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CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
FORD
“She’s awake Mr. Remington. You can come back and see her,” a nurse says from the waiting room door.
I’ve been sitting in this chair at the hospital for over an hour, waiting to hear word that Amber’s procedure is finished. It’s a good thing I got a haircut the other day, otherwise it would look insane from how much I’ve been running my hands through it.
“Thank you,” I reply, grabbing my overnight bag and standing.
As I reach the door between the waiting area and the recovery room, the nurse holds it open so I can pass through.
“The procedure went well, and Amber is doing great,” she says.
I can’t remember her name. I don’t think I have the brain capacity today to learn any new names. The only name running through my head is Amber.
I nod and follow her down the hallway. We arrive in front of an open door, and the nurse steps aside, allowing me to enter first. Slowly, I walk toward the bed. Amber’s sleepy eyes blink a few times, like she’s trying to clear something from them.
She’s still groggy and acting strange. She grins at me, looking goofy and adorable before she slurs, “Well, aren’t you a big hunk of man.”
I snort a laugh, even though I know I’m blushing. “Wow, someone got the good drugs.”
The nurse giggles as she checks something on the monitor and makes notes on a tablet.
Amber sighs. “Ford Remington…captain of the D.C. Eagles hockey team,” she says in a deep voice the way a sports announcer would.
I laugh, enjoying this more than I probably should. Amber’s nose wrinkles, making her freckles shift. “Be honest,” she whispers. “Do you think you’re the hottest guy in the NHL?”
It’s difficult, but I keep my face neutral. “No. The hottest player in the NHL is Colby Knight.”
She nods, then her eyebrows draw together as if she’s deep in thought. “Colby Knight is hot. But not as hot as you.”
I have to roll my lips inside my mouth to keep from laughing. I know she’s coming off anesthesia, but damn if her words don’t make me stand a little taller. I can’t wait to tell Colby about this conversation.
The nurse walks toward the door. “Press the button on your remote if you need me. I’ll come check in every hour,” she says to Amber. Then she turns to me and gestures toward the very small chair in the corner. “And make yourself comfortable, Mr. Remington. As comfortable as you can, anyway.”
She leaves and I toss my backpack onto the stiff-looking chair. “How ya doing, Ambs?”
Amber smiles at me. “Better now. Could you hand me that water?”
I grab the water jug from the table and hold it up so she can take a sip.
She takes a few gulps then huffs a laugh. “I can hold my own water, Ford. But thank you.”
Setting the jug back on the table, I sit in the small chair, moving my bag to the floor and hiding a cringe at how many germs are likely being transferred from the laminate floors to my bag.
I study Amber, noting how flushed and clammy her skin is. “Are you okay?”
Her brows scrunch together. “I feel…so dizzy. And cold.”
Alarm has me up and pressing the nurse’s call button before she can say another word.
Five seconds later the nurse is back. She takes in Amber’s appearance and grabs the thermometer to take her temp. The screen shows she has a fever, but nothing crazy. “Sometimes the contrast—the dye—they inject during the heart catheterization can cause fever and chills, even nausea,” the nurse tells us.
Amber shivers, despite having a low fever.
The nurse gives her an empathetic look. “Would you like a warm blanket?”
