“Can’t I just go home?” I ask whoever’s tucking me into the new bed.
“Not until that fever’s gone, hon,” the new nurse says. She’s a big Jamaican woman by the name of Bertha, and I like her immediately. “Tomorrow, probably.”
But I thought itwastomorrow.
Does that even make sense?
More sleep now.
I close my eyes while Bertha is still fussing with my IV fluids. Wes looms somewhere nearby. And that’s all I need to know for now.
SEVENTEEN
WES
After wolfing down the sandwich Blake brought, I spend the rest of the night in Jamie’s room, sitting in a plastic chair. I sleep in fifteen minute increments, my head dangling onto my chest. It’s more exhausting than just pulling an all-nighter. Live and learn.
Then morning arrives with a startle. There’s too much light everywhere, and when my vision focuses I’m staring at Frank Donovan, who’s poked his head into Jamie’s room.
I stagger out of my chair and move toward the hallway, so he won’t wake up Jamie.
“What time is it?” I ask, sounding incoherent even to my own ears.
“Seven-thirty.”
Shaking my head briskly, I try to crawl out from under my own exhaustion. “Working early today?” He’s standing in front of me in a suit and tie, his shoes shined. His hair combed. We are a study in contrasts.
Frank chuckles. “Turned off my phone at two-thirty in the morning. Turned it back on again at six to find a hundred andfifty missed calls. Every sports news outlet in the world wants to talk to you.”
“Too bad they’re not going to,” I say firmly.
Frank chews on his lip. “Look, I know you’re in a tough spot. But it’s not enough for the team to issue supportive press releases. My office is doing all it can to say that everything is business as usual with regard to you. But the fans need to see you on the ice with your teammates. That’s the only way the public can be sure we mean it. It’s that or an interview on Matt Lauer’s sofa, sitting beside your coach.”
A bark of laughter escapes me. “Hal doesn’t want that.”
“Hal will do whatever the team needs him to. As willyou.” This last bit is said in an ominous voice.
“Or what?” I ask crankily. “You’ll fire me? The gay guy? That’s gonna look bad.”
Frank taps his foot impatiently. “Don’t be that way, Ryan. I’m busting my ass to shut down the swirl of media bullshit. I’m on your side. So put your goddamn skates on this morning and make that job easier.”
“When’s practice today?” I ask. My wheels are turning.
“Eleven.”
I glance over my shoulder at Jamie. When the nurse checked his vitals a couple hours ago, his temperature was down to ninety-nine and a half. Finally. “Okay, I’ll skate in practice today. But I’mnotgoing to Tampa tonight. If they let him out of the hospital tomorrow, he can’t be home alone. We don’t have family here.”
Frank thinks it over. “Fine. It’s a deal. But you’d better call in some backup to come and stay with him. You’ve got Nashville up next. The team won’t let you miss games unless there’s a dire family crisis.”
I want to pound something whenever he says that. Thisisa dire family crisis. The direst.
“...and the fans need to see that your position on the team is secure. If you stay away, it looks like we’re trying to get rid of you. You show up and skate, the story fades faster.”
Well now he was singing a tune I could dance to. “All right. I’ll figure something out for Nashville,” I tell him, just so he’ll shut up. “And I’ll be there at eleven today.”
He lifts his chin toward Jamie’s room. “Say goodbye now. I’ll drop you off at home so you can sleep for a couple of hours. We need you looking peppy.”
Pushy much?I stare him down for a second. But damn it, I’m trapped here at the hospital without my car. “Hang on.”
