Page 71 of Hot Damn
“Come on. Let’s get you that toast so we can get a few more hours of sleep before the day begins.”
“Don’t you need to get to training?” I ask as he helps me up and out of bed.
“No.”
I was right. I’m stiff as hell and it hurts like a bitch. Biting the inside of my cheek I try to keep my whimpers to a minimum.
“And Chase and Natalie are taking care of Whitney for me.” Beckett slips an arm around my waist lightly and urges me toward the door. “I can carry you again if this is too much.”
I guess the tension in my body and the groans I’m unsuccessful at hiding are what prompts his offer. Except I’m determined to make it on my own. At least down to the kitchen. Getting back up here might be a different story.
“I’m good. Need to get things circulating.”
“Hmm…” The sound isn’t agreement and I don’t want to think about it being censure. Whatever it is, he doesn’t comment further and even moderates his steps to match my slower ones.
I feel like an invalid. And I suppose I am at the moment. I’ve never been the best patient. Comes from my foundation years being devoid of care, of my tears and hurts going ignored unless I required a trip to the doctor or hospital.
It takes a good ten minutes, but I’m finally loweringmyself onto a stool at Beckett’s kitchen island. I’m exhausted from the effort it took to get here without crying. I might still cry.
“Take a deep breath, Cam. You’re breathing too fast.” Beckett’s hand rests between my shoulder blades. “Suck in nice and slow and let it out the same way. Take your time.”
“The pain meds haven’t kicked in yet,” is my excuse.
“No, probably not. And if you weren’t so stubborn I could have carried you down here and saved you the pain.”
“I prefer determined,” I mutter as I lower my forehead to rest on the counter.
“Don’t go to sleep there.”
“No chance of that. Every inch of me aches with the stabs of a thousand needles.”
“That’s kind of graphic.”
“But true.” I groan, rocking my head on the hard surface while I try to work through the discomfort walking down here produced.
“Maybe another hot bath would help? You can sleep later.”
“I have to go home.”
“No, you don’t. We’ve got over twenty-four hours before we leave for Miami and the season opener. You can rest here until you need to pack.”
“How do you know I’m going?” I haven’t lifted my head so my words are a little muffled by my hair and the counter.
“Everyone is going.”
He’s right. Anyone who wants to attend has a free flight and seat for the game. And those that don’t have seats in the arena have them in the team hotel because Nat has booked out the whole place.
Every room, every suite, even the function rooms which are where she’s having big screens and buffets of food set up.
And after the game, win or lose, the players will return to the hotel to spend time with those who made the trip.
It’s crazy to go to this extent but I get why. To build a teamfrom scratch and have it be a winning one, you need to reward every single person who has a hand in making it happen.
“One or two pieces?”
Tipping up my head, I rest my chin where my brow was and ponder the question, try to gauge how hungry I am. If I ask for one and I’m still hungry, that will be more work for Beckett and keep us out of bed longer. If I say two and can’t eat them…
“It can’t be that hard a decision,” he says with a smirk.
