Page 56 of A Million Times, Yes

“I’m cramping so badly.” She wiggled in bed, the pain audible in her breathing and evident in her expression. “One after another. They won’t stop.”

“Which leg?”

“My good one.”

“That makes things much easier.” I set her meds on the tray and moved to the end of her bed, slipping my hand under the sheet and blanket to hold her foot. “I’m going to raise your leg a tiny bit.” Emily joined us and was rubbing the top of Bettie’s thigh, keeping it stable so when I lifted her heel, it wouldn’t cause Bettie’s posture to shift. I pulled at the bottom of her foot, pointing it upward, and did the same with her toes to help relieve the tightness in her calf.

She shuddered out a breath. “Finally. That feels much better.”

“One of the side effects of the medication you’re on is cramping. I’m going to bring you some Gatorade. That should help.” Once I was sure the pain was completely gone, I carefully set her leg down and fixed the sheet and blanket so they properly covered her. “I’ll be right back.”

“Hold on a second, missy. I think you owe me some photos from the game. How was it?” She glanced between Emily and me. “Did you gals have a blast?”

I could feel Emily staring at me as I said, “It was amazing.” I took my phone out of my scrubs pocket and pulled up the photos, holding the screen in front of Bettie so she could see them while I flipped through each shot. “Thank you again, Bettie. It was so generous of you to give us your tickets. I assume the money that was slipped into my scrubs was from you?”

She glanced up at me, hiding a smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” I grinned back. “That was too much, and you didn’t have to.”

“But we appreciated it,” Emily added.

Bettie, still looking at me, said, “You know, those pictures are fantastic, and it looks like you kids had loads of fun, but one thing is missing from them.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

Bettie gazed at Emily. “Maya is missing her smile. Tell me what’s wrong with her, since I know Maya won’t.”

Emily laughed. “Oh, Maya, Bettie has you pegged.” She blinked heavily at me. “She can see right through you, babe.”

My phone vibrated in my palm.

Jordan:We need to talk.

Of course you would say that.

I dropped the phone back in my pocket and groaned. “Bettie, are you sure you want to hear the drama dump I’m about to unload?”

“Honey, aside from going to PT, I haven’t left this room in days. Entertain me. Please.”

Did I really want to get into this? Did I want to bore Bettie to death with the ridiculousness of my life? Talking it out wasn’t going to make me feel better, since admitting my feelings wouldn’t change who he was.

But I could feel their stares penetrating through me, waiting, so I took a deep breath and said, “Do you remember the guy we talked about? The one I’ve been seeing?”

“The one she’s in love with,” Emily added.

“Emily!”

My best friend rolled her eyes at me.

“The hockey player,” Bettie said. “Yes, I remember.”

I glanced at the floor, ignoring the vibration that was coming from my pocket. “Turns out, he did more than just play a lot of hockey. He was in the NHL, he played for New York, and at last night’s game, I learned he’s one of the owners of the Bears.” My heart was sinking further into my body, the ache like a hundred-pound dumbbell resting in the middle of my chest. “Jordan Worthington is his name. Maybeyou’ve heard of him, since you have season tickets.” She didn’t respond. “Anyway, the whole time we were dating—or whatever it was that we were doing—he never told me who he was. I knew his first name, not his last name. I knew he played hockey, but not for the NHL. And I got the sense that he was successful, but certainly not a billionaire—at least, according to Google, that’s what he’s worth.”

Bettie sat up a little higher, wincing as she moved her legs. “Are you saying he lied to you?”

“By not telling me, that’s lying. He had his reasons, I suppose, but that’s not good enough. If you’re spending that kind of time with someone, I believe you should be up front about who you are.”

The ironic part about this was that he felt comfortable enough to not wear a condom with me, but not comfortable enough to tell me who he was. That made zero sense in my head.