Chapter 5

Being stuck in a hospital is much worse than I thought it would be, but being trapped in a bed? Nothing tops that. It's absolutely miserable. Going to the kid's cancer ward yesterday was a privilege and a gift I never thought I'd get, so I'm at least grateful for that. It's too bad my visit was cut short. I understand it must have been really stressful for Bailey to not find me in my room where I was supposed to be.

Either way, I thought the company of the nurses would make things better for me during my stay, except I got stuck with the cutest, grumpy little thing instead. So now I'm chained to this room, unhappy and without human contact, save for the times she comes in here throughout her shift—during which she mostly ignores my attempts to talk to her and makes me feel stupid for even trying. In fact, she wants nothing to do with me.

I've been pushing those feelings down though, and for the most part, it's been working. Maybe it's the fact that I'm doped up on pain meds for the skull fracture, but I've been in a slightly better mood the last few hours. At least that's what I show them when they come into the room. Other than that, I have been catastrophizing ever since I was admitted to the PCU. My career is on the line, and even my friends have been walking on eggshells around me.

No one has said it out loud, and the coach has been really supportive while I get through this. But it's an unspoken thing—if I don't get better soon, I won't just be benched for a few weeks. I could be benched for the season. Worse, if I'm unlucky.

However, I'm still trying to put one foot in front of the other and remain as positive as possible. Though I can't deny it's been really difficult. That's why I've been deflecting with humor, except tonight. I can tell it might be a miserable time if Nurse Bailey keeps being rude to me—or just plain ignoring me. Talking to her might make me feel better, if only she'd give in. I need the distraction…because if not, I'll just lie here and contemplate my failures—especially my career.

A knock sounds at the door and it opens a moment later, my friends strolling in with an armful of food. The smell of Dick's Drive-In is making my mouth water, and I groan. "That smells amazing," I tell them, my face scrunched up with the pain throbbing in my temples, but I brace it for the sake of not worrying them.

Jeremy comes in with five bags of burgers, Matthew has a cup holder, Oliver has snacks and an Icee, and Noah just brings a bright smile. I love my friends, now more than ever. They've been there for me through thick and thin. Especially when Angela broke up with me because this lifestyle was too much for her, including traveling and away games. And also through my little sister dying of Leukemia during my rookie year. That pain still hasn't left me, but it hurts a little less than it used to—at least most days. The anniversary of her death is still raw, fresh pain always accompanying it. That's yet another thing my ex-girlfriend could not handle—my journey with grief.

"How's our favorite D-man?" Oliver asks, grinning at me, waiting for Jeremy's retort. They always do this to press Jeremy's buttons, and it's entertaining for more reasons than one.

He doesn't disappoint. "Hey, what the hell?" He huffs, "What about me?"

We all laugh, and Noah says, "You're not the one in a hospital bed with a broken head."

"You're not wrong," Jer mumbles, his lips turning down. It's all an act, he knows they're just playing.

"As long as the other head is still intact," Matthew says. "It is, right?"

"Yes," I smirk. "Very much so."

The boys settle in some of the chairs Nurse Linda brought in, catering to me and all the people who have come to visit me, and Jeremy passes the burgers around. He also gets the snacks—Sour Patch Kids, cookies and cream Hershey's bar, Oreos—and sets them on the bedside table. My eyes bulge out of my head as he gives me the red Icee and my burger.

The first bite tastes like heaven, and so do the second and third. I wash it down with my Icee when I begin to feel choked up from how quickly I'm eating, and everyone stares at me with their eyes bugged out. "What? The food here is shit."

Jer laughs, "Did you think they were going to cater to the NHL star?"

"Sure would've been nice to have something other than bland mashed potatoes and chicken."

"Like what?" Oliver asks with a snicker.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe loaded mashed potatoes. Or gravy. Anything with flavor, honestly." I sigh. "But seriously, thank you for having my back, Jer."

"No," Oliver interrupts. "Thank you both for having mine. That asshole deserved what he had coming."

"What do you mean?" I ask him with confusion.

"He got his teeth knocked out." He smirks. "Everyone lost their damn mind when you were wheeled out."

That should bring me a sense of satisfaction, but instead, I feel nothing. Because I'm still here in this fucking hospital bed. I'm pissed as fuck. Some teeth knocked out is not nearly enough punishment for what he did to me, and I very much plan on benching him for the rest of the season in our next game against each other.

If I'm back on, that is.

"He deserved it," is all I say, and all eyes land on me.

I know they can read me like a book, and they suspect—more like are aware—that I won't just stand there and let him play another game against us. He didn't deserve to have his teeth knocked out, he deserved to be in the hospital just like me.

"Hell yeah, he did," says Jer.

Our conversation is put to a stop by a knock at the door.

"Who's there?" I ask with a smirk.

"Bailey," she says as she begins to enter the room.

I fake furrow my brows. "Bailey, who?"

"Your nurse—" She looks at me with narrowed eyes. "I'm not falling for this."

With a smirk from all the guys in the room, she brings her computer to my bedside with a little syringe in her hand. Fuuuuckkkk. I guess it's that time again. It's a good thing I finished my burger. I hope I can keep it down. This medicine makes me nauseous.

"Falling for what?" I ask with feigned innocence. I love knock-knock jokes, so sue me.

Bailey turns her cute little nose up at me, her green eyes rolling to the back of her head. She seems to really dislike me. I don't know why. Maybe she doesn't like hockey players…or maybe it goes a little deeper than that.

"You know what."

"No, I don't?—"

"Name and date of birth." She interrupts as she begins to scan medications.

"Theo Anderson," I say. "May fifteenth…"

"Alright, Mr. Anderson." She prepares the medicine for me, inserting a needle into a bottle and drawing up the Morphine. "On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in?"

My head begins to throb at her question, and I'd say a solid six. "Why, sweet Bailey?" She shakes her head and purses her lips at the nickname. "You gonna kiss it all better?"

Everyone in the room chuckles.

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

However a little smile tips up one side of her mouth, bringing me a deep sense of satisfaction. "That's a pretty smile you got there," I say, even though we both know it didn't bloom all the way. "You should try it more often."

"Smiling is overrated," she says seriously. "And you didn't answer the question."

"My pain is a six out of ten," I say with a tight smile.

"See? That wasn't so hard." She scrubs the IV port attached to the tubing and clamps it so it doesn't feed back into the Normal Saline bag. "You'll feel better soon."

"I will if you stay here with me."

"I have other patients," Bailey says, beginning to wheel her computer away. "But nice try."

"Oh, c'mon!" I put a hand to my chest as if wounded. "I'm the best patient you've ever had."

"Debatable, Mr. Anderson."

She heads for the door. "It's Theo!" I yell after her.

Silence descends upon the room when she leaves, then we all burst out laughing. My belly hurts and my head throbs, but I can't control it. There are tears in my eyes, for fuck's sake.

"Dude," Jer moans. "She is hot."

"I know," I reply.

"You were flirting with her," Oliver smirks. "Why?"

"Because I'm bored." Out of my damn mind.

"Nah." Jeremy rolls his eyes. "We all know that's not it."

"Why wouldn't I flirt?" I make eye contact with him and grin. "She's pretty, and she hates me."

I love the challenge.

But that's not the only reason. I just want to make her smile a little, even if she'd never give me a chance.

"He's right," Jeremy says. "I'd flirt with her too."

After we've all finished our burgers and I've dug into the snacks, Jeremy gathers all the trash and puts it in the big bin next to the door. "Alright, boys," I say. "I think I need my beauty sleep. My head is killing me."

Oliver snickers, Jeremy smirks, Noah rolls his eyes, and Matthew smiles at me knowingly. I may or may not want to be alone when Bailey comes back, and they all know it. So what if I want a few minutes alone with her to figure out what it is that's making her hate me without giving me a chance? I feel like there is so much I don't know about her, yet I really want to find out.

They exit the room single-file and shut the door quietly, giving me some much-needed peace. It's ten p.m. now, and I know it's around the time when she should be coming back to check on me, mostly to make sure my head is alright.

I have to admit it is feeling better after the morphine. I hate taking it, and I'm sure we will thankfully downgrade medications soon, but I can't lie and say it's not helping. And that's the scary part. I don't want to have to take it at all; it gives me anxiety to be in pain. I can't expect to not hurt after this type of injury, but it still sucks that I am injured in the first place.

The door opens suddenly, and Bailey strolls in, looking pretty as ever and with a little furrow in her brows. She clearly doesn't like the fact that she has to come in here, and if I didn't suspect there's a deeper reason for it, I'd honestly be slightly offended.

People tell me I'm basically a teddy bear in human form, so I really don't get it.

"Come back so soon?" I raise a brow, a smirk on my lips. "I knew you would."

Bailey doesn't even look at me as she talks, "Sit up for me. I have to take your blood pressure."

I roll my eyes and sit up for her, extending my arm so she can wrap the blood pressure cuff around it. She does, tightening it to the point it actually hurts. I narrow my eyes at her, but she doesn't even bother looking at me. I force a smile on my lips even though the cuff is tightening to the point where my fingertips are numb. I still can't help wincing when it gets to its tightest point.

Bailey moves behind me, adjusting my pillow by punching it a few times, and I smirk. What the hell is her problem? Why is she being so rude to me? And everyone else she talks to? I've heard her talking to other nurses, like Linda and another girl I don't know the name of. She's been really mean to them, as if she dislikes them deeply or is annoyed by them. I can tell from a mile away she doesn't want to be here, and that makes me kind of sad for her.

Her fingers are cold as she unwraps the blood pressure cuff from my arm, and I exhale roughly and flex my hand, trying to regain feeling in my fingers. They're asleep, and I groan at the tingling feeling. But instead of acknowledging me, she takes her stethoscope out of her scrubs pocket, popping a hip out and looking at me expectantly. I pretend I don't know what she's about to do.

"Can you lift your shirt, please?" She says with a huff, clearly exasperated.

"Usually, I go out to dinner first, but since you're asking so nicely," I reply with a grin.

She doesn't return it.

I lift my shirt for her, and her eyes widen like saucers as soon as she stares at my chest. She does a great job of hiding it after a second, but I've taken a picture of that face in my brain, and it will live there from now on. I just know it.

Her cold stethoscope meets my skin, making me shiver, and she puts a dainty hand on my chest as she leans over me to steady herself. I don't dare even breathe, scared she will pull away. My body feels hot from the inside out, the searing contact making me light-headed. Bailey is pretty. But up close? She'sPerfect.

Her green eyes are cast down onto my chest, and she's breathing a little shallow, not daring to meet my gaze. It makes me want to smile, but then again, I don't know if she's affected by me or if she just dislikes me so much that she's uncomfortable. Either way, I stare at her features. Her heart-shaped face, light freckles dusted on her cheekbones, and long, dark lashes. A small, straight nose and full, kissable lips. Light brown hair that curls down her back.

"So why do you?—"

"Be quiet," she chastises. "It hurts my ears if you talk."

God, she's so…snappy. But I oblige, if only because I really don't want to hurt her ears.

She moves on from my chest, letting go of it and trailing her stethoscope down to my abs. They clench out of instinct, mainly because it's cold, and she glares at me. Automatically, I try to relax, taking deep breaths. Leaning forward, I give her access to my back so she can listen to my lungs. Even if I want her to snap at me a little, I don't want to give her too much of a hard time.

"Thank you." She breathes, placing the stethoscope on my back, making me flinch. "Sorry, I know it's cold."

I rear back, surprised by her apology.

She removes the stethoscope from my skin, her hand trailing down my back for just a second before stepping away from me and then putting her stethoscope back in her pocket. "How come you don't wear it around your neck like everyone else?" I ask her, noticing how her hands shake slightly at my question. She doesn't wear any jewelry either, and that's weird in itself in comparison to the other women who work here.

"I just don't like things hanging around my neck."

I nod slowly.

But it still feels like a rehearsed answer. What is she hiding?

Seeming to be done with the conversation, she takes out a pen light and clicks it on, shining it in my eyes. I can sense her apprehension, and I don't want her to feel pressured.

"I'm sorry—I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. It was a dumb question."

"It wasn't," she blurts out. "I just don't like talking about it."

Okay, so that means the conversation is finished. Except now I'm wondering if it's a precaution or if something has already happened. Is she traumatized by something? She is uncomfortable. So something must have happened. I'm sure any other nurse on this floor would talk about it freely, but not her. She's guarded, keeping secrets.

"Can you look at the light?" I do as she points it at my eyes, and I can see her nodding out of my periphery. "Okay, now follow it."

I follow her directions again. "How am I?" I ask her nervously. "Everything okay?"

"You look good," she replies, then flushes when I look at her. "I meant—everything seems fine."

I smirk, even though she looks like she wants to hit me, so I stop my smile from blooming all the way. "Great." I sigh, feeling nervous. My whole future depends on this, and my hands shake slightly.

She frowns, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," I say quickly, like a reflex. I don't want to open up to anyone about it, but maybe I do need to talk about it with someone who's not on the team. These days, it seems like they're the only people I know.

Bailey puts the penlight away and touches my jaw, directing me so I can look down. She could've just said to do it, but I have a nagging suspicion she thinks I'm cute beneath that tough exterior.

She looks at the stitches on my hairline, pushing my hair back. Her hands on my skin feel so warm now, a contrast to how they felt only a few minutes ago. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, bracing myself.

"No." I tell her.

"No?"

"I am not okay," I whisper. "I'm far from okay."

Bailey steps back, hesitating. "Oh," she replies. "Well, that's refreshing to hear."

"Refreshing?" I ask with a frown, my lips tipping down.

"Yeah," she replies. "I hate when people pretend life isn't awful sometimes. I was starting to think you were one of them."

"How come?" I search her green eyes, and they slightly crinkle in the corners when her lips tip up into a small smile. I want to see more of them, but getting them out of her seems pretty difficult.

Bailey shrugs. "You smile a lot."

"Just because I smile doesn't mean I want to be here… Or that I am happy. But I am actually considerate of other people's feelings and hard work," I snap. "I don't need to be rude to you just because my life sucks."

Bailey flinches. "I?—"

"You've been kind of mean to me, no offense." I breathe in deeply again. "I don't want to be worried about the possibility of getting worse, and I sure as hell don't want to be benched for weeks. It's too much for me and I don't know how to deal with it. I know you don't care." Her face drops, and she appears slightly guilty. "But I just want to go back to my team. Hockey is my life."

"Can't you do something other than hockey if this doesn't work out?"

My stomach drops. "Hockey is all I know. I have no other skills."

"Surely you went to college?"

"Yeah." I nod slowly. "For a degree in History. What the hell do I even do with that?"

She chuckles, "You could teach."

"Hell no." I laugh. "I can't do that. Coach, maybe. Except who wants to be coached by a failure?"

"You're not a failure."

"It feels like it right now. And what if my career ends, then what? Over a petty fight?" I shake my head grimly, my lips pursed, eyes downcast. "It wasn't worth it."

Bailey's face is sympathetic for once when I glance back up, and something stirs inside of me. I want to reach out and tuck her stray hair behind her ear. Although her hair is up in a ponytail, there are stray hairs hanging to the sides of her face. They must have slipped out of her scrunchie between rounds and assessments. I want to touch her face, trail my fingers down her jaw, and?—

"Let's just focus on getting you better, okay?" she says gently. "Don't look too far into the future right now; live in the present a little. You're getting better right now."

"Is that what you do, Bailey?" I ask her, and she sucks in a sharp breath. "Do you like to live in the present?"

"Yes." She doesn't even hesitate as she says it, making me smile. I wish I could do that, but right now, I'm just living in the future.

"Why don't you like me?" I blurt, and she looks stricken—embarrassed even. For a tiny moment, I feel bad about asking her. I don't like confrontation in my personal life, which is ironic because it's the one thing that landed me here. I guess hockey doesn't count as confrontation, though. It's a contact sport.

"It's not…" Bailey takes a deep breath, her nostrils flaring, her dainty nose scrunching. "That I don't like you. I just?—"

"Don't like anyone?"

She gasps. "Is that the impression I give?"

"Honestly," I smile gently, hoping to ease her, "Yes. You look like you hate being here, and everyone who talks to you."

"I'm just having a hard time getting used to my new life," she says with a question, as if she's not quite sure what she's feeling before putting it into words. "I'm new here. Well, I've been here for six months, but I'm not from here. This state."

"Ah," I say, understanding her a little more. "So you don't like Seattle?"

"I don't like anything." Bailey's eyes widen and she clasps a hand over her mouth. "I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did." I frown. What could she possibly hate so much about her life? She's beautiful, has a career, and well…I guess I know nothing else. "And that's okay. New beginnings can be hard."

Bailey nods slowly, agreeing, and gazes into my eyes. "It's been difficult."

"Hey, if I can restart after embarrassing myself and almost losing my entire career, then so can you."

She returns my smile, dimples popping on each cheek. It makes her even more beautiful. Wow. "Maybe."

I'm not expecting her to take my advice, but maybe, just maybe, she will find something or someone who will make it worth her time.

And for whatever stupid reason, I hope it's me.