Page 57 of The Goalie in Room 1

“It didn’t.”

“I woke up to you jerking on your knee brace. We need to make sure.”

“Fuck. Okay. Do it,” Cash ordered, staring at the ceiling.

I released the straps on the brace and opened it without moving his leg. The postoperative dressing remained clean and dry. There was swelling, but nothing unexpected. The compression sleeve and ace bandage were doing their job.

I sighed in relief.

No excessive bleeding.

No alarming discoloration.

No sign that his attempt to reposition himself had damaged anything.

Replacing the cold-therapy wrap he’d demanded I remove when he went to bed, I locked the brace down.

“I won’t remove that again. The cold⁠—”

“I fucking hate the cold. I hate feeling like I’m tied down,” Cash whispered. The gutted sound of his voice told me more than the words he said.

Swallowing, I pushed away the metaphorical puzzle pieces Cash Benjamin had dropped over the last twenty-four hours. I walked out to the kitchen and returned with four frozen water bottles to replace the melted ones in the cold-therapy unit before reconnecting the unit to the wrap.

A few moments later, I asked, “Better?”

The breath he sucked in shuddered as he released it. “Yeah. Thanks.”

I adjusted the elevation pillow beneath his leg. His breath hissed between his teeth until I had his leg settled again. Davina had been a godsend earlier, gathering all the equipment Cash and I would need when I explained the situation. I owed her flowers for not asking more questions. And possibly a certificate for a massage since she also cleared my schedule for the next few weeks. Or as much as she could clear my schedule.

I pulled the chair close to his bedside and lowered myself into it.

“You don’t have to stay here. You can go back to sleep,” Cash muttered, his eyes locked on his knee, his fingers picking at a thread on his basketball shorts.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes found mine. Pain stripped his defenses, leaving what looked to be a younger, far less confident Cash Benjamin than the one he showed the world.

“You don’t have to sit there all night. I’m sure you need your rest.”

“I know I don’t.”

His brow furrowed. “Then why stay?”

“There are several reasons.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded.

“What are they?”

Sighing, I responded, even though the small, shy voice that had asked for an explanation broke my heart. “Your nerve block is wearing off. You’re in pain. And, honestly, my gut told me you wouldn’t ask for help even if I slept in the same room with you, and clearly, you’ve proven that to be accurate, so…I’ll stay put.”

“You didn’t have to bring me here. I could’ve figured things out at Halo House.”

I bit my tongue, but apparently not hard enough because I muttered, “Yeah, navigating up and down the stairs would’ve been really therapeutic.”

“I could’ve stayed downstairs.”