Page 36 of Miami Ice (Miami Sports #2)

I hear ringing.

I slowly open my eyes. My head hurts so bad, I want to throw up. I feel something warm and sticky on the side of my face. My neck is burning, and the pain extends down my right arm.

What happened?

My phone stops ringing. God, I feel so sick. I really want to throw up.

Suddenly I feel Winston nudging me, whimpering. I lightly lift my hand and feel his fur. The phone is ringing again. Ouch. I feel things sticking into my back, sharp little painful jabs.

Then it begins to come back to me in bits and pieces. How I slipped on the stairs. Desperately reached out to grab the banister, but instead got a handful of garland. How I spiraled down …

Tears fill my eyes. I’m in so much pain, I can barely move. My phone isn’t close enough to where I can get it and call for help. I lift my other hand to feel the warmth and stickiness on my face. When I pull my hand back, it’s covered in blood.

Oh my God. Oh my God. Panic fills me, and it gets harder to breathe. As I take a breath, a sharp pain takes over my right side. Can I move? Did I hurt my spine? Is that why I feel the stabbing pains in my back? Is the burning in my neck an injury? Now the panic begins to engulf me, and I feel as if I’m suffocating.

Minnie lets out a huge wail, like one I’ve never heard before. I turn my head—OUCH, that hurts, but oh, thank God, I can turn my head—and see her to my left, circling around me. Winston is still whimpering, and a sob escapes my throat. I could be here for hours. What if I can’t get up? What if I—

Suddenly I hear a car. Winston and Minnie both stop crying. Then I hear the car pull up the front drive. A door slams. Both pets race toward the door, and Winston begins barking furiously. Minnie is yowling. I hold my breath, hoping against hope Beckham has forgotten something. That he’s come back—

The key turns in the door, and Beckham opens it. His eyes land on me, and he goes white before my eyes.

“ Georgie! ” he cries, running over to my side. He drops down on his knees beside me, his dark eyes quickly assessing the situation.

“I—I fell d-down the st-st-stairs,” I get out between sobs.

“I’m going to call an ambulance,” Beckham says calmly. “You’re going to be okay, baby. I’m here. I’m right here, and I’m going to help you.”

He quickly swipes open his phone and calls 9-1-1. As soon as he does that, he reaches for one of my hands and laces his fingers through mine, squeezing it tight. I instinctively squeeze it back, and I see relief flicker across his face that I can do that.

“Yes, I have an emergency at 1361 Harbor Court Drive,” Beckham says matter-of-factly into his phone. “My girlfriend has fallen down the stairs. She’s conscious, but I’m worried about broken bones and a concussion …”

I feel my breathing get under control. Beckham isn’t panicking, which calms me down.

“There’s a wound to the left side of her face that is bleeding heavily,” he says. He listens for a moment, then looks down at me. “She can move her fingers. Georgie, can you wiggle your toes?”

I swallow and do as I’m told, moving my gingerbread women slippers.

“My neck hurts,” I say. “And pain is burning down my arm. My head is killing me. And there’s sharp pains in my side and my back feels weird.”

Beckham relays all this information to the dispatcher, then tells me, “Georgie. Stay as still as you can. I think your neck is a stinger, and that should stop, but we need for everything to be checked out, okay?”

“Okay,” I say as the tears roll down my face.

Beckham begins speaking to the dispatcher again. “Yes, she can move her limbs … I’m going to get something to try and stop the bleeding … Okay … Yes.”

He releases my hand. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get something for that facial wound.”

Beckham gets up and runs into the kitchen, and returns with a clean dish towel, pressing it against the side of my face. I wince the second he touches me.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he applies pressure. “I just want to stop this. I think you’re going to need stitches across your cheekbone.”

I don’t quite process what he is saying, because other thoughts are going through my head. “Why did you come back?” I ask, confused.

“Ella called me. She was insistent that something bad had happened to you. She could feel it. Then she couldn’t get you on the phone, and she called me through Connectivity in a panic. She said it was a twin thing. I promised her I would come back and check on you. Thank God she got that feeling.”

Now I hear sirens in the distance.

“That’s the ambulance,” Beckham says. “We’re going to get you to the ER, and everything is going to be okay.”

Through the fear and fog, another thought hits me.

“Call Ella,” I say. “My phone is somewhere behind me. Call her and have her meet me at the hospital, Beckham. You need to go to the game.”

“ What?” he asks, sounding incredulous.

“You can’t miss a game. Not with what happened in Denver.”

“ I’m not going to the game,” Beckham says, his eyes flashing at me defiantly.

Fear surges through me. “Y-you have to. The coach wi—”

“I don’t CARE what anyone thinks, including the coach,” Beckham snaps as he continues to apply pressure to my wound. “I love you, Georgie. They can rip up my contract and I could never play for them again as far as I’m concerned. I don’t give a fu—I don’t care . I’m not leaving your side, do you understand me? You are all that matters.”

My throat swells as I hear his declaration. Beckham not only loves me, but he’s willing to risk everything to be by my side right now.

“I l-love you, too,” I cry. “But y-you have to go. You have to. I’ll be okay if Ella can be there.”

The sirens are now outside the house.

“ No, ” Beckham says emphatically. “I am not leaving you.”

I begin to cry harder. What if all his hard work to repair his image is damaged now? What if the team doesn’t understand? What will they say on social media? He’ll be a scratch, and right now, nobody knows why. The rumors will swirl and—

Winston is barking at the door again, and Beckham looks down at me. “Don’t think about it. I’m going to the hospital, and I’m not leaving your side, Georgie. And that’s final.”

The door opens, and soon firefighters and paramedics are in the entryway. I begin answering their questions, and they carefully brace my neck and back for transport to the emergency room. They lift me onto the gurney, and Beckham is right there next to me, holding my hand.

“Call the coach,” I beg him. “Please call him. You can still make the game.”

“I’m following you to the hospital,” Beckham says, his eyes flashing protectively. “That is where I’m going to be tonight. I’m going to be there with you.”

Then he releases my hand.

Now I’m sobbing for a whole different reason.

I know players can have family emergencies, but how often do you hear of them not being with the team outside of a birth or death in the family? I’m moving, so I don’t think I have any spinal or neck injuries. I have family here. I’m not going to be alone.

But Beckham refuses to leave me.

And it might just cost him everything with the Miami Manatees.

* * *

Within minutes of my arrival in the ER, a team of doctors are working on me. I’m going to have to have a CT scan done to check my head and my ribs. The wound on the side of my face has to be stitched. My ankle is starting to throb, and they’re going to check that with the scan, too. My back has pieces of the glass ornaments embedded in it, so those are going to have to be picked out. When I hear that, I begin to cry, and just as the tears are falling down my face, the curtain is pulled back to reveal Beckham.

I lock eyes with him. I watch as he looks at me in my hospital gown, hooked up to a vitals machine, crying. Beckham is still ghostly white, and his eyes look haunted. Then I see the cuff of his white dress shirt is soaked with my blood, and I hate that I’ve put him through all of this.

“Georgie,” he says, his voice rough.

I reach out my hand to him. Beckham moves to the chair next to the bed and immediately takes it in both of his.

One of the nurses—a kind man named Logan—begins filling Beckham in on the details of my case. I watch as he swallows hard a few times, squeezing my hand tighter when he reviews the potential injuries.

“We’re going to do a CT scan first,” Logan explains. “Then the doctor will come in and tell you what we are dealing with. We’ll also get the glass out of your back.”

I nod. Soon he leaves, and it’s just me and Beckham.

“Did you call the coach?” I ask.

“Georgie. Stop worrying about me,” he says, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing it. “You are all we’re thinking about right now.”

“Well, I’m worried about you,” I say, the tears streaming down my face. “You’ve worked so hard to rebuild your image and now you’re ruining it for me. Please tell me you called the coach. I can talk to him. I can explain.”

He lets go of my hand and brushes his fingertips over my tears, wiping them away. “I’m not ruining anything. And yes, I left a message saying you were in an accident, and that I was at the hospital with you.”

“But you heard what Logan said. I probably have a concussion and broken ribs, possibly some kind of ankle injury. I have glass they need to get out of my back, and I need stitches, but I’m pretty sure my spine and neck are okay. You can go,” I plead. “You can still play tonight.”

“I am exactly where I want to be,” Beckham says, his voice strong. “I’m not letting you go through this alone.”

“But I won’t be. Ella is coming, right?”

“She’s on her way. So you’ll have both of us here, because I’m not leaving you, baby.”

“Beckham, please. I’m so worried.”

“I meant what I said. I love you. You’re my world, Georgie. And when I opened that door and saw you at the bottom of the stairs—”

He abruptly stops speaking, his eyes filling with unshed tears. He takes a few moments and swallows hard before continuing.

“When I saw you at the bottom of the stairs, and all that blood around your head—I’ve never been so scared in my life,” he says, his voice raw with emotion. “All I could think of is that you are my world, and I couldn’t lose you. I couldn’t.”

Fresh tears stream down my cheeks.

“I told you I would be there to catch you when you fall,” Beckham continues. “I wasn’t able to catch you this time. But I can be here for you now. And I’m going to be.”

“I love you so much,” I say through my tears. “I just don’t want anything to happen with the Manatees.”

“But Georgie, don’t you see? That means nothing to me compared to being here for you,” he says.

When I see the look of love in his eyes, when I hear the pain in his voice, I know he’s not going to move. I’m his world, and if I need him, he’s not going anywhere.

Because he loves me.

The curtain rustles again, and Ella appears in the room, tearful and shaking. “Oh my God, Georgie!” she cries, flying to the other side of my bed. “I knew something had happened. I got a chill down my spine, and I could feel you were in pain. How are you? What did the doctors say?”

Beckham jumps in and relays all the information for me, so I don’t have to use the energy to go through it all again.

“Oh, thank God, you’re going to be okay,” Ella says, squeezing my hand in hers.

“Don’t call Mom or Dad,” I beg. “I don’t need them coming up here and bringing all the drama. I might have to stay overnight for observation, but we can tell them after I’m discharged.”

Ella nods. “I won’t say a word, I promise.”

The curtain is moved again, and this time, Logan and another nurse are back. “Georgie, we’ll be getting you down to radiology shortly,” he tells me.

“Thank you,” I say softly.

“I’ll stay with you until they take you,” Beckham promises me. “And I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back.”

Then I look at Beckham’s face and I’m overwhelmed with gratitude and love for him. He brings my hand to his lips again and presses a reverent kiss on my knuckles.

Ella clears her throat. “I’m going to go get some water and make some phone calls to let Chloe and Emilee know what’s going on. Becks, do you need anything?”

“No, thank you,” he says, his eyes never leaving my face.

Ella nods and leaves the room.

Beckham reaches over and gently brushes his fingertips over my hair. “I’m not leaving your side tonight. Unless you’re having a test, I’m going to be right here.”

“I know,” I say.

A small smile plays at his lips. “Good. I can see you’ve given up trying to talk me into playing tonight, which is a good move. Because I’m not .”

I remain silent. I know Beckham is not going to play tonight.

But I’m determined to make sure the Manatees know what he has done today. That Beckham put me first. That in a crisis, he was determined to be by my side. They need to see that this is not a man loosely pushing aside his hockey responsibilities, but rather keeping the commitment he made to me in my time of crisis.

This is a man who is putting love above everything else.

They need to see this is a part of the new Beckham Bailey they got when they traded for him.

And I think I have an idea of how I’m going to do it.