“The reason why he’s been playing like the walking wounded, you mean.” Coach Smith’s eyes are hard on me, making me want to squirm.
“Which means he’ll probably feel a hell of a lot better seeing her than us right now,” Gray says.
I want to hug him, even if I’m not so sure he’s right.
Coach Smith seems to think the same.
“I’m going in there,” I say. “Try to stop me, and it will get ugly.”
This time, Gray’s suppressed laugh isn’t as successful. Coach Smith’s brows rise, but he steps aside. “If you’re that insistent. By all means.”
I move to the door when he comes in close. “But if I hear any hysterics, I’m hauling you over my shoulder and taking you out of here, Miss Jones.”
Got to love a man who protects his players like they’re his own. I nod and then open the door to Drew’s room.
Cool air and the smell of antiseptic hit my face as I walk in. At the sound of the door opening, he turns his head, but it’s an abortive movement, and he quickly looks away. His bed is elevated at the end so that his broken leg can rest higher than his head. Fading sunlight turns the picture window into a canvass of orange, and against it, Drew’s profile is sharp and clean. The fan of his lashes are touched in gold as he blinks. But the rest of him is still. So still. And though he’s a large guy, the hospital bed diminishes him.
He doesn’t move as I walk closer, but he swallows rapidly, making a series of clicking noises in his throat. His nostrils flare, and a tremor works over him. He’s trying so hard not to let go. And it kills me.
I don’t make him turn, but round the bed to his good side. To face him. The clicking in his throat gets louder. He sucks air through his nose. God, he’s pale and battered.
“Drew.” My voice is a breath, and his lower lip wobbles. His gaze darts around as if he doesn’t know where to look and is about to break.
I sink down beside him, and a shuddering breath rips out of him. He’s shaking his head as if to say no, no, no, and his face gets redder and redder. Gently, I cup his cheek. Drew’s eyes squeeze shut as he leans into my palm, and a tear leaks out.
“Baby,” I whisper, full of heartache for him.
A sob escapes. He falls into me, his head burrowing against my breast as his hands clutch at the back of my shirt. I gather him close as he lets loose. The broken sounds, his full-bodied sobs, tear into me. I curl myself around his torso, protecting him with what little I have as he cries.
I don’t say a word, don’t try to tell him it’s all right, because it isn’t right now. I can only run my fingers through his hair, stroke his broad back, and rock him slowly. His grip on my shirt pulls it tight like I’m his lifeline. And I cuddle in closer so he can feel all of me. I’m a wall. No one can get through me now. I’ll protect him with all that I have.
I lose track of time, and my leg grows numb. But I’m not complaining. Soon he goes heavy against me. But I know he’s awake. His lashes tickle my neck as he blinks.
“I’m so sorry, Drew,” I finally whisper, and it’s not just about his leg.
And maybe he hears that because a shuddering sigh leaves him. I kiss his temple, the wet rise of his cheekbone, his forehead, all the while stroking him. A soft touch along his neck, over his shoulder, his jaw. “I’m so sorry,” I say again.
His big hand opens and presses against the small of my back. I feel the heat of his lips on my neck, and he’s breathing me in.
“I’m so sorry, Drew.”
“Anna.” Just my name. But I hear the peace in it. And the need.
We hold each other now. And I’m not letting go.