The bed is still perfectly made, because as soon as we were alone, I climbed in beside Stas. I pretended to be asleep when the nurse came in to check her vitals so she wouldn’t make me get out.
“Merry Christmas,” Stassie whispers.
“Good morning, baby,” I say, kissing her temple. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like I don’t need to be attached to a fluid drip and I’d rather be at home with you in our onesies.” Her fingers dig into my sides playfully. “I feel good, Nathan, I promise. It’s Christmas, can we please get out of here?”
“Not until you’ve been looked over.”
“I’ve been looked over. I’m a picture of health, let’s go.”
My eyes flit to the fluid line sticking out of her hand. “Oh yeah, you look it.”
“At least I’m not dead.” She giggles at my shocked face. “Too soon?”
“It’s always going to be too soon.”
THIRTY-NINE | ANASTASIA
The past weekhas been the epitome of calm after the storm.
After my Christmas morning debate with Nate about my health status, he threaded his fingers through mine and brought the back of my hand to his lips. “Shut up, Anastasia. Let me take care of you, please.”
The hospital bed wasn’t as comfortable as Nathan’s huge heated one, and the poking and prodding weren’t the types I’m used to. Everyone was very nice to me, not once judging me for the senseless decision I made to venture out onto unsafe ground alone.
I was physically and mentally exhausted but in good spirits under the circumstances. He practically forced the doctor to look over me one more time while the nurse removed my fluid line. “Protective, isn’t he?” The nurse chuckled.
“Very.” I nodded in agreement. “It’s because he cares, though, so I don’t mind.”
“Ah, young love.”
Even after the most traumatizing day and a night of shitty sleep, when he looked over from the desk where he was collecting my discharge papers, his smile made my entire body hum happily.
“I sent the picture of you looking unimpressed in the wheelchair to Sabrina, and Robbie asked if I’d let you go skiing,” he drawled, drawing a laugh out of me.
The drive back to the house was quiet, George Michael on the radio and Nate tapping along to the tune on my thigh. He looked over at me as we pulled up at a stoplight. “What’re you smiling about?”
“Do you remember singing this drunk in the shower?” I said, thinking back to Nathan screeching “Last Christmas” at the top of his lungs two weeks before.
“Hey!” He squeezes my thigh. “As soon as the night is over you have to forget about drunk shenanigans. Those are the rules, Allen.” He snuck a look over at me again, grinning wide. “I love you.”
I place my hand over the one warming my thigh. “I love you too.”
We arrived back at the house late morning, both too tired to make an effort for Christmas, and that turned into the theme of the week. The relief of being back in Nate’s bed didn’t last as long as I’d hoped, and the reality of the seriousness of what happened started to hit me.
Calling my parents from Nate’s phone was the starting point. I realized my phone was at the bottom of the lake, and they’d be trying to get hold of me to wish me Merry Christmas. Mom and Dad freaked the hell out, and I had to talk them out of flying here by convincing them I was fine.
The nightmares are intense, but when I wake up in a pool of sweat, terrified, Nathan is always there to lull me back to sleep. If hockey doesn’t work out for him, he’d make a great nurse.Each day he’s taken me to the resort spa, booking me for treatment after treatment, making sure that there isn’t an inch of me that isn’t relaxed.
Even now, a week later, every fire in the house is burning because he’s worried I’m going to get sick. The benefit of that is he’s already a human radiator, so the addition of the fire means he’s had to strip down to his boxers to stay cool.
I’m enjoying the view and being obsessed with watching Nate stroll about is helping me feel more like myself.
“Stop looking at my ass,” he shouts from inside the fridge. His head is practically resting on the shelf, and he’s pretending that he’s searching for something to eat, but in reality, I think he’s trying to cool down. He didn’t think it through when he decided to turn this house into the inside of an oven, but he wouldn’t listen to me when I said I’m fine, meaning it this time.
“The lake is pretty cold, if you want to cool off,” I shout back at him.
The fridge door stamps shut and he spins to face me, looking annoyed. His annoyed face is so cute. Is he supposed to be scary with his pouty lips and furrowed brow? If this is what he does during a game, he’s not going to be putting the fear in anyone. “Not funny.”