Chapter Twenty-Three

B urgess hadn’t been this clearheaded on the ice in years, especially on the road.

Tonight: Pittsburgh. As he collided with two opponents and a battle for the puck ensued, ending in him chipping it to one of the rookies, he was clear on his mission. Energized and focused. He wasn’t thinking about his problematic back. Nor was he thinking about how his every movement would be perceived by the people occupying the seats. If they’d already written him off as a player who’d seen better days. If they were right.

Yeah, he was focused, although for the first time in his professional career, there was an underlying sense of I can’t fucking wait to go home . Perhaps home needed some repairing, but it would happen. He, Tallulah, and Lissa had figured out something good and he’d fight to get it back. Harder than he’d ever fought for anything.

Thank God he had the perspective of someone in their late thirties—because the view from thirty-seven was valuable as hell. Happiness didn’t just appear out of thin air; a man had to search for it, cultivate it, and guard it with their life. Someone like Tallulah wouldn’t come along again. Ever. He’d found someone who slowed down time and made him feel immortal. Someone who believed in him. Someone he believed in, too. He’d been going through the motions for years; now suddenly there was determination in his chest to take her places, show her things...

Be alive with her.

Love her.

As if he could do anything but. Love and Tallulah were interconnected. There couldn’t be one without the other. Love was her. She was love.

Someday, he’d walk through the door of the apartment, drop his bag. There would be an amazing aroma hanging in the air, whether it was takeout or Tallulah broke her rule again about not cooking. Tallulah and Lissa would look up from the kitchen table and smile at him, both of their homework spread out all over the place. He’d kiss Lissa on the top of the head, drop another on Tallulah’s perfect shoulder, and he’d watch and listen and absorb them.

His home.

Someday.

The opposing offense sliced down the ice and Burgess forcibly got his head in the game, registering the spreading formation of a center and two wings bearing down on him. Keeping his eye on the puck as it was passed, positioning himself between the net and the left winger, who was already taking the shot. No time to stop it, but Burgess blocked the progress with his body, the puck rebounding off his pads onto the ice. His back was only a foot from the goal now and everyone swarmed at once, the Bearcats trying to get the puck out of the danger zone, the other team trying to press their advantage of already having gotten past the defense.

Burgess found the puck among the sea of skates and sticks, looking for a sliver of daylight through which to fire it—and there it was. He blasted it out, away from the net. The crowd’s collective roar of disappointment only fed his aggression, and he skated after the puck, his job far from over. He had a rare moment of being out in the open with no one around him, the puck sliding toward the boards, bouncing off. He reared back with his stick, Sig approaching in his periphery. That was his target.

Burgess’s stick never connected with the puck.

The moment the left wing slammed into him from behind and bashed him up against the boards, a blinding pain streaked through his lower back. Not a twinge, not a throb or a twist. This was a rip. A dislocation. A satanic level of misery that tore the breath out of his lungs and numbed his legs so completely that he couldn’t stop himself from dropping. At first, the opponent provided enough support to keep him upright, but as soon as they skated back toward the other end of the ice, there was nothing to prevent gravity from doing its job.

Burgess landed in a kneel, and though he automatically struggled to get back up and keep going, because that’s what he’d been taught, he couldn’t. He couldn’t fucking get up.

A very specific sound filled his ears. That desolate rush of winter wind he’d loved as a kid, when he was the only one out on the frozen pond in the morning. Heavy, reverent silence, snow absorbing the slicing of his blades. He could feel the welcoming cold on his face.

Then there was warmth, because Tallulah’s hands were on his face, her smile right there in front of him. He’d pictured the pond from his youth a thousand times, the perfect solitude of those mornings being the part that appealed to him most. He’d never visualized anyone there with him. Never wanted to. But she was now included in his idea of heaven. She was heaven.

And she was watching this whole nightmare happen on television.

She was seeing this moment of weakness live—and that fucking burned.

Let the whole world witness this, except for her. That would have been fine.

Impossible, though.

Get the hell up.

“Burgess,” Sig shouted to his right, but he couldn’t even turn his head; the pain was so debilitating it tensed every muscle in his body, clenched his teeth together until he could taste blood. “Stay down, man. Don’t make it worse. The trainer is on the way.”

“No,” he ground out, trying and failing once again to get back on his skates.

Christ, it was so quiet in the arena, every eye on him.

Horrifyingly quiet. They all knew. They knew it was over for him.

He knew, too, didn’t he? That spreading pain beneath his collar that rose slowly and choked him left no room for doubt. This was the widow-maker. The career ender. His spine was being twisted in the hand of the devil, around and around, until black started to bleed into the edges of his vision, freezing sweat coating every inch of his body.

And he had no choice but to stop trying to stand up.

Humiliation stabbed into him from all sides. Denial. Anger. Resentment.

Tallulah’s concerned face appeared in his mind, her clear pity pissing him off all the more, his fist coming down and slamming into the ice while the trainer asked him questions he couldn’t process or acknowledge. Not while she remained, so young and free-spirited and optimistic, looking down at him, a broken heap. A man who was once someone great.

But could no longer be that for her.

A s soon as she watched the injury happen on television, Tallulah started to move. She was still staying in Chloe’s apartment, but all her stuff remained at Burgess’s place, forcing her to go there in a blur and pack essentials even though she could barely focus. Could hardly summon the brain power to text Ashleigh and confirm Lissa would stay with her mother until Tallulah returned. Booking a flight to Pittsburgh when the tears wouldn’t stop forming in her eyes was not easy, but she did it, her hands shaking as she ordered an Uber and organized a flight on the way to the airport, the phone slipping out of her hands and into her lap several times. She didn’t stop to consider flying to be by his side might not be her place... yet. She just went.

Her heart demanded nearness to Burgess, and she obeyed blindly, dread breathing fire like a dragon in her chest.

When Tallulah reached the airport, she got through security as quickly as possible and jogged to the gate, since her flight was already boarding. And there, on every television screen she passed, was the moment Burgess went down. People grouped together, watching in silence, muttering things into their phones. This was Boston after all. This was his town. But seeing their obvious grief did nothing to comfort her. No. Only the opposite.

If they believed Burgess was done... did he believe that, as well?

Was it true?

If so... oh God, Burgess was going to be devastated.

Of course, he would.

He loved hockey more than anything in the world. The sport was interwoven with his identity. And he was spectacular at it. On some level, she’d foreseen more problems arising with his back injury, but this? So public and brutal and painful to watch. He didn’t deserve that.

The flight time was only ninety minutes, but it might as well have been five hours. Tallulah stared straight ahead the whole way, cobbling together a speech to deliver as soon as she reached... wherever he was. The hospital, the hotel, the arena. She’d already texted Chloe to find out from Sig where Burgess had been taken and hoped to have that information as soon as the plane landed. And she’d be ready. She’d wrap her arms around him and assure him that he wasn’t finished with hockey forever. If he wanted to keep playing, he’d go to rehab and come out stronger. On the flip side, if he needed to stop playing, so much life was waiting to be lived.

With her.

With them. Together.

She’d made the decision to move back in with Burgess and Lissa as soon as she’d seen him take the ice tonight. He’d stood there during warmups, so mean and forbidding, always adjusting his gloves. And she’d thought...

Life doesn’t happen on her timeline.

She’d found her people before she was ready, but if she didn’t seize this moment with them, there might not be another one. Her plan had been to surprise Burgess when he got home from Pittsburgh by coming back to live with him and Lissa. For good.

It’s still going to happen.

She wanted to be there with Burgess more than ever now. If seeing him in pain could rend her heart in two, something huge was there. Running from her feelings for this man wasn’t going to make them any less real.

The plane landed and she exhaled the breath she’d seemingly been holding the entire flight. There was a text from Chloe that contained the name of a hospital and a crying emoji, but Tallulah refused to dwell on emoji choices, ordering an Uber, instead, and throwing herself into the back of it, carry-on bag clutched in her arms.

Thirty minutes later, she walked down a squeaky, disinfectant-scented hallway toward Burgess’s hospital room. She’d been directed to the orthopedic surgery wing, and the word “surgery” pealed like a chorus of broken bells in her head. Okay. Surgery. If she’d stopped to think, she would have known that course had to be taken. It was inevitable. But the road to recovery after any surgery was hard. Painful. Frustrating.

If anyone could get through it, though, Burgess could.

He was strong, powerful, resilient. A giant.

“My giant,” she whispered, pausing at the sight of five men in suits outside of his room, all of them wearing grim expressions, some of them speaking into phones. They were likely from the Bearcats, relaying news to the powers that be, the media. None of that mattered to her, however. She was only there for the man.

Tallulah coughed into her fist as she approached the gathering of suits, gesturing to the door. “Hi, I’m Tallulah... Burgess’s...”

A couple of them stared at her blankly, waiting for her to continue, but one of the men stepped up and extended his hand. The trainer. She recognized him from the game she’d attended. “Hey. Good to see you again, Tallulah, even if the circumstances aren’t great.”

“Good to see you again, too,” she said, her throat dry as a Saltine. “Is he... up?”

Something that could only be described as ominous traveled across his expression. “Yeah, he’s up. They’re prepping him for surgery.”

Even expecting to hear the word “surgery,” the reality winded her. “What happened?”

The trainer sighed heavily. “Slipped disc. He’s having an artificial one put in. I’d like to say he’ll be out for the rest of the season, but given how long he’s been in the league and how tricky recovery can be, not to mention sustaining that recovery...” He looked at the door. “I don’t know if we’ll see him out on the ice again.”

Denial raced through her bloodstream, accompanied by fear. But above all, she had confidence. In Burgess. “If he decides to get back out there, he will.”

A quick flash of a smile. “You know him well.”

Damp heat crowded in behind her eyes. “Yes. I do.”

He studied her for a moment. “He’s such a private person, I couldn’t believe it when he asked me to bring his sweatshirt to his girlfriend .” The trainer chuckled. “I asked him where you were sitting and he said, just ‘look for the most beautiful woman in the place.’”

“Oh,” she said, her voice sounding watery. “If you don’t mind, I need to see him.”

“Of course.” The trainer hesitated, looking between Tallulah and the door. “Look, he’s obviously not himself right now. Maybe... just be prepared.”

With that dire warning ringing in her head, Tallulah pushed open the hospital room door and closed it behind her, eyes adjusting to the startling lack of light. Normally the cold comforted her, but just then, it only caused goose bumps to streak up her arms, her nerves to multiply. Burgess didn’t even look at her when she stopped beside his bed—and he was wide awake. As large and commanding and extraordinary as usual, only now he was wearing a hospital gown that probably proclaimed the opposite, in his mind.

Ten seconds ticked by and still he didn’t turn his head, a line leaping in his jaw.

This is bad.

This is so much worse than I was expecting.

Fine. She could handle it. He’d just lost the most treasured part of his life. His anger was understandable. She wouldn’t let it beat her. Him. Them.

“Are you just going to pretend I’m not here?”

“You shouldn’t have come,” he snapped, turning hard, glittering eyes on her. Unrecognizable eyes. “There’s nothing you or anyone can do. Go back to Boston.”

Stones struck her breast, one by one, but she didn’t allow the impact to show on her face. He’d never spoken to her so coldly. Not ever. This isn’t him. “I’m sorry this happened. I’m sorry.” She reached for his hand, slipping their fingers together. For the briefest of seconds, his grip tightened, eyes closing, nostrils flaring, but then he abruptly let go.

“I told you this would happen, Tallulah. Once I got medicine and doctors and trainers involved, instead of toughing it out on my own, like I always have, that there would be a domino effect. That those things would ruin me.” His tone was harsh, so harsh, and it cut into her like a scalpel. “But you knew better, didn’t you?”

Stay strong. “You’re hurting and taking it out on me, but that’s fine. Go ahead.”

“Yeah, you’re real tough now.” He looked at the wall, not her, his right hand fisting in the sheet, like speaking was costing him an effort. Or maybe it was the words themselves. “Wasn’t it just a few days ago you walked away because a twelve-year-old was mad at you?”

How long had she been inside this hospital room? Two minutes and she already felt punched full of holes. What kind of pain would ten more minutes bring? “I did what I thought was best. I still think I made the right decision.”

“Good for you, gorgeous. The right decision is to stay away.” He flicked a look at the door. “Go. Please. Go.”

“Why?”

“Because I fucking hate you seeing me like this,” he growled. “Get out.”

“No.”

The hurt was only going to escalate until she gave up and left. Maybe... she should go and come back later? Once he’d had a chance to digest the present and future? Maybe she’d come at too raw of a time? Maybe all that could be accomplished tonight was saying words he couldn’t take back and she should leave before that happened—

“Did you think you would fly here and say something inspirational to make all the difference? That’s not happening.” His throat worked with a swallow. “I’m done with hockey and we both know it, Tallulah. It has never been more pathetically ob vious that you’re too young for me. If you think I’m going to have my college student girlfriend help me walk again after this surgery, you’re dead wrong. I would have rather died out on the ice.”

“Do you think my impression of you... or my belief in you has changed, because you’re hurt? That’s ridiculous. People get hurt.”

“I don’t. I’m not supposed to,” he shouted. “I can’t even look at you when I’m like this. I’m fucking begging you to leave.”

“No.”

His upper lip curled, cogs turning behind his bloodshot eyes and she could see it, the death blow was coming. Her feet stuck to the ground like cement, an almost morbid curiosity toward what he could cook up to make her go keeping her in place.

“I don’t want you here.”

“I need to be here,” she whispered, unable to keep the tremor out of her voice.

He looked away sharply at that, jaw flexing furiously.

Burgess was not unaffected. He didn’t mean the terrible things coming out of his mouth. She was close to getting through to him, and that belief caused courage to well in her chest. She had no idea of the source, only that she was grateful for it. Clinging to it with both hands. “I came here to tell you I love you.” Her heart got stuck in her throat halfway through that sentence, making her words run together, high-pitched and breathy. Speaking that truth was freeing. The greatest adventure of all. And at the moment, the scariest. “Don’t shut me out. We’ll get through this.”

He started at her confession, his blue gaze deepening in color, that large chest starting to pulse up and down. He opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut.

Another handful of seconds passed.

“You think you’re strong enough to get me through this? You’re not a coward who walks away, right?” His voice turned almost unnatural, like he was rushing to get the words out or he’d lose his nerve. “But there’s a ziplock full of postcards in your purse that say different.”

Those words rang so loudly in her ears that she didn’t even hear the nurses entering the room, didn’t see them until they were surrounding Burgess, checking his blood pressure and asking him questions. He didn’t answer them, continuing to stare at Tallulah as she backed toward the door, hardly able to feel her feet on the linoleum.

Cold shock swallowed her in one bite. This wasn’t the Burgess she’d fallen in love with. He was unrecognizable. A different man altogether. He’d fooled her. Tricked her into thinking he was different. Lulled her into a sense of complacency, before ripping off the mask. Perhaps not as bad as the man who’d locked her in a closet with the intention of killing her, but emotional cruelty brought its own brand of injuries. And as she continued to back toward the exit, those open wounds started to hemorrhage.

The farther she got from Burgess’s bed, the more drastically his chest heaved, panic making dents in his hard resolve.

“Tallulah, my God, I’m so fucking sorry,” he said, right before she stepped backward into the hallway. He pushed off the nurses’ hands and attempted to climb out of bed, but roared over the pain it caused his back and landed on the bed again, face white. If it was a fraction of the agony detonating on repeat in her heart, it had to be excruciating. “Tallulah.”

Those increasingly desperate calls of her name fell on deaf ears.

She turned and walked away.