Page 20 of Love Me (Charlotte Monarchs Hockey #1)

Luke

“ F uck!” I slam my fist against the door to the first stall in the men’s room. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

I grab my fingers with my other hand and rub them furiously. Every once in a while, I forget that I have feeling in my right arm now. Dr. Patel had been right about surgery. I felt good as new.

Nausea overtakes me. I rush to a stall, fall to my knees, and hurl into the toilet. My head hurts worse than it does on the Monday following a weekend bender in Vegas.

Without looking, I reach up and flush the toilet, spitting into the swirl as the water drains.

Then I place my elbows on the edge of the bowl and drop my head into my hands.

This would be a perfect time for the numbness that had taken my right arm hostage a year ago to come back and take over my brain.

After a few deep breaths, I remember the painkillers I took after my surgery.

Those pills were the only thing I’ve ever found that made everything numb.

My mouth waters. It would be so easy to knock one back when I get home.

I swallow hard, pushing away the thought.

I haven’t taken them in a year, and I never will again.

I hate even thinking like this, but I’m shaken by Jack’s news. It’s not like I didn’t know he was terminal. I knew his time would come.

This is why Brandon killed himself. So he’d never have to feel this way. The media blamed the concussions and his ongoing depression, but that was only part of it. Finding out Jack had an inoperable tumor on his lung is what killed him. He couldn’t watch his son die.

As angry as I was when he took his own life and left his wife to deal with both that tragedy and Jack’s illness, I understand now.

Maybe not completely, but I’m a fucking mess, and Jack isn’t even my kid.

Losing your flesh and blood to something you have no control over would make it virtually impossible to go on with life.

Getting up and making my way to the sink, I try to push my former teammate out of my head.

After his death, the entire team pulled together to support Ally and Jack.

Not that we weren’t an extended family already, but Jack’s diagnosis and Brandon’s suicide made us all closer.

Tragedy tends to do that. And with one of the best pediatric cancer centers in the U.S.

right here at Charlotte Children’s Hospital, no one was going to let Ally take him back to some small town in Canada for treatment.

Gripping the countertop for stability, I lift my head.

Red streaks snake through the white of my eyes while the gaunt, purple skin underneath swells.

My face is cold and pale, so I slap at my cheeks, trying to raise some color there.

Over the last few months, finding this ghostlike reflection staring back at me has been common.

I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever get a warm glow in my cheeks back.

“Fuck!” I snap again, slamming my palm on the laminate counter.

Tomorrow, Ally will take him home to die. It could be weeks—or days.

I’m not equipped to deal with this kind of news right now.

I need to get the fuck out of here and toss back a few drinks—something to get rid of the black knot of emotion taking hold of my brain.

I know better, but numbing the feelings makes them easier to control.

Shrouding my mind in darkness and trying to forget about my problems is the only thing that keeps me sane when the pressure and stress of life crush me.

It never used to be this way. Facing challenges with determination and tenacity has always been one of my strengths—the reason I’ve been the captain of multiple hockey teams.

When did I lose control—lose myself?

Jack should have his entire life in front of him. But his dream of playing for the Charlotte Monarchs like his dad will never be realized.

“Fuck.” This time, it comes out in a whisper as I sink to my knees on the white-tiled bathroom floor. Jack, the eternal optimist, who always thought of everyone else before himself, even during his brave battle with cancer.

The bathroom door opens slightly. “Luke?” Bree asks softly.

I don’t answer. Can’t answer.

“Luke,” she asks again. “I’m not going to come in there or anything. I just wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay.”

“Never been better,” I snap.

It’s a shitty response since Bree’s finally showing her concern. And that’s what I’ve been waiting for since we started fucking, isn’t it? I’ve wanted more than her body. I’ve wanted her emotions, too.

Of all people, Bree doesn’t deserve my harsh sarcasm, but I can’t muster up any other response at the moment.

“I know it’s hard, Luke, believe me. I administer to multiple patients daily,” Bree begins in the professional, kind tone nurses use with their patients’ families.

She pauses, and when she speaks again, her tone is gentle, more familiar.

“I’m not trying to brush off your pain. I-I just wanted to let you know that I understand, and I’m here if you need someone to talk to. ”

The door closes.

She probably thinks I’m a fucking idiot, crying over some random sick kid. I’ve been volunteering at hospitals for years because it’s one of the most rewarding community-service projects that we do as athletes. A kid dying of cancer is a sad situation no matter who it is, but Jack is family.

Not only that, but he also reminds me of how I was when I was a kid.

Hungry. Eager. He knows every stat of every NHL player.

He watches skill videos on YouTube and tells me about how he’s going to practice everything he watched as soon as he’s well enough to take the ice again.

Hell, he taught me a few things from what he learned in some of those videos.

I rub my face in my hands before I take a deep breath and slowly get back to my feet.

The only thing I can think about is getting to my condo, drinking a twelve-pack, and crawling into bed.

I don’t want to feel anything right now.

It’s the attitude I’ve had about life since being told I can’t play hockey again.

After that, it’s not like there’s anything left to care about anyway.

Once I’m in the hallway, I scan to my left and right, looking for Bree.

“You all right, Mr. Daniels?” one of the nurse’s aides asks me.

I look up at him and nod. “Have you seen Bree?”

“I think she took her break. I haven’t seen her in a minute,” he responds.

“Are you all right, Luke?” Tonya stops in front of me, peering into my eyes. “You don’t look so good.”

I shake my head and blink a few times. “I’m fine. Just a bit upset over…” I stop. Her breath smells like peppermint, which—weirdly—settles my upset stomach. “Over Jack.”

Tonya places a soft hand on my shoulder. “He’ll be at home and comfortable, surrounded by his family and friends. It’s better than being in here.”

“It’s still not fair.”

“Who told you life was fair, Luke?” she asks.

She has a point. I’m always the first one to tell others that life is not fucking fair.

“You are wise for your years, Tonya.” I try to wink, but I think it comes out as a blink instead. Jesus, I can’t even perform the simplest tasks right now.

There’s nothing left to do but shuffle to the elevator.

“Luke!” Bree calls out to me.

I turn around to find her jogging toward me.

Bree has this unsettling way of looking at me that makes me think she can see into my soul.

I have this paranoid feeling that if she sees my eyes, she’ll know my mind wandered to the painkillers she found in my drawer.

How they took the pain away. It’s my fault to still have them lying about.

I know why I keep them there even if I haven’t told her yet.

“Are you okay?” she asks when she reaches me. The petite nurse whose body I know so well takes another step closer. Lines form around her big, blue eyes, highlighting the gaze that sears into my soul.

“No,” I answer in a shaky whisper and scratch my right arm.

The numbness from my injury has been replaced by an uncontrollable itch that won’t go away.

Or some kind of hidden tic that just appeared over the last year.

It’s not from any kind of drug use, a habit more than anything, but it reminds me of my mom.

The thought alone scares me into my right mind. “I gotta get out of here.”

I turn around and press the elevator’s down button an unnecessary number of times. When the doors open, I step inside.

“Please look at me,” Bree says, desperation in her voice.

She can’t see me like this. Out of control. Ready to break.

“Please call me if you need anything,” she says softly.

Instead of answering, I nod without meeting her eyes. The doors close, saving me from the look of pity on her face.