They got to the stairs, of which there were actually six, and he didn’t stop for a second, worried that if he did he wouldn’t get up them, and he was pretty sure Ian didn’t want him lying at the foot of them instead of inside in bed.
Finally he was going through the front door, and he told himself he was almost there.In a minute he’d be sitting or lying down, and he could take the pill, and the fucking hurt would back off, and then maybe he could deal with Ian.
“I got you a wheelchair.Sit.”
“What?”
“I got you a wheelchair.Please, sit.Do you want soup?Toast?I didn’t know.”
He stared at the wheelchair for a minute, then shifted and sank down into it with a groan.
“I should have something with the pill,” he admitted.
“Yeah.I made chicken noodle soup.”
He didn’t wince.Ian was a notoriously bad cook.
Maybe he meant out of a can.
“Sure.Maybe with a couple crackers?”
“Of course.”Ian pushed him through the house, and the dining room was gone, replaced with a hospital bed, a cushy chair, a television, and a simple dresser.“The bathroom down here is yours.”
He had to blink hard, the kindness this showed almost too much for him to bear right now.“Thank you.”His voice was gruff.
“Of course.Do you want milk?Coke?Tea?”
“Daddy?Daddy?”The word was soft, a stage whisper.“Is it the hockey-man?”
He turned to stare at the little boy.Peter hadn’t even been one when he’d been traded to Florida, and now he was standing there by the staircase, towheaded and wide-eyed.
“Go on.He’s sleepy and needs soup.You need to try and go potty, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.”The boy stared for a moment longer before turning and going back up the stairs, dragging a stuffed rabbit behind him.
“He’s so big.”
“He is.They both are.Victoria loves to ice skate.He’s scared of it.”Ian sighed and shook his head.“What did you want to drink?”
Scared of skating.That was crazy.
“Ginger ale if you’ve got it.”His stomach was starting to churn.He knew it was from the pain and being overly tired, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep much else down at the moment.
“Okay.I’ll be right back.Don’t worry.You’re…home.”
Ian disappeared into the kitchen, and JP had to admit, nothing smelled bad.Or burnt.
Home.He nodded slowly.It was true.Florida had never been home.And he had to admit that Ian would have hated it there if he’d come.Hell, JP hated it there.His small apartment had just been a place to lay his head between games and practice.His friends had all been his teammates.It had never felt like home.Not like here did.Despite the way they’d left things, and that he hadn’t been back in three years, this was more like home than anywhere he’d been.
He managed to get himself onto the bed by the time Ian came in with a glass, a bowl of soup, a few crackers.
“Here, we’ll get your shoes off, and you can eat.Then I’ll help you get to the bathroom.”
“I’m sorry.I know you don’t need another person to take care of, let alone me.”
“I—We’ll figure things out when you’re rested.You’ve got to be able to breathe.”
“Well, I appreciate it.”He nodded to his duffle.“My pills are in my shaving bag in there.Could you fish one out for me, please?”
