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.7Pain in the BrainALEXEverything 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.”