"Guess so," I say."You okay with that?"
A pause, and then she nods, lifting up to peck my lips."Yes, I am.As long as you are."
Still standing on the ice, I take a moment to scan the crowd, my arm around Morgan's waist as she stands flush against me—many have left or are making their way out, but at least half of the audience is still sticking around, finishing beer and watching as the kids take the ice for the customary post-game free skate; all eyes are on us.I feel a twinge of guilt at the optics of being openly with Morgan at a charity game in memory of my deceased wife, but when I take Morgan's hand in mine and lift them together overhead, the response is deafening.
"I guess the town approves," I say.
Morgan eyes me."Areyou okay with this?"
I smile at her."Yes, Morgan.More than okay.Taylor made me promise I'd give my heart to someone else, someday.I think she'd be glad that I'm keeping that promise."I tug her tighter against me."I love you, you know."
She flushes."It's different hearing it…not in the heat of the moment."
"I know," I admit.“And same.But it's true.I love you.I'm proud to be with you."
"I love you, too.But we need to get you home."She touches the bridge of my nose."I can tell you're in pain."
"Let me change real quick, and then we can go."
She pushes me gently in the direction of the locker room."Go on, then.Mal and I will be waiting by the exit."
Changing takes longer than it should, as I’m hounded by the guys—as much in excitement about my relationship with Morgan as in congratulations for the game or concern for my concussion.By the time I finally get out of the locker room in my street clothes, my head is pounding worse than the worst hangover of my life, every step is agony, and I have to squint against the blinding glare of the harsh, fluorescent overhead lights.My gearbag weighs roughly a thousand pounds, it feels like.
I reach the exit—Morgan is visibly anxious until she spots me, and makes a beeline for me.
"Give me that," she says, grabbing my bag.
Mallory intercepts."I've got it.You hold onto Captain Concussion, here."
"Ladies, relax.I'm not an invalid," I protest.
"Noah," Morgan scolds gently."You're very obviously dead on your feet.You're white as a sheet, and you look like you're about to collapse any second."
"I'mfine," I insist."I just have a headache."
Mallory leans in close, muttering for my ears only."Best to just go along with whatever she wants.When Mom is worried, she's impossible to deal with.Trust me on that one."
I surrender the bag to Mallory with a sigh and wrap my arm around Morgan's shoulders, giving her at least the impression of my weight; I'd crush her like a bug if I gave her all my weight.
She notices, however."Noah, you have to stop thinking I'm delicate."Her arm snakes around my waist, and she squeezes hard."Trust me."
I let more of my weight sag onto her, and honestly, it's a relief.The exertion required to stay on my feet is dizzying.
We reach Morgan's Jeep, and Mallory heaves my bag into the hatch while Morgan eases me into the passenger seat.I relax against the headrest with a sigh—just sitting down with my eyes closed is a massive relief.
I’m barely conscious for the drive, letting exhaustion wash over me, and then we're parking.I open my eyes and discover we're at Morgans' house.
Morgan helps me out of the car."You didn't say which home.I want you here where Mal and I can keep an eye on you."
"As long as I can lay down."
"Can you manage the stairs?"Morgan asks.
"Yup," I grit out, even though I'm not entirely certain I can.
I grab the bannister and pull myself up, assisted by Morgan.
We reach her room, which I’m seeing in the light of day for the first time—pale blue walls, soft, plush, thick cream carpeting, an antique white four-poster bed with a sea-chest at the foot, a thick patchwork quilt draped over it.The room smells like Morgan.
