“He’s not too young for you,” I chide, this not being the first time I’ve heard her ‘woe is me trying to date as a single mom’ story. “You’re a totally marketable hot chick who needs to get yourself out there. But sadly, this hockey player is off the market.”
“Bummer,” she drawls, and I don’t tell her that Dax is off the market because he’s married to me. That would be way too crazy. It’s just… why bother when they live on opposite sides of the country?
“But seriously,” she continues, ignoring my jab that she’s selling herself short. “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing well. Haven’t had any major symptoms—”
“No,” she butts in impatiently. “How are you doing emotionally? Not physically.”
I can’t help but snort. “Aren’t you supposed to be worried about my physical health?”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
I sigh as I stare out the kitchen window. “I feel sad and alone. I thought coming to Phoenix and being around Dax would help, but I don’t know…”
My words trail off. It’s not lost on me that a lot of my turmoil right now has to do with the fact I had a beautiful, intimate experience with Dax last night, yet he wants no part in a continuation. That’s pretty much where my loneliness is stemming from.
Pure rejection.
Mary launches into a thousand comforting words about grief and healing. I listen because I know they’ll be beneficial to me. When she winds down, she lets me know Dr. Marino has signed all the necessary paperwork for my new insurance company to approve the Salvistis.
“Now just so you know, it doesn’t mean they’re going to approve it just because Dr. Marino has signed all the paperwork.”
“I know. I expect most insurance companies are going to balk at paying that kind of money for a drug.”
“If they deny it, Dr. Marino is ready to step in on the appeal process. Just know it could take a little bit of time. So we need you to keep careful watch on yourself, Regan. You know the signs and symptoms to look for, so get your butt to a hospital if you suspect you need a transfusion.”
With a resigned sigh, I say, “I understand. And I’ll be careful. I promise.”
I hate being back in this situation. Over the past year, I’ve become so reliant on the Salvistis that I had forgotten the day-to-day terror of knowing I could be one thrown blood clot away from dying. If I don’t get my treatment next week as planned, I’m going to be right back in that same situation.CHAPTER 11Dax“What the fuck, dude?” Bishop says as I miss the rack and almost drop three hundred and fifteen pounds onto my chest. Bishop grabs the bar and helps me get it over the lip, then I roll off the bench. “Where’s your head at?”
I shake it, feeling it attached at the neck, but I sure as shit wasn’t concentrating the way I should while pressing that load.
“I’m good,” I mutter.
“Worried about Tacker?” he asks as he takes my spot on the bench. We’re both doing the same weight, working a load of five by five.
I move in behind him. Although it’s not where my thoughts were just now—as they were on Regan—I admit, “Yeah. But I think if anyone can help him get through this, it’s this team. We’ve already proven we’ve got some kind of magical mojo together on the ice.”
Even though we’re a brand-new expansion team in the league, we’re currently favored to take the Cup away from the Cold Fury this year. We’ve just clicked that well together.
“Truer words,” Bishop says before he pushes the weighted bar up and off the rack to start his set. I stand at the ready in case he needs help, but he won’t.
“I’m going to invite him over to dinner one night after Willow gets here.” Bishop easily finishes his set, re-racks with no fumbling issues, and rolls off the bench. “If anyone can force Tacker to interact, it’s her.”
“I don’t know,” Bishop drawls with a laugh as I straddle the bench. “Your sister can be so irritating. She might push him over the edge.”
I laugh because that’s true. Willow has never met a stranger. She will start up a conversation with Tacker, totally missing any anti-social cues from him. “At least Regan will temper her somewhat.”
“How is Regan doing?” Bishop asks as I start to lay back on the bench. I’d like to tell him she’s doing wonderfully, but I just don’t know. Ever since our “heart-to-heart” talk yesterday morning, we seemed to have lapsed into a familial-type friendship. Conversation is easy and light. There’s laughter. No awkwardness.
Unless I counted the fact my dick gets hard when I’m around her sometimes, I can’t stop thinking about the night we were together, or that I jacked off in bed last night thinking about the way she tasted, or…