Page 28

Rusty got out his phone and fiddled with it, trying to look calm and busy.

He didn’t want to see video of that hit on Cross, no doubt already circulating online.

He pulled up rental websites for Eugene.

ECHL housing allowance only went through the end of April.

He’d suddenly have no income and no place to stay, come May.

He’d planned to head back to Kansas and Scott’s ranch, but now…

Not that all the wishing in the world would help him afford even half of what the ECHL was paying for his current room.

And nothing out there cost less than half.

Several people bustled into the room, led by Unger, the publicist. They went to the nursing station, mentioning Cross’s name. Rusty stuck his phone away. Marie stood and strode over to them. “I’m Marie LaCroix. Who are you all?”

Wendy Unger introduced the others as the Rafters’ public relations intern, team doctor, a trainer, and an assistant coach.

“If you’d care to come with us,” Unger told Marie, “I’ve arranged a private waiting area out of the public eye.

You understand, details of your brother’s injuries are confidential.

Right this way.” She gestured out of the room.

Rusty was resigned to falling out of the loop, but Marie turned to him. “Come on, Rusty. I imagine you’re as ready for some answers as I am.”

“Uh, sure.” He stood quickly.

“Who’s this?” the coach asked.

“A family friend.” Marie came over and tucked her hand into Rusty’s arm. “Now, where are you taking us?”

The coach hesitated, then shrugged. Unger said, “This way.”

Rusty stuck with Marie as they headed down the hall and into a smaller room.

This one was furnished with several loveseats with actual upholstery, a glass-door mini fridge holding waters and sodas, and a coffee maker.

Huh, I guess the other half really do get all kinds of perks.

Rusty remembered the uncomfortable vinyl chairs and hard metal arms, the vending machine food and drinks, from a host of hospital visits over the years with his mom and siblings, waiting around for births and ear infections and all the usual.

They’d never been shown into a comfy private room like this.

Marie led him over to one of the loveseats and tugged him down beside her. “Right,” she said to the team doctor standing nearby. “Now talk.”

“I need to verify your ID and PoA.”

Marie clenched her teeth but handed over her license and phone again. The doctor scrolled the document on the screen, then passed it back.

“That seems in order. And this gentleman?” He raised an eyebrow at Rusty.

“He’s staying.” Marie looked cool but her foot tapped an agitated tattoo next to Rusty’s.

“Very well. Your brother’s down in imaging right now,” the doc said. “He’s getting an MRI and a CT, in addition to initial X-rays, to let us evaluate bone and ligament injuries.”

“Injuries to what ?” Marie sounded exasperated.

“Oh. Yes. As near as we can tell, when the other players fell on LaCroix, they landed stick-down across his legs.”

“Fuck,” Rusty muttered, imagining a crosscheck to the legs with four hundred pounds of combined player weight behind it.

The doctor gave him a frown. “The impact broke LaCroix’s left leg mid-tibia with minimal displacement and caused trauma to his right ankle. The left leg is probably a simple fracture repair but the specialists are still evaluating his ankle.”

“But no head injury,” Marie emphasized. “No back or neck injury? No broken ribs?”

“Not on initial exam. We will be monitoring him closely, of course.”

“Thank God.” Marie sagged against Rusty, and he put an arm around her, same as he did with his mom when— He cut off the trip down memory lane. Marie needed support. Rusty was right there. Simple as that.

Will he be able to heal up and play hockey like before?

Rusty didn’t voice that question. Too soon for an answer, no doubt.

But he was sure that was the only thing burning in Cross’s brain right now.

He tried to wing some mental support to wherever Cross was being poked and prodded and imaged.

Bones heal. Ankles heal. He’ll be back. He made himself put positive energy out into the universe.

The doctor said, “The specialists will come up here to talk to us when they have test results.”

“Right.” Marie straightened her shoulders.

Rusty asked, “Can I get you a water? Or a coffee?”

She gave him a weary smile. “Thanks. Coffee would be great. I’m jetlagged to hell. Cream, no sugar.”

“On it.” He went over to the coffee machine on the counter. Luckily it was a simple pod kind, so he was able to get a cup pouring into an actual ceramic mug. The smell rose, rich and comforting.

Behind him, Wendy Unger said, “I’m going to put out a report of lower body injury, to reduce the speculation. Long term injured reserve for now?” she asked the coach and doctor.

“That would be appropriate,” the doctor agreed.

“On it.”

Marie said, “I want my own security team outside this room here, and a detail on Cross’s room once he’s settled. I trust that will be all right.”

Unger blinked. “Of course, Ms. LaCroix, if you think it’s necessary.”

“I don’t travel without them.” Marie typed into her phone.

Rusty brought her coffee over and sat awkwardly, holding the mug while she texted. He decided he did want to know. “Where are they now?”

“Fifty feet down the hallway.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“But…”

She put her phone away and took the mug, downing a sip. “I always travel with security, I’m afraid.”

“But at the arena… no one was there.”

“My people were a few rows back from our seats, followed us downstairs, then out, followed your truck here.”

Rusty stared at her. “So you didn’t really need me to drive?”

“I wanted you to.” She gave him a faint smile. “Although I doubted that decision a time or two on the road.”

“Sorry.”

“You were concerned about RJ.”

He decided to dodge that idea. “How could your bodyguards sit behind us? That game was almost sold out.”

She grinned more widely. “They bought seats that were available elsewhere, then went to where they wanted to sit and offered the people in those seats three hundred dollars each to swap. They had no problem getting takers.”

“Oh.” Of course, if you had enough money, you could solve problems like not having seats available.

If you have enough money, you need bodyguards behind you.

Rusty rubbed his forehead. He should accept the reminder that Cross lived in a whole different world from him.

He was too broke to pay next month’s rent, and the LaCroixs could throw six hundred or nine hundred or however many dollars away on seats at a hockey game. What am I doing here?

He started to say, “I should get going. I just wanted—”

“Stay!” Marie snapped, then sighed. “Sorry. I’m on edge. Stick around. I bet RJ would want you here when he gets to his room.”

Rusty wasn’t so sure, but Marie’s powerful stare reminded him of his mother’s when she was done with his nonsense.

And he didn’t really want to go, not knowing how Cross was doing.

“Okay.” He subsided into the corner of the loveseat and pulled out his phone, avoiding Marie’s gaze.

At least with the team officials there, she wouldn’t ask him difficult questions.

Hopefully. He cued up a mindless game and limbered up his thumbs, eyes on the small, scratched screen.