Page 18 of The Aster Valley Collection, Vol. 1

Dr. Bindi came back in with another doctor.

“You remember Dr. Sullivan. She’s the soft-tissue specialist. We’re going to take you for some tests to assess the damage to the shoulder and arm.

You’ll need the brain scan, too, just to rule out the concussion.

I’m afraid the rest of your evening will be taken up with tests.

Is there anyone you want us to call to keep you company? ”

Tiller pointed his thumb at me. “Already here. Let’s get this party started. And if you can find me some pain pills, I’d be much obliged.”

I blinked at him. Tiller hated taking medicine. He didn’t like giving up control or forgetting what people said. It was one reason he never got drunk either. If he was asking for pain meds, he was way worse off than he was letting on.

I brushed the towel over his forehead again and then down his sweaty chest. “Close your eyes and listen to my voice. I’m going to tell you the story of what Wally did when he got recruited to play for Notre Dame.”

“He didn’t play for Notre Dame,” Tiller corrected.

“No. No, he did not. He ended up playing for Clemson. That’s what makes this a good story. Even my dad doesn’t know this one. I’m not sure Wally realizes anyone knows this story. It involves the Notre Dame coach’s daughter and some seriously poor decision-making on my brother’s part.”

He tried to laugh but winced. “Oh god. Tell me everything. I love a good Wally story.”

Over the next six hours of waiting and testing, I told him every Wally story I could think of and a few about Richie.

When they finally gave him serious IV pain meds, he was able to relax enough to slip into sleep.

I used that time to wipe him down, at least the parts of his body not covered by the hospital gown they’d changed him into.

I didn’t want him caked in game sweat for the rest of the night, but I didn’t want to cause him any pain either.

Do not look at his body. He’s only this perfect because that’s his job. You’ve met enough of these assholes by now to know they’re not for you. Especially this one. Do your job.

I tried not to remember what it was like over five years ago when my father had walked in on Nelson humping me into the sofa in my parents’ family room or the helpless nausea I’d felt when I’d learned of Nelson’s trade to Seattle only ten days later.

There were a million reasons I shouldn’t think of Tiller as anything other than my boss, but my father’s reaction was definitely the biggest, meanest one.

When Tiller was finally cleaned up as well as could be, I settled into a chair next to his bed in the little curtained off area where they’d stashed us between tests. I pulled out my phone and left Sam a voicemail update before texting Tiller’s mom.

No concussion. Severe bruising to deltoid, biceps, and right pec. Dislocated shoulder. Possible radial nerve damage to non-dominant arm. Couple weeks in a sling.

Jill

Well, shit.

I laughed.

That about covers it. He’s gonna be pissed when he sobers up.

Jill

How you gonna keep him still? Want me to come?

I thought about Tiller’s mom. Jillian Raine was a successful midwife in Denver. When she took unexpected time off, it inevitably disappointed several of her pregnant patients. She usually planned her vacations at least a year in advance to avoid disruptions.

I think we’ll be okay. My plan is to get him hooked on Law & Order SVU. There are like four hundred episodes.

Jill

He loves that stuff. Has he done NCIS and Leverage? Hawaii Five-O?

I looked over at her son. He always looked vulnerable in a hospital gown. I hated it—hated seeing him less than a hundred percent. Mostly because I knew he hated it more than anything. His work was his life, whether that was a good thing or not.

If all else fails, I can always put on Drag Race. The man can’t pass through a room where it’s playing without getting sucked in against his will.

Jill

You’re evil. I love it.

I shot a quick pic of Tiller in bed now that he had a little line of drool hanging out of his mouth and sent it to Jill. She responded with a laughing emoji.

Jill

Thank you for being there. I love you both.

Love you too. Tell Moose the same.

Honestly, I was surprised Tiller’s dad hadn’t already been lighting up my phone with concern over Tiller’s injury status. I liked the man fine, but sometimes I wondered what Moose would do if Tiller could no longer play the game.

I sent my mom and dad an update although I was sure Coach was probably well aware of the situation. Within minutes, he responded.

Coach

Mikey? What are you doing at the hospital?

Tiller’s still here for tests.

Coach

What does that have to do with you?

I felt my blood go cold. Ever since Tiller had offered to make my “one season only” gig permanent, my dad had been very vocal against it. He’d even gone so far as to get me a different job by sending me over to another player’s house under false pretenses. A straight, married player’s house.

I’d tried explaining that Tiller and I were not in an inappropriate relationship of any kind, but Coach seemed to think two gay men in the same proximity couldn’t keep their dicks in their pants.

After five years of valiant effort, I could now confirm we could, in fact, keep our dicks in our pants.

Regrettably.

Coach

I’ll be there in five. You can leave now.

I didn’t respond.

“Baby?”

I looked over to see Tiller blink awake.

He looked dazed and confused, which explained the endearment.

Over the past few years, he’d slipped and called me baby when he’d been very tired, hurt, or sad.

I’d tried not to think too much about why he did it or why it socked me square in the gut when he did.

“Yeah?” I reached out and took his good hand in mine. “How you doing?”

“Wanna go home.”

“I know. Why don’t I go find someone and ask how much longer?”

“You have your car?”

I smirked at him. “Actually, I have your car. The SUV.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “You love that thing.”

“If you’re going to leave an eighty-thousand-dollar vehicle in the garage, then hell yeah I’m gonna use it.”

“My truck,” he slurred. “Granddad.”

I squeezed his hand. “I know.”

He turned his head on the pillow and locked eyes with me. “Wanna go home with my… Mikey.”

Oh hell. No. No, no, no . I was not going to get soft and smushy for Tiller Raine. My boss. My dad’s star wide receiver. No.

I cleared my throat and stood up, dropping his hand like a hot potato. “I’ll go check on your status. Hang tight.”

When I found a nurse, she paged the doc and got the go-ahead for us to get the hell out of there. I helped Tiller change into the warm-up suit and running shoes I’d had the foresight to grab from the locker room before leaving the stadium.

Just when I was finishing pulling his shirt on and getting his arm back into the sling as gently as I could, my dad and Tiller’s agent came racing in.

“Shit,” Markus said the minute he saw the sling.

“Fuck,” Coach groaned, raking a hand through his thinning hair. “Fucking Mopellei. I’m gonna kill him.”

Tiller narrowed his eyes at my dad despite his hazy pain medicine fog. “You called the play, Coach.”

I stepped back and tried to disappear into the corner of the room. If he was going to challenge my father’s coaching, I was going to do my best to become one with the beige vinyl wallpaper.

Markus, in his efforts to be the consummate mediator, held his hands out in a calming gesture. “That’s unproductive. Why don’t we talk about what it’s going to take to get you back in the game? Where are the doctors?”

After consulting with the doctors and learning that Tiller was out for at least four weeks, the mood in the room dropped a thousand degrees and the tension rocketed up.

“What are you still doing here?” my father snapped at me.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Tiller beat me to it. “He’s my ride.”

Coach’s nostrils flared. “What, did you just abandon your boyfriend midgame?”

So… I may or may not have told my dad a little white lie. No harm, no foul, right?

Tiller’s eyes snapped to mine. As far as he knew, I hadn’t dated anyone. Ever. We simply didn’t discuss our love lives with each other. I assumed it was one of the reasons he’d reacted so strongly when I’d mentioned hooking up with his teammate.

“Um. He’s… he had to leave,” I said lamely.

“Who?” Tiller asked. “I thought you brought Sam.”

Coach looked at Tiller in confusion. “Yes. Sam.”

Tiller’s eyes widened in surprise, and I saw that shit was going to get out of control very quickly if I didn’t do something. Fast.

I cleared my throat and looked at Tiller as casually as I could. “Remember when you told that fan about your eyebrow?—”

He didn’t even let me finish because he knew exactly what I was going to say.

Tiller was asked all the time about a scar in his eyebrow.

When he’d told the story of tripping over a crack in the sidewalk while eating an ice cream cone, the fans were always so disappointed.

So he’d decided to start telling people he’d gotten a late hit in a game in college.

It wasn’t true, but it was simply more believable.

Like me telling my dad I was dating Sam so he would stop worrying about me hooking up with Tiller.

Tiller nodded. “Oh, right. Sam. Sorry. It’s the meds. They’re messing with my head.”

Markus was pecking away at his phone. He finally glanced up at me. “I’m shooting you an email with the contact information for the rehab manager to coordinate getting Raine back out on the field. Let me know if you get any pushback and we’ll find someone else.”

I glared at him. “He’s not even?—”

My dad cut me off. “He’ll be fine by tomorrow to start. Tell them to contact Krystal once they’re ready to transition him back to the team therapists.”

“But he—” I began. Tiller shot me a look of warning, and I clamped my lips together. It was none of my business. I was simply the PA. I was supposed to do as I was told.

I’d never been very good at that.

After a few more minutes, Coach and Markus blew back out of the hospital room like they’d never been there.

Tiller looked over at me. “Sam?”

“Don’t ask,” I said on a sigh. “I needed my parents off my back.”

“So… you’re not…?”

“No! God, no. Me and Sam? No. He’s a nice guy. Sexy as hell, but?—”

Tiller’s nostrils flared. “No need to elaborate.”

“You don’t find him attractive?” I asked. Even though I knew Sam would never go there, I’d always wondered about Tiller.

Tiller shook his head. “First of all, he’s too damned quiet. Can’t ever tell what the man’s thinking. Secondly, he needs someone he can fuss over, someone to take care of. That’s not me. Third, he’s probably a top, and I probably am, too.”

I tried not to whimper with the confirmation Tiller liked to top. It had to be the meds that were loosening his tongue, because we’d never talked about our sexual preferences before. It was part of the boss/employee line we both tried never to cross.

“Well, too bad,” I said, shaking off my mental imagery of being topped by Tiller Raine. Hard . I cleared my throat. “I plan on fussing over you and taking care of you, so you’ll need to get on board.”

His lips turned into a slurry grin. “I like being babied by you, though. That’s different.”

“Well… good. Um…”

“What about you?” Tiller asked.

“What about me?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You and Sam.”

I shook my head more violently than necessary. “Nope. I love him. I do. But you remember how he was when I had my appendix out. He’s awful in an emergency, and I attract emergencies like you attract cheerleaders.” I bit my teeth together. Hadn’t meant to say that last part.

“There has to be another reason.”

I busied myself straightening up the two items on his side table. “He kissed me once, and it was just… meh.”

The silence was enough to make me look up. He was glaring at me like I’d said something offensive.

I threw up my hands. “What?”

“You and Sam. Kissing. Mpfh .”

The look in his eyes turned heated, and it made my stomach all squirrelly. “Oh, hey. Let’s get you out of here.” I bolted for the hallway, praying I could find a nurse or anyone who would release us from this oddball conversation and let us end this crazy day.

Thankfully, my dad had already greased the wheels and the nurses’ station was already processing his discharge.

When we finally got home, it was well after midnight. “Bed,” he murmured.

“Food first,” I said.

“Not hungry.” Tiller leaned heavily against me as I guided him into the house from the garage with an arm around his waist. He was a little unsteady from the pain meds they’d given him.

“Too bad. I’ll make something easy and quick. Sit here in the comfy chair.” I maneuvered him to the overstuffed chair in the sitting area of the kitchen before moving to the big Sub-Zero fridge.

“This is your chair.”

“Actually, it’s yours. I just use it.”

He shook his head and closed his eyes. “Nah. It’s yours. Can’t imagine anyone else sitting in it. I love coming home and seeing you curled up here. Makes me happy.”

“Stop being so sweet. Go back to being whatever stupid nickname your teammates use. Raine of fire? Raine down hell? Raine it in? Purple Raine?”

He snorted but didn’t open his eyes. “Purple Raine. Nice one. No sweet Raine?”

I shook my head emphatically even though he couldn’t see it. “Never. Not possible.”

“What’re you making me?”

I flicked on the gas stove and filled the pot from the built-in faucet over the range. “Protein spaghetti with garlic marinara.”

He didn’t say anything for a few moments. “I think food is how you love people.”

God dammit .

I bit the hell out of my lip before responding. “Nah. It’s just how I make my living.”

Tiller snorted. “I got a bridge to sell you.”

I got busy making enough spaghetti for both of us and then doubled it to make leftovers since it was another one of Tiller’s favorites.

If feeding people was my love language, Tiller was the most beloved human on earth. And I was in big fucking trouble.

Because I wanted him. I wanted him so fucking badly.