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"If you don't mind me asking, what are your husband's flaws that prevent them from developing a relationship?"
"Pride, honey. My husband isn't embarrassed by Slade's success, as he claims. He's just hurt that Slade has rejected the course of life that Chad took to pull himself out of his situation," she says, glancing over at her husband, who's standing by the nurse's desk, pacing while he's on the phone with someone. "If you saw how Chad lights up when someone on the golf course brings up Slade's goal and assist stats, you'd never question how proud he is of Slade. I just wish he could show Slade that too."
She and I sit for a while together while Chad keeps busy, making calls to specialists he knows regarding concussions and head injuries. The Hawkeyes doctor on staff comes out at one point to talk with us and tells us that they are exhausting all tests as a protocol for Slade's sports injury. At least they tell us that he's stable and communicating.
The tests seem to take forever. Players come and go after the game, hoping to see Slade, with a limited amount of people allowed in the ICU, everyone is asked to go home for quiet hours. They allow one of us to stay, and though Chad immediately volunteers, Lisa backs him down.
"I think the first face he'll want to see when he wakes up in his room is Penelope's."
He's reluctant to leave but agrees after finding a hotel suite open in a hotel room right next door.
"Call if anything changes… or if he wants to see me," Chad says, his voice almost breaking at the end.
Maybe Lisa is right. Maybe Slade's father is a man of two minds. I hope these two strong-willed men find some common ground.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Penelope
A small movement catches my eye over in Slade's direction.
His eyes flutter open for the first time since they carted him in, fast asleep. I hibernate my phone as soon as I send off the last group message, which says that I still haven’t received a full report from the doctor yet but that Slade is sleeping soundly and doesn’t seem to be in any pain.
I set my phone from vibrating to silent and set it on the hospital tray next to me to eliminate any distractions.
“You’re here,” he croaks, his voice heavy with sleep and probably whatever they gave him for pain.
“Of course, I’m here. You took a pretty big hit out on the ice. We’re all worried about you.” I should call the nurses back in now that you’re awake. They wanted to know when you woke up,” I say, pushing out of the only other chair in his room to head for the door.
“No, wait,” he says, reaching out a hand towards me. “Come here first.”
He pats a small sliver of bed next to him.
“You want me to lay next to you?”
He nods slowly with the padded neck restraint they have secured around him. Then he reaches for it and yanks it off.
I don’t take any steps closer to him. A part of me feels guilty for all the awful things I said to him before I knew about the bet. I feel bad that I’ve harbored this hate for him for so long when, in truth, he did everything he did to protect me… and my father.
I want to use the fact that he lied to me about being Win to counteract my guilt, but that’s hard to do when I’m relieved that they are the same person. I don’t have to choose between the two men I’m falling in love with because they are one and the same.
“You should probably keep that on until they clear you,” I say.
“I’m fine. They ran all of the tests before I fell asleep. It’s a concussion and minor whiplash, that’s all. No real damage to my neck,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand.
I’m sure it’s sore, though. And I’m confident that whiplash is considered damage, but I’m not going to argue; he’s a grown man.
“You said everyone’s worried about me?” he asks.
“Yes, the entire team has been calling and texting me nonstop, wanting an update on how you’re doing. The team came by to check on you, but it was past visiting hours, and you weren't out yet, so she sent everyone home.”
“But you didn't leave?”
Does he want me to admit that I fought my way into that ambulance with him when the EMTs told me I would have to drive my own car? Or does he want me to admit that the nurse would have had to call security on me to kick me out before I would have taken a single step out of this hospital?
“No, I wasn't going to leave. You took a hard hit during the game. Do you remember that?”
“Oh fuck,” he says, running his hands through his hair that’s even more wildly messier than usual but just as sexy. “What happened? Did we win?”
