Page 22 of Love Me (Charlotte Monarchs Hockey #1)

Luke

I can’t get Bree out of my head. I’ve tried. I’ve put in extra time pounding it out at the gym. I’ve pored over the latest issue of Maxim . I’ve jacked off in the shower pretty much every time I’m in there.

Nothing works. I still think about her constantly. And not just about how hot she is or how she’s all for trying everything I want to do in bed. I’ve been thinking about how much I like her as a person.

When I first pulled into the funeral home’s parking lot for Jack’s memorial service yesterday, I contemplated taking a break from volunteering.

I needed time to process his loss. Time to rest before putting my heart and soul into another kid—even one I didn’t have a personal connection with.

Time to numb the pain in the only way I knew—keeping my distance from people and things I care about and locking my thoughts away.

And then Bree showed up.

One random act of kindness from an amazing, selfless woman was powerful enough to change my mind overnight.

Now I’m cranking up the radio in my Jeep and speeding through the streets of Charlotte to get to the hospital. Though it makes me feel like a total tool for admitting it, I’m really excited to see her again.

I knew there was something special about Bree the first time I met her. When I realized she was a pediatric oncology nurse and saw how she interacted with the kids, her stock rose. But she absolutely blew my mind when she showed up at Jack’s funeral to support me.

But I’m excited to get back to the kids, too. After my surgery, I had to take a few months off because I didn’t want to be around them fucked-up on painkillers. At least I had the sense not to hang around children when I took that shit. Props for me.

Out of all the charity work I’ve done through the various hockey organizations I’ve been a part of, interacting with kids in the hospital has always been the most rewarding.

Sometimes I think not being around the kids hindered my recovery.

I missed the pure joy of hanging out with them.

When I first started, I thought I’d help them feel better with my resilient attitude and positive outlook.

I learned quickly that they were the ones teaching me about resilience and positivity.

These kids look at me like I’m larger than life because I play hockey.

They’re the heroes. Seeing them laugh and play while going through the worst pain of their lives is a humbling and inspiring experience.

Maybe it helps me more than it helps them.

I’m almost at the hospital when I realize I don’t have flowers. I want to see Bree’s olive skin light up with happiness I created. She deserves it after how much her support meant to me yesterday.

I’m guilty of getting lost in my own head, my own problems. I don’t always notice what other people are going through until they say something. Which makes me sound like a selfish asshole.

I’m just used to having to look out for myself because I haven’t had anyone looking out for me in years.

I don’t know if that’s just me or if it’s a normal reaction for most people.

In a way, the world revolves around each of us as individuals.

We don’t pay attention to things that don’t directly involve or affect us. We are the stars of our own life.

Except Bree. Bree took time off work to go to Jack’s service. For me.

I crank a hard left into the parking lot for the Kings Drive farmer’s market. They always have an amazing array of fresh flowers. I pick out a mix of various-colored roses, thirty-six in all, petals still glistening with morning dew. Bree deserves a hundred more, but I don’t want to go overboard.

The first thing I pass when I get to CCH is the volunteer stand just inside the hospital entrance. I carefully wiggle a stem out and hand a rose to Garland, the elderly lady who directs volunteers and visitors.

“Thank you.” She accepts it with wide eyes and raises it to her nose. “What’s the gift for, Luke?”

“I’m bringing flowers to beautiful ladies.

You’re the first.” I lean in and kiss her soft, pale cheek.

The familiar scent of Dove soap catches my attention and floods my head with memories.

It’s one of the only two brands we used when I was a kid.

Dove in the dish on the bathroom counter to wash our hands. Irish Spring in the shower.

“You sweet, sweet boy.” Her face flushes pink, and she covers the spot my lips touched with her hand.

Instead of using the elevator, which opens in clear view of the nurses’ desk on the pediatric floor, I choose the staircase at the end of the hallway so I can slip in unnoticed. If Bree sees me, it will ruin my surprise.