Page 67 of The One Timer

“Never mind that shit. How about you dickheads doing something for a good cause—come with me to the Boston rehab center for an event. Two hours tops.”

“Sure. When is it?” Jason says.

“This afternoon.”

Link and Jason both laugh at me. Link whips a towel at me for good measure and hits the shower. I turn to Sabien who has remained quiet.

“I’ll go. I’m kind of surprised you agreed to an event at a hospital.”

I acknowledge with a nod that it’s a big deal.

“It’s for Emery of the golden eyes and long chestnut hair, isn’t it?” In spite of his sarcasm, he’s serious.

I nod.

“I’ll get Jason and Link on board to join us. I’ll take them in my car.”

One corner of my mouth lifts in a grudging smile and I give him the finger, but in the fondest way possible.

Chapter Twenty-Three

CHASE

We go in the front door of the rehab center in Boston and I’m carrying a Whalers duffel bag filled with team swag for the patients, mostly t-shirts, wool hats and pens. I’m okay in the lobby, but when the PR lady has us follow her to the patient center and we walk down a corridor past patient rooms, the discomfort starts rolling, in the form of nausea. Shit.

“This place is nice,” Link says.

I snort. “You’re kidding, right?” I try breathing through my mouth to avoid the hospital smell, but it’s not working.

We reach the large room filled with all manner of exercise and therapeutic equipment and a table set up with an impressive buffet.

Standing at the table, Emery turns and smiles. “Chase. I’m so glad you’re here.”

I want to hug her, to lean on her, to soak in her caring and her positive energy to banish the sick feeling in my gut.

“Of course I’m here. You didn’t think I’d stand you up, did you?”

She shakes her head, her smile widening into a grin as she checks out my entourage. “And you brought reinforcements. Thanks for coming guys.”

Assorted wheel chairs and people on crutches start filing into the room and A Holly Jolly Christmas blares from the speakers.

“Looks like it’s party time,” she says. “Don’t mind the music. We’re celebrating Christmas late this year.”

I nod, staring at her uniform and the stethoscope hanging around her neck like a piece of jewelry, part of her outfit—which is standard issue sickly green scrubs and the ugliest thick-soled white shoes I’ve ever seen. Still, when my gaze returns to her face, noting how she fills out the scrubs, giving them more shape than I’d have thought possible, I have to admit she’s still gorgeous. Though in here, the rehab ward, I won’t say drop-dead gorgeous. My stomach pitches at the thought. Shit. Keep it together, man.

Link and Jason have already broken out the swag and are happily dishing it out and signing autographs by the time I calm myself enough to speak.

“What are we doing here?”

Her brows furrow in a delicate row of lines. “Spread some cheer? Talk hockey with some fans? Or how about enjoy some refreshments with us?”

She starts leading me to the refreshment table and I stop short, my stomach lurching. A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead as an old man with a beard rolls up to us in his wheel chair.

“Hello Harry,” she says, aiming the kind of smile at him that would cheer the dead. “This is Chase Whittier, a star forward⁠—”

“I know who he is. I follow hockey. He’s pretty damn good for a rookie. Those Whalers are a damn good up and coming team.”

“Thank you.” The words sound like a croak, but it’s all I can manage. My chest tightens making it hard to breathe. Through the window I see the flashing lights of an ambulance and dizziness rolls in like a fog darkening my horizon.