Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Whitney

The reusable bags looped over my arms weighed me down as I struggled to insert Hudson's key into Gramps's lock. Finally, with a click, the door swung open, and I stepped inside. "It's Whitney!" I called, juggling the bags through the door, which opened into a great room encompassing a kitchen and a living room.

Straight ahead, Gramps leaned on his quad cane and struggled to get out of a battered old recliner. "Here, let me help you," he wheezed.

"Please don't get up. I've got it." I placed the bags on the granite kitchen counter, toed off my sneakers, and strode over to Gramps. Leaning down, I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed.

Gramps let out a surprised grunt at the unexpected hug, but then he returned it, his gnarled hand patting my shoulder gently. The scent of menthol filled my senses, likely from a pain-relieving cream he'd applied. "How are your knees? "

"Oh, fine. Fine," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Liar," I teased, and pulled back.

He frowned at my kidding. "Humph."

"But don't worry, because I brought you something for the pain."

He cocked his head, his eyes wary. "Yeah?"

I crossed to my bags. "I brought cold packs that wrap around your knees."

"I've been using bags of peas."

"Those probably aren't good enough to reduce the swelling. These are industrial strength." I opened my insulated bag and pulled out the packs I'd cooled in the freezer at Hudson's—at home. I placed a second set of pads in Gramps's freezer. Kneeling in front of Gramps, I strapped on one pad.

He hitched a breath, and then moaned.

My heart tripped a beat. "Oh, no! Does that hurt?" My hands flew to the straps to remove the pad.

His eyes drifted shut. "That feels so good."

I sat back on my heels and blew out a breath. "Should I put a pad on the other knee?"

He popped his eyes open. "Please."

I strapped on the other one, and he exhaled a sigh of relief.

"I'm so glad they're helping." A weight lifted from my chest. I stood and checked my watch. The pre-game show would start in thirty minutes. "Hungry?"

He hesitated, then admitted, "I could eat."

Something about the way he said it made me suspicious. "Did you eat lunch?"

His silence was my answer. I softened my voice. "Are you having trouble getting up to make your meals?"

More silence followed .

I sighed and propped my hands on my hips. "You should have told Hudson. I'll leave some chili for you to reheat tomorrow, and I'll talk to him about what we can do. We should be able to have someone come in and cook for you until you're back on your feet." I hoped his pain was just a temporary flare-up. "If not, Hudson and I will come over and make your meals."

"You're too busy?—"

"Not too busy for you." In a very short time, this man—grumpy on the outside but soft and squishy on the inside—had wormed his way into my heart. He was already like a grandfather to me.

I returned to the kitchen and removed the container of homemade chili and a pan of freshly baked cornbread from my bag, setting them on the granite countertop. Running my hand along the cool surface, I admired the modern fixtures and appliances. "This is a nice place." Large windows would let in abundant light during the day.

In contrast to the sleek, new apartment, the well-loved furnishings had seen years of use. Framed photos of family members sat on the end table beside his recliner, and a crocheted afghan draped over the back of the sofa. He'd made a cozy home with his cherished belongings.

"It better be. My boy is paying a fortune for it," he grumbled. His New England accent rolled off his tongue, thicker than Hudson's.

I found a pot, spooned the chili into it, and turned on the burner. "Do you have friends here?" I warmed the oven and slid the pan of cornbread into it.

"Oh, I guess." The words seemed to be pulled from him. "I'm in a bridge group. And I usually eat my meals in the dining room with Shirley." He ran a hand along his scruffy jaw. "She called to check on me yesterday when I didn't show up for dinner again. "

Was that a blush on his cheeks? I suppressed a grin.

We spoke of his friends in his bridge group, the meals in the dining room—they needed salt—and Shirley's granddaughter.

"I tried to get Hudson to ask her out, but now I'm glad he didn't. You're a much better fit for him." He nodded once, decisively.

My stomach sank at leading Gramps on, but he was happy we were married. At least we were giving him that.

And I'd already benefited from the arrangement. The previous day, I'd seen a new doctor and picked up my prescription. My shoulders felt lighter.

I found a TV tray table beside Gramps's recliner and set it up in front of his chair. I delivered a glass of ice water and picked up a bottle of Tylenol from an end table. "When was the last time you took this?"

His gaze slid away. "This morning."

I tsked . No wonder he was in pain. "You need to take it regularly. Hold out your hand." I shook two tablets into his palm and waited as he swallowed them with a few gulps of water.

Once the food was hot, we ate in the living room while watching the pre-game show. The commentators broadcasted from outside the arena with a raucous crowd roped off behind them. Smiling kids with the Blazers' dragon mascot painted on their faces waved at the camera. "It's fan appreciation night!" the host called above the din. Rowdy adults cheered in the background.

Pre-game ended and the game broadcast began. The play-by-play announcer and the color commentator reviewed the season while the huge dragon's head lowered from the ceiling behind them. The arena darkened, and the crowd roared as the Blazers skated out of the smoking maw. The telecast cut to a commercial, and I hid the disappointment that squeezed my heart. We were missing the fan appreciation ceremonies.

But Gramps needed company more than I needed to be at the arena with Hope and the other girlfriends.

Hope.

I pulled out my phone and dialed her number, requesting FaceTime. Her smiling face lit up my screen.

"Whitney! We miss you!" she called over the din in the background.

"Thanks, but I'm watching the game with Gramps at his apartment."

Her expression softened. "I heard he was having trouble with his knees. How is he?"

"I hope he's on the mend. But the broadcast cut to a commercial. Would you show us what's going on?"

"Of course!" She switched cameras, and the ice came into view.

I quickly kneeled by Gramps's side and shared the phone with him. "Look. Hope is sending us a live feed from the arena." On the screen, the team skated around the ice. They saluted the audience with their sticks, applauded, and waved. Hudson skated by, his helmet cage raised and his goaltender stick held high. The wide smile on his handsome face lit a smile on mine.

A thrill ran down my spine. Three days after I'd moved in with him, I still couldn't believe I had the privilege of waking up cuddled against my husband—the man I'd had a crush on. Still had a crush on, if I were honest. My inhibitions flew out the window when I slept, and my desires took over. I gravitated toward him until his warmth and spicy scent enveloped me. I had little time to savor the connection in the mornings, though. Hudson seemed to leap out of bed as soon as he awoke. Maybe he was the type of person who hit the ground running as soon as his eyes popped open .

I wondered if I could convince him to linger?

As Hudson passed the comp seats, he pointed to Hope's phone and waved. My stomach fluttered like a butterfly garden.

"That's my boy." Pride infused Gramps's words.

After the team made a few loops, and after a ceremonial puck drop by a long-time season ticket holder, Hope switched the camera view back to her face. "Will you be here for the playoffs?"

"I'll be there." Gramps nodded, his voice firm.

If he continued the cold treatments and regular doses of Tylenol, maybe he would be.

The puck dropped, and Colorado winged a shot past Hudson's right shoulder within the first three minutes. I winced, and Gramps grunted. He'd be beating himself up about that goal. But Luc and Bowen answered with a goal each. Gramps kept up a running commentary on Hudson's form, and I cleared the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen during commercials. The first period ended with the Blazers ahead by one goal, two to one.

I stood and stretched at the first intermission. "Hudson said you like brownies."

Gramps's face lit up. "Homemade? With chocolate frosting?"

I grinned. "You bet." I cut and plated two bars, poured glasses of milk I found in the fridge, and settled onto the sofa as the second period began.

Gramps took a bite and hummed his appreciation. "You're spoiling me, missy."

"That's the plan." I winked.

Shortly after the beginning of the second period, Colorado shot the puck through Hudson's five-hole, tying the game. I sucked in a breath, my muscles tense.

Gramps ran a hand along his stubbled jaw. "He should have focused on his depth control. I'll talk to him about that." He met my gaze, his eyes narrowed. "I've been watching him play for twenty-nine years now. I know him inside and out."

"I'll bet you do." I was sure he and the goalie coach would analyze the game, but I was equally sure Hudson would heed anything Gramps had to say.

Chase lit the lamp, and the second period ended with a score of three to two in the Blazers' favor. I slumped against the couch cushions.

During the second intermission, I cleaned up our dessert and switched Gramps's knee pads for cold ones. He sighed in relief when I strapped them on.

In the third period, Beck rifled a shot past their goalie, and Derek hit the back of the empty net for a final score of five to two. Hudson had made thirty-six saves.

I raised my hands in the air. "Yesss!"

Gramps chuckled and held up a hand for a high-five. I gently slapped his palm. He smiled through a yawn and droopy eyelids.

"Hudson is picking me up after the game and will help you into bed."

"I can put myself to bed," he griped, but his eyes drifted shut.

I grinned, quietly folded the TV tray against the wall, and draped the afghan over him. He snored like a chain saw, cutting through the peaceful quiet.

Settling into the sofa, I opened my phone and immersed myself in a fellow author's Regency romance novel. I lost myself in the story until a rap on the door startled me. I hurried to answer, and my heart tripped when I caught sight of Hudson's tall form through the peephole. I swung the door open. He'd removed his suit coat and tie, unbuttoned his collar, and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp shirt, revealing corded forearms sprinkled with dark hair. That dark, soft hair that brushed against my bare skin at night. A shiver trailed up my spine.

Hudson stepped in. "How is he?" he asked softly.

"He's sleeping in his chair?—"

Gramps snorted.

"But he could use your help in getting ready for bed."

"How bad are his knees?" His brow furrowed.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "He hasn't been out of the chair all evening. And Hudson," I whispered, "I don't think he's been eating or taking care of himself."

Hudson's gaze snapped to mine, his eyes wide. "I didn't know it was that bad." Guilt flashed across his face, his mouth a flat line. He clenched his fists.

"I brought him some ice packs for his knees, which gave him some relief. And I had him take a dose of Tylenol." I took Hudson's hand and unfurled his fingers. "But one of us needs to check on him frequently, or he needs a temporary home health aide during this flare-up. Someone to make sure he eats and takes his pain reliever, and to put those cold packs on his knees every hour."

Hudson nodded. "I've used a service before. I'll contact them tomorrow and have them send someone right away." He strode to Gramps's chair and gently shook his shoulder. "Hey there, Gramps." His voice was low, soft, and soothing. "Ready to go to bed?"

Gramps startled. "Wha—?" He lifted his head and blinked sleepily. "Hudson? When did you get here?" he mumbled.

"Just got here." He patted Gramps's shoulder. "It's late. Let's get you settled for the night."

"Let me help." I removed the blanket, revealing the pads. I folded the afghan and placed it on the back of the sofa.

Hudson kneeled, removed the knee packs, and set them aside. His eyes met mine. "These were a brilliant idea. Thanks, Whitney."

His warm gaze made my heart flutter. "I'm glad they relieved the pain."

Hudson helped Gramps to his feet, and they shuffled to the bathroom and closed the door. I carried Gramps's cane to the bedroom and stood it beside his bed.

In a short while, Hudson had Gramps dressed in his pajamas and tucked into bed.

I placed a glass of water and the bottle of Tylenol on the nightstand.

Hudson patted Gramps's arm. "I'll be back for breakfast, and we'll arrange for a home health aide then."

"I don't need an aide," Gramps muttered.

"It's not up for debate." Hudson snapped off the lamp. "Love you."

A weak "Love you too, son" floated through the air as Gramps succumbed to sleep.

We left the room, Hudson moving with grace and silence, surprising for such a large man. As soon as we entered the kitchen, strong arms enveloped me and tucked my head against a firm, sculpted chest. "Thank you for taking care of him," his voice rumbled through me. "I can't tell you how much it means to me."

I wrapped my arms around his waist and squeezed, cherishing his embrace. With every passing moment, I fell for this kind and protective man.

A man who said he'd never love again.