Page 87 of Playing the Field
Brain damage.
My first thought when I heard that was regret over our last conversation. I didn’t want it to be the end for us. I still thought maybe we’d have a chance down the road of learning from what went wrong, but if Hunter’s injuries are severe…
I’ve tried so hard to stay in the present and keep myself from spiraling into worry and fear. I know who he is. He’s the kind of man who reserved an entire team box so I could watch the game without having to make idle conversation. I want to be with that man. I want to make sure he knows it.
“So there’s no brain damage,” I confirm.
“No evidence of that. Like I said, we’ll take another MRI tomorrow before we release him and monitor him for severalweeks. But your guy has a hard head. A few skull fractures, but nothing that won’t heal.”
A chill runs down my spine at the mention of skull fractures, and not the blissful kind of chill I loved when Hunter touched my skin. I shake it off and tell myself to buck up and prepare to see the man I love with raccoon eyes and machines hooked up to him.
The fact that he asked to see me makes me brave.
The doctor shows me into the room, which has a curtain drawn around the bed for privacy. I hear the door close behind her when she leaves. Inside the curtain, I find Hunter sitting up, head reclined against a pillow. He’s hooked up to monitors emitting a steady chorus of beeps and squawks, and there’s an IV taped to his forearm. But other than the dark circles around his eyes, he looks pretty much like himself.
His features lighten and relax when he sees me, but only for a moment. Then the creases in his forehead dig in, and he frowns. “What’s the matter?”
I shake my head, unable to form words or explain the tears that have sprung free from the corner of my eyes. So many emotions rushing forth. How much I miss him. How sorry I am for letting him walk away without fighting harder. How much I love him.
Moving to his bedside, I open my arms to hug him, and he does the same, pulling me against his chest and burying his lips in my hair.
I push back, aware he’s bruised and battered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then don’t leave.” His voice is a sexy command. “Ever.”
My senses flood with dopamine, and for once, I let it happen without thinking about the physical processes are happening in my body. I let them happen and revel in this feeling that I’ve missed over the past few weeks.
“I missed you.” I know he may not be ready to hear how I feelabout him, but I’m not willing to take any chances in case he lapses into unconsciousness again. “And I—I haven’t stopped loving you.”
He closes his eyes, and for a moment I worry that he’s zoning in and out, not really awake. When his eyes open, they’re watery. “I love you so fucking much, Gracie. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you always know that.” His voice is gravelly and gruff from disuse.
Hunter tries to sit up, but from the way he winces, moving seems to hurt his head.
“Don’t,” I instruct, leaning closer so he doesn’t have to move. “Or let me help you.”
He nods and I grab an extra pillow, folding it in half to bulk it up. Hunter takes my hand, and I pull him forward enough to stuff the pillow behind him. It props him upright enough that we’re sitting face-to-face.
“Thank you.” His voice sounds strained and weak. I’m about to tell him not to talk, but he beats me to it and begins talking. “I fucked everything up so badly by walking away from you, and—” He starts to cough, and I grab the cup from a tray next to the bed and hold the straw up to his lips.
“We don’t need to have this conversation right now. I’m so relieved you’re okay. That’s enough.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not enough. There’s so much I want to tell you—” He coughs again, his throat probably dry from the hospital air. After another sip of water, he nods. “I guess it can wait until I can form a full sentence without choking to death.” He tries to laugh, but it comes out like another cough. “But know this—I love the fuck out of you, Gracie Albright, and I’m not letting you go.”
CHAPTER 45
Gracie
Two DaysLater
“Hunter Reyesand I are dating. I’m aware it’s unprofessional, and I promise that it has in no way affected my objectivity or ability to do my job, but I want to be aboveboard and give you all the information so you can make your decision.”
I’ve barely made it past the threshold of Gerald’s office, but nerves are balled up like a tangle of electrical wires. I can’t bear to make small talk or, worse, pretend I’m here to give him a player assessment. Not until I unburden myself with the speech that kept me up all night rehearsing it in my head. Side note—what I said to him bears no resemblance to what I planned to say.
I’m dressed in my usual black pants and low heels, and I have a Devils scarf wrapped around the neck of my red sweater toshow team spirit. I’m hoping that will demonstrate my devotion to the team, despite my obvious lapse in professional judgment.
Leaning back with his hands flat on the desk, Gerald observes me as I shift from foot to foot. Lifting a finger, he beckons me closer.
I take a step forward, inching away from the comfort of the doorway, which makes for an easy escape if I need to run away in shame.
