Page 60 of Off-Ice Misconduct (Daddies of the League #8)

Eventually, my body gives out, and I doze off, head on Luke’s shoulder, lulled into sleep by the rise and fall of his breath. The last thing I hear before the darkness swallows me is East whispering something to Dad, too soft to catch the words, but not the ache behind them.

When I wake up, my mouth tastes like ass.

Luke’s still out, which means his body’s reached the end of its endurance because he’s usually up at the drop of a pin.

He can’t be comfortable, twisted as he is, and he’s gonna have the world’s worst kink in his neck, but I won’t be able to convince him to leave to get some sleep.

Don’t want him to leave—having him here’s a must.

The doctor stops in early, and I find out Dad’s got a bruised lung, hence the intubation, and a compound femur fracture, which caused him to lose a lot of blood.

He’s high risk for clotting, and a whole bunch of other post-surgery shit they’ve got to watch him for, like making sure he doesn’t end up with sepsis or fat embolism syndrome.

“We’re gonna take good care of him,” he promises. And it’s nice, but they said that about Mom too, and she still died, so it doesn’t give me much comfort.

By noon, I officially declare East a zombie. He won’t talk, and he won’t let go of Dad’s hand, except to run to the restroom to piss … and once to puke again. He must be puking up bile at this point.

“Will you be alright if I step out to grab us some essentials, princess?” Luke says into my ear, so East can’t hear, though it’s doubtful he would even if he shouted it. “I want to take you with me, but someone needs to stay with him.”

Yeah, East’s on the edge. He needs twenty-four-hour surveillance.

“I’ll be fine, but try not to be too long, okay?”

“I shouldn’t be more than an hour,” he promises. When he’s gone, I feel the loss of his big presence, how much it was silently holding me together.

God fucking dammit.

And all I can do is sit here and watch. I hate watching that breathing machine expand Dad’s lungs; it’s so unnatural.

I’m grateful it’s keeping him alive, but it’s a new nightmare unlocked.

It didn’t occur to me—ever—that I could lose Dad, as fucked up as that sounds.

He’s just so invincible. He’s one of those “live forever” kind of people. A demi-god among us.

The nurse comes in.

“Doctor ordered some blood for him, just gonna get him hooked up.”

That means East has to let go of Dad’s hand, but he’s right back there the moment he can be. This time, a watch falls down his arm, Dad’s watch. The glass is broken, but the hands inside tick with steadiness. I hope it’s a symbol of Dad—broken on the outside, ticking away strong on the inside.

“I’m sorry,” I tell East. “I didn’t react very well to the engagement.”

Is it the right time to have this conversation? No. But sitting here like zombies is rotting our brains. We need something else we can sink our teeth into.

“And, clearly, I’m a hypocrite,” I add, hoping he’ll respond with anger, anything to pull him out of the hole he’s in.

“I know you didn’t react well, Ace,” he says quietly. “It doesn’t matter now. He broke up with me.”

But.

What?

No.

My stomach drops so fast, it might have snapped off. It’s like someone’s taken a crowbar to my ribs and pried them wide open just to pour in one more dose of grief, raw and burning. After seeing how much this is killing East, that fucking stings.

“You’re the apple of his eye, you know?” East says. “And you should be. It almost killed me when he called off the engagement, but I understood.”

East’s lip trembles, awfully, as if he’s reliving that moment.

Oh God. I was wrong. So, so , wrong.

I toy with the blanket by Dad’s foot, needing him to wake up right fucking now, so I can apologize, and tell him to get back together with East.

“He’s a great dad,” I say while I’m mentally bullied by the ghosts of our last conversation. It’s the worst punch in the gut to know you’ve fucked up this bad, and you might never get to atone for it. Say you’re sorry with your whole soul.

“He was kinda losing his mind when you wouldn’t talk to him, and he obsessed over how he would make it up to you.”

“If you weren’t together anymore, how did you end up in the car with him?” I also stare pointedly at the blazer he’s wearing, which I’ve figured out is Dad’s blazer.

“We’re, um, we’re not very good at staying away from each other,” East says, some color finally coming to his pale face.

I’m not gonna think too long about what that means, but it makes me feel a little better. Maybe they were rekindling. It’s not even a question if East still loves him.

“I’m glad,” I say.

The corners of East’s lips lift into a weak smile. “He’s so proud of you. Never stops talking about you. Worries about you constantly.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I told him to tell you more. But he said you weren’t someone who needed endless validation, because Grace taught you how to validate yourself. He didn’t want to insult you.”

They talked about Mom? If East knows about her, they did. Then why did he stop talking to me about her?

“Usually, he’s right, but things were so strained between us, I think it created extenuating circumstances.”

“That’s what I said.” He lifts his chest, and with some of the downpour that was drowning him easing away for a minute, I get a glimpse of his strength. “And I can’t wait to tell him I was right, because he’s going to wake up. I’ll be filled with so many I told you so’s thanks to you.”

I nod. “He’s going to wake up,” I agree. “Mom was always a bruiser on the ice. If he even thinks about floating off to heaven, she’ll kick him right back down here.”

We fall into silence for a good thirty minutes. I think East’s fallen into zombie mode again, but then his eyes brighten. “So, you and the big guy, hey?”

“Yeah, and he’s my professor. Is Dad gonna kill me?”

He shakes his head. “Not once he sees how devoted that man is. How does a guy that big sleep in a chair that small?”

I give a one-shouldered shrug but lean in as if I’m about to tell him a secret. “I’m still not convinced he’s not really a werewolf.”

East asks me if I’d mind getting him a bottle of water from the cafeteria.

While I’m there, I grab a couple of coffees too, because Luke should be back soon.

When I return to the room, I freeze. East’s talking to Dad.

I shouldn’t listen, I mean to walk away—really, I do—but I need to hear what he says to Dad when I’m not in the room.

I highly doubt his love for Dad is an act at this point, but I need … more. I don’t know what I’m looking for, just that I’ll know when I hear it.

He brushes hair off Dad’s forehead.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, but you’ve said it yourself.

We’re gravity, Shae. I can’t fucking leave you.

I can’t .” East sniffles and lets out a fond hum, a little smile warming his lips.

“You could never keep your hands off me. Or your lips. And when I don’t have you all over me, I lose a little bit of my lifeforce.

I wither slowly, like a dying daffodil. God, I hate you. I hate you so fucking much.”

Using Dad’s hand, he cups it around his cheek, closing his eyes, remembering something.

“Please come back to me,” his voice rasps. “I don’t care if we never get married, I’m happy just being yours. Because I am, Shae. I’m yours and you’re mine. That’s not something we can control. It was decided for us by some other cruel power.”

I back out of the room without a sound, my throat thick, pulse skipping uneven.

What the fuck have I done?

I should have known that Dad, of all people, would be utterly gone for the person he fell for after Mom. He’d have to be. The way he loved Mom is how he loves. Period.

Which means he doesn’t love you with any less intensity, dumbass.

When Luke returns, we’re in better spirits, but Luke has to use his stern voice blended with some heavy coaxing to get East to change into different clothes. He finally relents, but he won’t relinquish the blazer, and I get it.

The blazer is a letter jacket in this scenario. If I didn’t have Luke to wrap around me, I’d be missing mine.

I know better. I do what Daddy says and change. I also eat and drink most of what he tells me to. It’s just light stuff, with beverages that’ll keep me hydrated.

Since East knows about Luke, I lean into him more.

I don’t know how Luke’s lasting like his battery never needs charging, but he’s as solid as ever after that short nap on the too-small chair.

And that’s really all I need, just his presence.

His ever-looming intensity. It keeps me safe.

It keeps me from breaking into a million pieces.

Two days pass the same way. On the third day, the monitor beeps … differently. The nurse is already moving. What does that mean? Rushing nurses isn’t a good look from my experience. My heart races, and I grip Luke’s hand tightly.

East’s still holding Dad’s hand, refusing to move, even as the nurse works around him. East’s thumb keeps tracing the back of Dad’s hand, slow and steadily, like he’s trying to heal him through his touch alone. He gasps, stilling his moving thumb.

“Ace,” he whispers. “He squeezed my hand.”

The nurse smiles. “He’s trying to breathe on his own. We’re gonna run a trial.”

In true Dad style, he wakes up the next morning like he’s been waiting for us to get into the car, and he’s been ready all along.

The breathing tube had come out late yesterday—he’d made it through the spontaneous breathing trial—and while that was a good fucking sign, even the nurse wasn’t convinced he’d rouse any time soon.

One moment, quiet tension filled the room, slowly suffocating all of us, but quickly shifted, replacing our doomsday with a miracle.

Eyelids flutter. A twitch of his mouth. A soft grunt like waking up from a nap that went two days too long.

East jolts up, knocking over the chair with a loud thud, blanket still tangled around one ankle.

“Shae?” His voice cracks.