Page 52

fifty

RHETT

New York, NY, USA

I see her now.

I come to slowly.

The lights are too bright at first, the sounds too soft. It’s like I’m underwater. Disoriented. Dazed. Floating somewhere between dream and waking. I squeeze my eyes shut.

And when I open them again, I see her still—but something’s wrong. Her face is blotched with tears, cradled in her hands. She’s sitting right next to me. Just out of arm’s reach.

And for a moment, I’m not sure if I’m dreaming or dead or somewhere in between, but I just stare. Take her in. The fall of her hair, the curve of her shoulders. The way her fingers press against her temple like she’s holding herself together by sheer force of will.

She’s here.

I thought I lost her.

But she’s right here .

I try to say her name, but it comes out as a rasp. She looks up sharply, her breath catching.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, launching forward so fast the chair screeches on the tile. She leans over me, her hand reaching behind my head to press a button on the wall. “Nurse!” she calls.

I blink, groggy. “Cub?”

“Yes,” she says instantly, grabbing my hand in both of hers. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

I try to sit up, but my head swims, the ceiling tilting sideways. “What… what happened?”

Her eyes search mine, her voice soft. “You got hit in the head. With a puck.”

I close my eyes, a vague memory flickering through. “Oh yeah,” I murmur. “I remember…”

“You remember?”

I swallow, wincing as I shift my head. “I remember you told me to.”

Her eyes flutter closed for a second. She exhales hard. When she opens them again, they shine, glassy and wet. I half expect a sharp comeback, but instead she just squeezes my hand tighter.

“What else?” I manage, my voice barely audible.

She draws in a breath. “You doubled over. You weren’t steady. You… ran into Holt. He didn’t see you. He thought you were checking him, so he shoved you.”

I close my eyes. Christ.

“You weren’t ready,” she says quietly. “Your upper half twisted but your leg—your right leg—caught. Your knee…”

My eyes drift downward, and for the first time I see it—the bulky brace running from my thigh to my calf. Bandages wrapped tight underneath.

She swallows visibly. “You hit the ice. Your head… you were out cold.” Her voice cracks at the end. “You didn’t wake up.”

I let out a shaky breath. “What’s the damage? ”

“Concussion,” she says softly. “And a grade two MCL tear. You’re out for eight weeks.”

My eyes flick back to hers. “And what about you?” I ask. “What’s your damage?”

Her mouth opens, but before she can answer, the nurse appears.

“Welcome back,” the woman says warmly. “How are you feeling, Mr. Sutton? Any pain?”

I shake my head slightly. “Not really.” The truth is, I’m too foggy to feel anything at all.

“That’s good,” she says, checking the monitors. “Would you like anything for pain? We have oral or IV options.”

I go still. For the first time, I notice the IV in my arm, and panic flashes through me.

The nurse sees the shift and lifts her hands. “We haven’t administered anything yet. Just fluids.”

I shake my head sharply. “No pain meds. No oxy. No hydrocodone. Nothing.”

Her brows lift slightly, but she nods. “Okay. I’ll make a note—no narcotics.”

“Not even Tylenol,” I add, my voice hoarse but firm.

“Of course,” she says gently. “I’ll let the attending know.” She gives Caroline a kind smile, then slips out.

The door clicks softly behind her. The quiet is immediate.

When I look back at Caroline, she’s watching me with something unreadable on her face. She glances away when I meet her eyes.

I sigh, resting my head back. My throat works, the words thick. “I should’ve told you sooner,” I say. “I have a problem with painkillers.”

Her gaze snaps back to me.

“I’ve been… mostly clean for ten years. There’ve been a few sl ip-ups,” I admit. “But for the most part, I’ve kept it together. I had to.”

“Rhett—”

“No,” I say softly, shaking my head. “I need to say this. I want to. Because I care. I care what you think of me.”

She blinks rapidly, her eyes glossy again.

“That’s why I’ve been seeing someone,” I continue. “Why I’ve been talking to someone lately. More often than usual.”

Her lips part. Her brows draw together.

“Lauren,” I murmur.

Realization dawns in her eyes. “Lauren?” she repeats.

I nod faintly. “She’s my therapist.”

Her face crumples, her fingers flying to her lips. “Oh my God…”

“I’ve been afraid,” I admit, voice rough.

“The closer I’ve gotten to you, the more I’ve felt like I have to be…

perfect. And with this game coming up—against Chicago—I knew I was close to slipping.

So I’ve been seeing her. The other night was the last time.

I promised her… I promised myself, if I ever thought about relapsing, I’d think of you instead. ”

“Rhett…”

“I didn’t want you to know because I didn’t want to wreck this,” I say. “But I guess I did anyway.”

She shakes her head quickly, wiping her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I—I thought…”

“I know what you thought.” I give her a tired smile. “I probably would’ve thought the same.”

Her breath hitches.

I pat the bed beside me. “Come here.”

Hesitant at first, she climbs onto the edge of the mattress, curling toward me.

“We’ve made a real mess, huh?” I say, my lips quirking faintly .

She gives a watery laugh, wiping at her cheeks. “Yeah. We have.”

I glance at her, my chest aching. “There’s more,” I murmur. “More I want to tell you. If you want to hear it.”

She nods, the motion small but sure. “I do.”

I reach for her hand. “Think you can get a week off? I mean… if you’re not leaving for New York…”

Her mouth lifts faintly. “That’s not until next season.”

I squeeze her hand. “Then I’d like to take you somewhere,” I say softly.

She looks at me for a long moment, her thumb brushing over my knuckles.

“Okay,” she whispers.

And even though her eyes are still shining, there’s the barest hint of a smile on her lips.

And that alone is better relief than any painkiller they could offer me in this place.