She ducked her head. “You could call my parents.”
He sighed and slumped back against his pillows. She was right. It wasn’t the same. She had a family. Other people cared what happened to her. He wouldn’t be the one making those difficult choices for her.
“I would. But still, chérie, I don’t want to visit you in the hospital.” Dieu, he didn’t want to think about it.
“I’m glad you’re going to be okay.”
He glanced down at his foot and his eyes narrowed. “I hope so.” But there were no guarantees. Even if it healed well, he might never be the same player. It happened all the time. Players came back from injury and never regained their form.
“Bones mend. Brains don’t always.”
“I should be glad of that.” Right now it was precious little comfort.
“You said you’d be out for the rest of the season. But you’ll be okay after that?”
“Probably. Hopefully. Six weeks of nothing.” He spat the word out disdainfully. “Then at least another six weeks of physio. That’s nearly March. I might get a game or two in April if I’m lucky.”
“Well, that’s not too bad.”
He glared at her. She really had no clue, did she? “That’s if I’m lucky. First metatarsals take longer. It could easily be six months or more.”
Six months to be back on his feet. Seven to the World Cup. He was crazy to think he still might have a chance of making it.
“Right. Six months. It’s not a life sentence.”
Easy for her to say. “You could entertain me.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “As if I haven’t anything better to do.”
He couldn’t take it anymore. If she was going to pretend she still didn’t care, he didn’t want her here. “Go on then, Ms. Hotshot Lawyer. Go and do your better things.”
“Fine. You’ll let me know when they’re letting you out of here?”
“Maybe. If you’re that interested.”
She leaned over so that her lips were just above his. “I’ll come and get you if you give me a goodnight kiss.”
His anger melted as his hands slid up into her hair, bringing her down so that his lips brushed hers. “Thank you for being here,” he muttered.
Despite his injuries, she was the one needing reassurance and comfort. He stroked her softly and whispered the same soothing nonsense his mother used to tell him when he was young and scared. He hoped it didn’t matter that he couldn’t find the English words for what he wanted to say. Like a child, she clung to him, as if she were drawing strength from his warmth and hardness. She laid her head on his chest, and he put his arm over her, holding her safe.
“Okay?” he asked, a little while later.
“Yes. Sorry.”
He shook his head. “You’re allowed to be human sometimes.”
She managed a weak smile. “It won’t happen again.”
He rubbed his knuckle over her cheek. “Get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Chapter Eight
Theresa texted Emile, as soon as she was woken by her alarm, to ask how he was feeling. She was somewhat surprised to find a reply waiting when she returned from the bathroom.
Fine. Can you come and get me now?
She checked the clock. Twenty past six.
No. Why aren’t you asleep?
A few seconds later he replied.
They woke me up to give me more pills.
She laughed.
When will the doctor see you?
No idea. Come anyway. Bring something edible.
She could just imagine Emile’s opinion of a hospital breakfast. Cold toast and cereal with instant coffee wouldn’t go down well.
I’ll be there in an hour with coffee.
She made a cup of tea, then phoned the office and left a message that she was taking the day off. It was a strange thing, having someone else that she was responsible for. Not responsible, she decided as she sipped the tea slowly. That was too strong a word for their situation. Emile was an adult. He was responsible for himself. But she had certain—was obligations the right word?—toward him. Legally speaking, anyway.
It wasn’t any legal obligation that had made her cry all over him yesterday. He’d been so kind, just holding her while she needed it. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done that for her. But then she couldn’t remember the last time she’d needed it. She frowned. She’d been terrified when she’d had the phone call from the hospital. Terrified of her responsibility for Emile if he had been in a coma. More than that, she forced herself to admit, she’d been terrified for him. She hadn’t wanted him to suffer that. Well, she wouldn’t want anyone to suffer that. It was just that Emile was so much more than most people. Besides, she liked him. She… Okay, she cared about him. And she was married to him.
That was the stumbling block. She was married to him and she hardly knew him. He was fun to be with, and he could be incredibly kind, but they hadn’t promised any more than that. She hadn’t agreed to love or cherish him, and she certainly hadn’t promised to be at his bedside when he was knocked unconscious or broke his foot. And yet, she was his next of kin. She was the one the hospital had phoned and the one who would have had to make the difficult decisions if his injuries had been more severe.
She should never have done it.
“I’ve been thinking.”
Emile lifted his head and gave her a dirty look. “At this time in the morning?”
She handed him a cup of coffee and a paper bag containing a bacon sandwich.
“Of course. The brain works more efficiently first thing in the morning.”
He ignored her, opening the lid of the coffee and inhaling deeply. “Dieu, that smells good. You should try the stuff they bring me here. On second thought, don’t try it. It’s disgusting. Not even an English person could drink it.”
“We should never have married.”
Emile’s eyebrows rose to the ceiling. “You are only just thinking this now, chérie?”
“It was my fault. I hadn’t fully considered the implications of entering into a contract of such a personal nature.”
He took a cautious sip of the coffee, then a longer swig once he’d gauged the temperature. “You hadn’t fully considered what?”
“Being married. There are more obligations than I had anticipated. Yesterday, for instance.”
“You had to leave the office. I apologized for that.”
She waved his comment away. “Not that.”
“Today, then. Look, don’t worry. Rafael can come and get me. You go to work if you need to.”
“This isn’t about work.”
His eyes narrowed. “Sit down. Let me finish my coffee and eat my breakfast. And then you may tell me what is bothering you. Okay?”
She perched on the edge of the plastic chair and watched him eat the sandwich. When he’d crumpled up the empty bag and thrown it into the bin on the other side of the room, scoring a perfect goal, she moved her chair forward.
“It’s not appropriate for either of us to be listed as next of kin. If something happened so that I was no longer capable of making my own choices, you shouldn’t have that burden. I’m going to make sure that I carry a card stating that preference in case of emergency and tell my doctor. You should do the same.”
“I see.” He finished his coffee and aimed the cup at the bin.
“I’ll take that. It’ll drip everywhere if you throw it.” She went to take it from him, but Emile took hold of her wrist with his other hand.