Elise, the assistant physical therapist for the Redrocks and one of Tilly’s best friends, would help her. “I have a physical therapist.”
“Good.” He tapped the screen. “We’ll get those stitches out in a week or so, and you should feel like new.” He consulted his chart, pretending to be interested in what was there as he said, “You may want to check out room 304.” He winked and then swept out the door with the air of a man who had too much to do.
Her life had become a bad dream. She couldn’t imagine what Brayden was feeling. She sat up, wincing as her stomach muscles protested. She told them to shush and scooted towards the edge of the bed.
Her mom and the nurse were there, hands splayed out to keep her in place. “Where are you going?” asked the nurse. This was a different lady than the one Tilly hazily remembered from the night before.
“I’m going to see Brayden.” She put both feet on the floor and immediately lifted the right one back up. Her ankle was tender, and there was a water balloon under her skin. At least, it looked that way. She stared at it.
“We need to finish the discharge paperwork,” scolded the nurse.
Tilly glared up at her. “The man I love almost died. If you think I’m going to wait around for paperwork, you’re nuts.”
The nurse’s chin lowered in challenge. She wasn’t particularly large, but she had an iron grip on Tilly’s good wrist.
Tilly rolled her shoulder. She would so take her on. Judging by the look of the woman’s skinny little arms, she’d win too—bum shoulder and all.
Mom put herself between them. “I’ll find a wheelchair.” She turned to the nurse. “You grab the paperwork, and we will all get this done as fast as possible.” Her tone brokered no arguments from either side.
Tilly nodded. Now that she was in an upright position, her bladder screamed that there was something she had to do before walking.
The nurse spun on her heel, her nose in the air.
Mom sagged with relief. “Do you need to use the facilities?”
A half-hearted smile made its way to Tilly’s lips. “How’d you know?”
“Mother’s intuition.”
“I’m a little worried that you’re so in tune with my biological functions,” Tilly tried to joke.
“I remember what it was like after my gallbladder surgery. I couldn’t walk fast enough.”
Mom slipped her arm behind Tilly’s back and helped her stand fully. They made slow progress to the toilet. Tilly limped along, shaking her head at her sorry state. What a mess she’d gotten herself into. And Brayden? Oh, Brayden! She slumped under the knowledge of what she’d taken from him.
Mom had brought a pair of pajama bottoms and a baggy T-shirt. Tilly put them on in the bathroom. She took a moment to glance at her reflection. She was a sight to behold. The side of her face was bruised black and yellow, making a striking contrast to the white bandage on her forehead. They hadn’t shaved her head, thank goodness.
She had bags under her eyes and a cracked lip. Her shoulder was stiff and there were more bruises down that side of her body. Oddly, the more she moved her ankle, the better it felt. She’d call Elise as soon as she had her phone back. She patted her pockets out of habit. The phone wasn’t there. Oh well. Mom was here and Brayden was down the hall; everyone else could wait.
She opened the bathroom door. The nurse handed Mom a plastic bag full of Tilly’s personal items. Mom nodded towards the wheelchair by the door, and Tilly sank carefully into the coal-blue leather seat. Mom stored the bag in the basket under the chair. Tilly signed papers until her eyes crossed, and then they were finally free.
The hallway was brighter than her room had been, and her eyes were still dry. How it was possible to cry and have dry eyes at the same time, she didn’t know. But it was the least of her worries or her pains. The door to Brayden’s room was propped open. That didn’t seem right. He was as close to a legend in this town as they came, having played for the Redrocks for all four seasons the team had existed. His door should be shut to keep curious fans from poking their heads in while he was recovering.
She prayed he was recovering.
Tilly’s whole body tingled in anticipation of being with Brayden. She needed to see him, needed to hold him and be held by him—was dying to press a kiss to his lips.
All the while, there was a portion of her gut that told her to run away. Seeing accusation and anger in his beautiful brown eyes might just turn her inside out.
Tilly rolled through the door and found a nurse in pink scrubs that hugged her slim figure leaning over Brayden, brushing her fingers across his forehead. There was a glint in her eye that reminded Tilly of an illustration in a children’s book of the witch who had captured Hansel and Gretel.
Brayden was asleep, oblivious to the ministrations of his day nurse. The monitors beeped and green lines rose and fell with his heartbeat.
Tilly cleared her throat, and the nurse popped up, holding her hand behind her back like a child caught in the cookie jar. She made a mental note to ask the staff to keep his door shut and their hands off him.
Tilly brushed off the woman’s obvious discomfort as she rolled to the side of the bed and took Brayden’s hand in hers. Her man was a beautiful specimen, and women had a hard time resisting him. Not only was his body amazing—he put on muscle as easily as eating a steak dinner—but he had this whole preppy scruff thing going on with a trimmed beard, thick, straight eyebrows, and eyelashes she’d give her climbing gear for.
The release she felt, having his palm against her palm, sharing body heat, was enough to infuse her with strength. He was here, and he was still hers—if he wanted to keep her.
