The doctor’s hands squeezed my wrists. “He’s fine. He’s awake, recovering well from anesthesia, and he’s been asking for you nonstop since he opened his eyes. I can take you back if you’d like?”
I wanted to throw up on my shoes.
The night had been a blur of ambulance sirens, people shoving me this way and that, Vanya unconscious and being taken away before I could evencheck to see if he was breathing, and then police asking me rapid-fire questions that I didn’t have answers to.
Eventually, Tiago got them to leave a card and fuck off, and while I still thought he was an asshole, Aravind drove me to the hospital, and we arrived less than ten minutes after Vanya’s ambulance had gotten there.
But I couldn’t see him then either. He’d been whisked into surgery because they were pretty sure he had internal bleeding, and I’d spent the last six hours losing my fucking mind.
“What, ah—what did you find? I mean, how serious is it? Will he live? Will he play hockey again? I don’t?—”
“It’s okay,” the doctor said quietly.
“Wha—Micah? Oh shit.” Boden’s crutches clattered as I heard him climb to his feet and then smack his boyfriend. “Hugo. Wake up! The doctor.”
Hugo swore a long string of French, and I heard his feet hit the floor.
“He can only have one visitor,” the doctor warned. “And he’s doing fine. He suffered damage to his gallbladder, which we had to remove, but he can live without that. He has some bruising to his liver and kidney, but nothing serious. Two cracked ribs, a very mild concussion, and a broken wrist, which did need pins. He’ll probably need to take the rest of the season off, but he’s not going to be forced to retire just yet.”
I felt my entire face get hot, and my tear ductsbegan to leak. I swiped away the tears quickly and turned to my friends. “Do you mind if I go? Uh…”
“Mon loulou,” Hugo said very quietly, pulling me into a hug. “Go. Boden and I will go home, and if you need a ride or support, you call, and we will be here. Okay?”
I let out a trembling breath and hugged Boden before taking the doctor’s arm, patting my pocket for my phone, then tucking my cane in close to follow him down to Vanya’s room.
It was two floors up in a small elevator, and the doctor said nothing, which was disconcerting, but I didn’t really mind the silence all that much. What was I meant to say?
That because of my inaction, the love of my life had been mowed down in a parking lot? Because while the cops had nothing yet, this was obviously Hunter’s doing.
Did I tell him that I finally let myself love only to nearly lose the man?
Or that part of me wondered if I deserved this?
I chewed on the inside of my cheek as the doctor led me down a maze of hallways I’d never be able to navigate on my own, and eventually, we came to a stop beside a room.
“There’s a chair set up that folds out into a bed. You can stay with him since he’s not in intensive care. He’s awake but groggy, and be careful with his side. The cracked ribs are probably the most painful part for him.”
“I—can you, ah…can you tell me how to find him so I’m not banging around?”
“Of course.” I felt him reach out, and then there was a small puff of air against my face as the door opened. “Straight in, go slightly to the right, and your cane will find the foot of the bed. Your chair’s on the other side near the window.”
“For the view?” I asked. I couldn’t help it.
Luckily, he laughed. “Page the nurse if he needs anything.”
I was released, and I stepped in to the sound of Vanya sucking in a breath. Then he began to cough, which made him moan.
“Please don’t hurt yourself,” I begged as I carefully found my way to his side. The bed was long, and the railing was up, and his right arm was in what felt like a temporary soft cast.
His free, uninjured hand found mine, dragging it up to his face, where he kissed over my knuckles, my fingertips, my palm.
“Micah, Micah,” he said, and then fell into a long string of Russian I couldn’t hope to understand. I leaned over him, feeling along tubes and wires so I didn’t ruin anything before burying my face in his neck.
He didn’t really smell like himself, and I hated it. I wanted to rip him out of this place and take him home, bathe him in his favorite soap, then wrap him in our bed and hold him until all of this was a distant nightmare.
“Micah,” he said again. His voice was thick withpainkillers, and I wasn’t even sure he was aware I couldn’t understand him. But it didn’t matter.
“Just rest,” I murmured. “Okay. I’m here. They said I could stay. Just rest.”
