Page 76 of The Love Comeback
I peer over at him. “For what?”
He shakes his head, mouth twisting. “For never taking you seriously about her. For treating it like some high school phase you were supposed to grow out of.” He drops his voice, “I should’ve known better. I’m sorry.”
I can see the genuine remorse in Nate’s eyes, and a weight lifts off my chest at his admission. It’s like a validation of the emotions I’ve been grappling with for a decade.
“It’s okay.” I offer a small smile as I shift on the uncomfortable hospital bed, trying to get my pounding head under control. “I forgive you.”
Nate gives a small nod, his eyes flickering with relief. “You love her, Kade. It’s written all over you.”
“I do,” I admit softly. “I’ve never stopped.”
The words hang in the air between us.
“Well I hope it all works out for you two,” Nate finally says. “You deserve it.”
“Thanks, man.” I smile at him. He looks exhausted, his usually impeccable appearance rumpled from hours of waiting.
“You should go home,” I tell him. “Get some sleep. I’ll be fine.”
He shakes his head. “Mallory is bringing me a change of clothes in the morning. I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”
The stubborn set of his jaw reminds me so much of our father that I almost laugh, but even the thought of laughing makes my head throb harder. “Thanks,” I say instead.
“Besides,” he adds, a hint of his usual dry humor returning, “someone has to be here to make sure you don’t do anything stupid, like try to check yourself out and go to practice tomorrow.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I murmur, though the thought of leaving had crossed my mind. Not for practice, but to see Ella. To ask her if she really said those words.
I settle back against the pillows, letting my eyes close again. The pain medication they’ve given me is starting to take effect, dulling the sharp edges of the headache to a more manageable throb. I should try to sleep. To heal.
And that’s exactly what I do.
When I wake up again, hours later, the room is empty. Nate is gone, probably to get coffee or talk to the doctor. My headstill hurts, but the fog has lifted somewhat. The disorientation is less intense.
That’s when my phone rings on the bedside table.
I hope it’s Ella.
I reach for it, wincing as the movement sends another jolt of pain through my skull. I can barely make out the word “Mom” on the caller ID through my blurry vision. I’m not sure I have the energy for this conversation right now.
But I know she must be worried sick. The game was televised; they would’ve seen me go down.
I answer, pressing the phone gently to my ear. “Hey.”
“Kade!” My mom’s voice comes through, high with panic. “Oh my gosh, it’s such a relief to hear your voice. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay, Mom,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the splitting headache. “Just a concussion. No bleeding or fractures.”
“Thank goodness,” she breathes. “Your father has been beside himself with worry. We tried to get the cruise line to let us off the ship, but—”
“There’s no need for that,” I assure her. “I’ll be fine.”
“Let me talk to him,” I hear Dad say in the background, followed by the rustle of the phone changing hands.
“Son.” His deep voice fills my ear. “What’s the prognosis? How long will you be out?”
No “how are you feeling?” or “are you in pain?” He just goes straight into how it affects hockey.Some things never change.
“The doctor says it could be weeks,” I reply, bracing myself for his reaction.
