Another wave of black tugged at me, and I gave in.
* * *
Nixon was in the same shirt when I came to again, but I didn’t see much of him once Mom saw that I was awake.
She fussed and cried.
I tried like hell to comfort and console her, but with all the tubes and monitors stuck to me, I wasn’t exactly doing a great job of assuring her that I was okay.
I wasn’t even sure that I was okay.
She looked up at my monitor and then brushed my hair back. “Doc says it’s not good to upset you. He said to keep your brain as stress-free and happy as possible, and I’m just a mess over here, working you up.” Her eyes were soft and teary as she shook her head. “I love you, Nathan.”
“Love you, Mom.”
She started crying again, and Dad gently moved her long enough to press a kiss to the top of my head. “Scared the shit out of me, Nathan. We love you, son.”
“Love you,” I told him because words were just so much fucking effort.
“Come on, honey, let’s get you some coffee.”
He wrapped his arm around Mom and walked her out of the room, leaving me alone with Nixon, who was still in a chair next to my bed.
Apparently we were now reading David Copperfield.
“Docs say you should be okay, but we won’t know the full impact until you’re awake long enough to do some tests. Don’t worry about the sleeping. He said you’ll wake up more and more. Just let your brain heal.”
My gaze swung to the flower shop they’d opened in my room.
“You’re popular,” Nixon confirmed. “You had your entire team sitting on the floor in the hallway at one point that first night.”
I rolled my head back to look at him, which took about ninety-five percent of my energy. The team had been here? Shit. The game. “Score?”
“You lost here in Raleigh. Last night at home, too.” His expression fell. “Season’s over. I’m so damned sorry.”
The season was over. We weren’t advancing in the playoffs. Harper wasn’t here. What the hell else could get fucked up in this alternate reality I’d woken up in?
“How long have we been here?” I knew down to the marrow of my bones that Nixon hadn’t left my side since impact.
“Three days.”
Three days, and Harper still wasn’t here. My heart tried to ache, but I refused to believe that there wasn’t another reason. She didn’t do well with emotions, and there were more than a few of those flying around here. Maybe it was just too much for her. Yeah, I’d cling to that thought. She’d be here soon.
A flash of color in the corner drew my attention. ESPN was on mute.
“You want some ice?” Nixon offered.
“That would be awesome.”
He pushed a button, and my bed lifted my torso until I was half sitting up. Then he put a giant, clear cup of half-melted ice in my hands with a spoon. “Sorry,” he told me as he adjusted one of my pillows. “I keep it full just in case you wake up. I don’t want to have to skip out to fill it if you’re actually conscious, you know?”
“It’s perfect,” I told him. The ice was crisp and clean, but damn I would have killed for a Gatorade.
AWAITING ANNOUNCEMENT BY ASHER SILAS, OWNER OF THE SOUTH CAROLINA REAPERS. The print scrawled across the bottom of the screen.
Well, at least I could read full sentences. That had to bode well for recovery.
“Turn it up,” I croaked like a damn frog.
“You sure? You’re not supposed to get worked up.”
I shot him a glare, and he cranked the volume in time to see Asher Silas take the podium. The guy was tall, in a tailored suit that screamed money, and an irreverent, open collar that yelled fuck you. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t figure it out.
“Thank you for joining me,” Silas started nodding to the media like the necessary evil they were. He wasn’t a showboater like Paulson. Wasn’t preening for the camera or even smiling. He was there because he had to be, pure and simple.
“Let’s keep this short and sweet, shall we?” Silas gripped the edge of the podium. “When I decided to apply for an expansion team, I had a vision. I wanted a team built for the players. Where training facilities were more important than a bottom line. Where safety was paramount. Where leadership wasn’t sought after because we already had it in spades. Now, I love hockey.” He smiled for the first time. “I just can’t skate for shit.”
Reporters laughed, and I felt a corner of my mouth lift.
“Guy’s good,” Nixon muttered, leaning back in his chair.
“One thing I’ve learned from talking to players is that the best coaches were players themselves. The ones that don’t just command respect, they earn it. The ones every team looks to lead the way. With that spirit in mind, and knowing my decision may be a little controversial seeing as he has no previous coaching experience, I’d like to introduce you to the new head coach of the South Carolina Reapers: Gage McPherson.”