom.

"You should have just taken me home. I don't expect you to take care of me."

"I'm not. I'm just going to keep an eye on you. Doctor's orders."

"Bullshit. That's not what he said."

"Close enough. Come on, into bed." She grabbed the comforter and sheets with one hand, pulling them back as she tried to balance Justin's weight. He sighed, a heavy sound full of tired impatience, then lowered himself to the edge of the mattress.

"I need a shower."

"You need to lie down for a little bit."

"Val, I'm disgusting. All I've had since the game was a sponge bath." He tried to stand, wincing when he jarred his arm. "Just let me clean-up—"

Val put her hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "Later. First you need to take some medicine and lie down." She helped him take off his shoes, then eased him back on the bed and pulled the covers over him.

"You should have just taken me home." Justin repeated the words, probably for the tenth time. Val didn't bother replying, knowing whatever she said wouldn't reassure him, no matter how many times she said it. Especially now, with Justin's eyes closing, with his face creased even more in pain. She grabbed one of the extra pillows and eased it under his arm, then hurried out to the living room. Justin's prescription was in her purse, so she pulled it out and read the directions. One to two pills every four hours as needed.

So should she give him one? Or two? She hesitated, then finally shook out two before going into the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water.

She went back to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed at Justin's side. Yeah, if she had been smart, she would have gotten his medicine first. Now he had to move again. "Do you need help sitting up at all?"

"Hm?" His eyes fluttered open, his gaze unfocused at first. He blinked, blinked again, let out a heavy sigh. "No. I'm good."

He took the pills from her and tossed them in his mouth, then accepted the water. She watched as he drank, the muscles in his strong throat working with each swallow. Why had she never noticed how sexy a man's throat could be?

And oh God, why was she even thinking like that right now? It had to be the stress of the past forty-eight hours, the lack of sleep and worry. She hadn't wanted to admit it before, but she had been worried. From the time she'd seen Justin get slammed into the boards, saw the extent of his injury, found out they were going to operate. Everything had happened so fast, too fast.

She took a deep breath, calming her racing heart and fighting the sudden urge to just collapse. To just crawl into bed next to Justin and sleep for the next twenty-four hours straight. But she couldn't, not yet.

She took the bottle from his hand, capped it, then placed it on the nightstand where he could reach it. She needed to let Justin sleep, let the medicine go to work. Then she needed to wait for Mat to show up with some things from Justin's place. Fix dinner, since they both needed to eat. Something light, not too heavy. Then she—

"Hey." Justin reached across and grabbed her hand, pulling her from the growing list in her mind. She looked over at him, absently chewed on her bottom lip when she couldn't read the expression on his face. "You okay?"

"Me?" She almost laughed. Justin was the one lying there, his left arm shattered, held together with pins and plates. And he was worried about her? Yes, she almost laughed. Except suddenly her eyes were burning and she had to blink back the unexpected moisture filling them. She looked away and ran a hand across her eyes, hoping Justin didn't notice. Only she wasn't fast enough because he tugged on her hand and tried to push up on his elbow, all at the same time.

"Valerie, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." She forced herself to take a deep breath, to blink away the ridiculous tears, not sure why they were there to begin with.

"It doesn't look like nothing. Hey, come here." He pulled her, not easing up until she was laying half on top of him, her head half on his chest and half on the pillow propping up his arm. She tried to sit back up, tried not to lean on him, but he was running his good hand through her hair, stroking the back of her head down to her shoulder. Over and over, slow and steady. "Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

She finally relaxed against him, careful not to touch his arm. His heart beat under her ear, steady and strong. Reassuring. She took another deep breath and shook her head. "Nothing's wrong. Honest. I'm just…I guess I'm just tired."

"You could always climb into bed with me, snuggle until I fall asleep." She lifted her head and looked at him, surprised at the boyish smile on his face. "That should be in about two minutes."

"I can't. Not yet."

"I knew I should have taken a shower."

Val laughed, the sound surprising her. But she didn't care because it pushed away the irrational emotion that had seized her moments ago. "You don't stink. I need to wait for Mat, then fix dinner. And—"

"Val, you've done enough. You need to rest, too." His gaze slid away from hers, his eyes unfocused as he blinked, then slid back to hers. She could tell he was trying to keep his eyes open, trying to fight the effects of the medicine.

"I will." Val leaned up then moved forward, just close enough that she could press a light kiss against the corner of his mouth. "Get some rest, Justin. Don't fight it."

"Mm. Not yet." He tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer as he turned his head, his mouth capturing hers with a quickness that surprised her. The kiss was deep, gentle, comforting. And still enough to send heat spiraling within her.

Then Justin pulled away, his head falling back against the pillow, his eyes closed. He murmured something, the words soft and slurred, as his good arm slipped from around her shoulders. Val stayed there for a few more minutes, just watching him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against hers, the steady beating of his heart under her palm. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the hollow of his throat, then stood and walked away, pulling the door closed behind her. Not all the way—she wanted to hear him if he called out, if he needed anything.

Then she walked down the hall to the spare bathroom, flipped on the light, and stared into the mirror.

What the hell was wrong with her? The woman looking back at her was too pale, her complexion even paler against the black of her hair. And her eyes. Too wide, rimmed in red. She looked like a caricature of Morticia Addams, minus the boobs and sex appeal.

"Oh for crying out loud." Val shook her head then turned on the faucet. She leaned forward and splashed cold water on her face, over and over until her skin felt frigid. She patted her face dry then opened the medicine cabinet, searching for some eye cream. Most of her cosmetics and supplies were in the master bathroom, but she usually kept extras in here, just in case Alyssa or Jodi or another girlfriend slept over. Which was a good thing, since she needed the help right now.

She smeared some of the cream under her eyes, sighing at the cool sensation, then capped the lid and walked out. It was only a little after four in the afternoon, but it felt so much later. Should she fix something to eat now, or wait? Probably wait. Justin just took the medicine, he'd probably be out for a few hours at least. Okay, so dinner could wait. What else should she do? A shower, definitely. A nice long hot one. But not yet. She had to wait for Mat but she had no idea when he'd get here. Was he already on the way? Or was he going to stop by later? Why hadn't she thought to ask him?

Val stood in the middle of the living room, suddenly feeling lost. She wasn't usually home at this time of day. Honestly, she wasn't usually home for any length of time, period. She had the restaurant to run so that's where she spent most of her time. Home was mostly just a place to sleep now. She didn't have free time, so she had no idea what to do.

On top of that, she was trying to deal with what happened to Justin, trying to make sense of what she was feeling and the emotional roller coaster of the last two days. And that was just it: it didn't make sense, none at all. He hadn't been near-death. It wasn't a serious accident. Well, maybe serious, considering he'd be sidelined from playing for a while. Maybe a long while. But it still wasn't life threatening, so she couldn't understand why she felt this way, so shaken and out of sorts.

Val moved to the sofa and sat down, curling her legs under her before hugging one of the throw pillows to her chest. The reason for the emotional upheaval was right there, hovering just out of range. And she knew that if she looked hard enough, she'd find it.

But she didn't want to, was afraid of what she'd discover if she did. Oh, who was she kidding? Part of her already knew the reason, she just didn't want to admit it. Not to herself, not to anyone.

Val had no idea how long she sat there like that, staring off into space. Long enough that her legs were beginning to fall asleep. And long enough that the sound of the doorbell startled her, making her jump and sending her pulse soaring in surprise.

Val tossed the pillow to the side, calling herself an idiot for being so surprised, for acting so startled. There was no reason for her to jump, not when she knew Mat was coming over. And sure enough, there he stood, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, looking only a little uncomfortable as he stood in the hallway.

Val stepped back, motioning for him to come in. She almost laughed when he glanced over his shoulder, hesitating, like he was worried someone would see him.

"How's he doing?"

"I guess okay. He's sleeping right now."

Mat dropped the bag next to the sofa then turned and watched her, his green eyes shadowed, curious. "How are you doing?"

The question caught her off-guard. Why would he be worried about her? Unless she looked worse than she thought. Val shrugged and ran a hand through her hair, giving him a small smile.

"Fine. Why?"

"Just checking." Mat shoved his hands into the pockets of his frayed jeans and looked around. She got the impression that he didn't miss anything, that he was looking deeper than the surface, seeing things nobody else did. It was a weird feeling, one that didn't make any sense. It was just her apartment, nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary to see.