Page 11 of Catching Our Moment

Kelcie

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I said as Shaw's younger brother, Dylan, gently propelled me through the double doors leading from the garage to the hospital elevators. He pressed the button and stared at the descending numbers, ignoring my protests.

Grace was getting Aaron something to eat. They would meet us here later because nothing was keeping Aaron from checking on Shaw.

Dylan herded me into the elevator’s cabin when the doors opened like a border collie would a wayward sheep.

A smaller version of Shaw, Dylan Shawfield’s body was cut from days of physical work, not days in the gym.

Bearded, tanned, and a little more rugged, the younger brother had always gone his own way—more subdued and maybe a little more laidback.

Even his walk conveyed ease as he smiled and greeted everyone.

“It’s probably best if we just wait until he’s home. We can call there to check on him,” I said, trying again.

He repeated the movement inside, not acknowledging my weak protestations.

“I know your brother. He’s going to hate visitors,” I said, adjusting my tote bag.

Dylan stared at the ascending numbers over the doors, a slight tilt of his lips. “You either forgot who you’re talking about, or you’re lying to yourself.”

“He’s probably in pain, or maybe he’s resting…” I mumbled.

He ignored my protest.

Then, another, more likely, scenario occurred to me. I huffed and turned to him. “He’s probably with Riley. Maybe they want some time alone. His people are probably very concerned?—”

That got his full attention, and he zeroed in on me. “ We are his people.” The elevator dinged. Dylan took a step out and then stopped abruptly to cock his head at me. “Aren’t we?”

“Yes, of course.” I thought so.

No. He was right. Before the fans, bright lights, agents, and all the extras—before his fame and success—we were his people.

I followed Dylan, fighting my default response of minimizing my importance in Shaw’s life.

It had been ingrained in me for the past decade because he was a multi-million-dollar household name and a celebrity football star, while I’d been a regular mom, married to a man who didn’t appreciate the friendship we once shared.

We were once each other’s people. Now, we were heart-warming nostalgia with a dash of regret and awkwardness.

Nostalgia wasn’t what Shaw needed now, and time had changed both of us. We’d outgrown each other. I wasn’t the person he’d relied on, and our support had limits—didn’t it?

We stopped in front of a hospital room, and I adjusted my tote, straightened my back, and smoothed my ponytail. Dylan viewed me over his shoulder with his hand on the handle and an

almost devious half-grin on his face. “Besides, my brother wanted to see you and Aaron after the game. He’d be disappointed if you didn’t come.” Then Dylan stepped into the room.

“Well, good morning, man.” Shaw’s booming voice was a bit hoarse as Dylan preceded me. “Did you bring me anything? I’m starving.”

I forced a smile and stepped forward, pushing the privacy curtain out of my way to see Shaw sitting there in a hospital bed. His smile was a bit loopy but completely brilliant.

I wanted to hug him and tell him he would be fine. I wished to God this chasm I felt with him would just disappear. Did he feel it?

Eventually, we’d fill it. We had to. I had to.

“I brought you a surprise,” Dylan said and followed up, in a completely deadpan voice, “just not something you can…necessarily…eat.”

“Dylan!” My indignation flew out of my mouth before I realized I had given in to his innuendo. It would’ve been wiser to ignore his smart-ass remark. Heat traveled up my neck and over my cheeks.

Dylan’s smile was broad and unrepentant.

Then all other repercussions were cut off with the arrival of Shaw’s girlfriend, Riley Lynn—model/media personality/aspiring actress.

The woman made entering a hospital room an event.

She was gorgeous—and not in a fake way, but a genetics-jackpot kind of way.

We parted for her like the Red Sea as she eyed us, politely smiled, and casually dismissed us as unimportant.

Her act was wasted on us. “Shaw, baby.” She strutted to his bed in faux-leather pants, high-heeled boots, and an amazing blouse that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe—including my purse and what was in my wallet.

She leaned over and gave him a light kiss on his forehead, brushed away her lip gloss, and patted his hand. “How are you, honey?”

Shaw held the same dopey gaze. “Hey, Riles.”

His eyes traveled back to focus on Dylan and me. “I’m good. Look, Dylan and Kelcie came to visit me.”

“I see that,” she said with a sweet voice that didn’t do anything to authenticate her acting credentials. She scooted herself up to sit on his bed. “Has Ayva called? What about your doctor? What did they say about your prognosis?”

His dopey smile was still in place, and his eyebrows reached higher as his eyelids drooped lower. He seemed to be trying to focus on her. “Hm?”

She spoke slower and louder, jutting her chin out closer to his face, as if he were hard of hearing.

“What did the doctor say about when you will get out of here?” Then she lowered her voice, pointedly keeping her back to us to keep the conversation private.

“What did they say about how long you will be out for?”

Dylan cleared his throat and sat in the chair behind him, beside Shaw’s bed, crossing his leg over his knee and making himself comfortable—he was staying a while.

Riley glanced over to us, her fake smile slipping.

“Who is Ayva?” I whispered to Dylan. I, on the other hand, didn’t feel comfortable sitting here while they were trying to have a private conversation.

“His manager.” Dylan typed something on his phone, quirked an eyebrow at me, and motioned for me to sit in the chair next to him. Since he was my ride and we were waiting on Grace and Aaron, I guess we would be staying for a while.

While he diligently typed on his phone, I tried to find a reason to leave the room, fidgeting with my purse to pull out my phone. I should check on Grace…only my call wouldn’t go through. “I think I’ll try to find where Grace and Aaron have run off to.”

I shoved the phone back in my purse and went to stand up, but Dylan’s hand closed over my arm to still me.

His phone was still in front of him, but his eyes studied the couple.

“Wyatt is caught up in Seattle, but he hopes you are on some good drugs,” Dylan said, leaning around Riley to catch Shaw’s attention.

“Wyatt?” Shaw said.

“Yes. He saw the game and was wondering how you were. He said to let him know if you needed anything and to keep him updated.”

“What could Wyatt do from the other side of the country?” Riley said, dismissing the offer out of hand just as her phone rang.

Dylan put his phone back in his pocket, trying to hide his growing smile. He said under his breath, “You’d be surprised.”

Luckily, the doctor walked in with a trail of underlings behind him. They unsuccessfully hid their gawking as their eyes grew bigger, dancing between the beauty of Shaw and Riley.

“Good morning, Mr. Shawfield…” The interns ran through his diagnosis, treatment, and finally, prognosis.

The petite doctor with the corkscrew curls turned to the team of interns, giving the rest of us her back, and asked for the others to present his case. I listened while Riley, Shaw, and Dylan whispered about what Shaw’s manager was saying about the team and speculated on his return to play.

From what I was hearing, it wouldn’t be anytime soon. In layman’s terms, Shaw had done quite a bit of damage—a broken clavicle, herniated disc, and a decent concussion. They had done surgery to pin the bone in his clavicle, but now only rest, physical therapy, and time would take care of the rest.

“It may be time to consider a change in profession and leave this job to the younger men,” the doctor said to Shaw, who guffawed exaggeratedly, looking like an adorably intoxicated Yeti.

“I heal fast.” He tilted his chin up as she examined him, checking his pupils and then his reflexes.

“Yeah, well, don’t be in too much of a hurry. If these injuries don’t heal properly, you could be back on my table with a laundry list of things to be taken care of,” she said as she looked over the shoulder of the person inputting the information into his chart.

“Doctor, when can he leave?” Riley stepped into the room far enough to ask the question.

The doctor looked at her and said, “I’d like him to stay another twenty-four hours just to ensure we’ve got everything under control.” There were whines and groans from Riley and Shaw before Riley pivoted and put the phone back up to her ear.

Shaw attempted to sit up straighter in bed, and Dylan jumped up to help support him in his efforts. But when his pain was too intense to push his body up physically, I stood on his other side and grabbed the bed controller to raise the bed slightly.

“How’s that?” I asked him as I held his hand. I was surprised at the clarity in his eyes.

“Is that okay?” I asked quietly.

Our eyes met briefly as he sighed, “Yes, that’s perfect. Thanks, Kelce.”

My name in his husky voice sent a warm feeling through my body. Caring for him, even in that small way, felt right.

Riley stepped back into the room and closed in on his other side, reaching for his hand as they discussed next steps. I stepped back and retook my seat even as my clinical ears perked up.

The doctor discussed concussion protocol, immobilizing the arm and shoulder, intense physical therapy…need to watch over the next eight to twelve weeks, minimum.”

“So he’s out for most of the season?” Riley’s face fell.

“We will have to see, maybe more, depending on an MRI. I don’t like the numbness he had in his arms after the hit. But I’m afraid so?—”

Shaw’s head fell back against the pillow, his eyes closed. “But the numbness is gone.”