Chapter Twenty-Four

B urgess had no idea what day it was. After seeing the replay of his injury once, he’d banned the television from being turned on and refused repeated attempts by the nurses to open the window shades. If the sun was shining outside, he didn’t want to fucking know about it. Anything less than a postapocalypse would be unacceptable. And confusing. It didn’t seem possible that the world could carry on as usual when his chest had been reduced to a smoking crater.

He stared into the darkness now, the latest painkiller beginning to wear off, no longer targeting the hellish pain in his freshly repaired back, but he didn’t ring for the nurse, like he’d been instructed. Nor did he press the button to release more morphine. No, he just lay there and let it grow increasingly worse, praying the pain would expand until it swallowed him whole.

His mindset was garbage. As an athlete, he was painfully aware of that. This defeatist attitude was pathetic. He should be meeting with the team physicians and trainers, plotting out his recovery time. Scheduling rehabilitation. He should be in touch with his teammates, assuring them they wouldn’t miss a beat in his absence. As the captain, that was his duty.

Then there was Lissa. Apart from a brief phone call to assure her that he was okay, there’d been no communication. She’d be worried. He’d learned over the course of the last month how much their relationship benefitted from simply talking and he shouldn’t backslide now. But he just lay there in the darkness and willed himself to die, instead.

I just want to die. Let me die.

Having all the time in the world to think was turning out to be a curse. Because he could see the events of the last month so clearly now. Knowing his duty as a captain extended to emotional support of his teammates... that was all Tallulah. Realizing his daughter needed a more open line of communication. That was Tallulah, too. All these worthy things he worried about now, even while his world was burning down, were worries because she’d heightened his awareness of the people around him. His relationships, his legacy, his outlook.

She’d altered everything for the better.

This woman had come into his life and flooded it with light.

And he’d kicked her out.

Time had stood still since the second she walked away. He’d let the doctors numb his body and steal his consciousness, rearrange his spine, talk to him in medical jargon that went in one ear and out the other. But Burgess was still living in the second Tallulah disappeared into the hallway. He was still there, replaying it repeatedly, growing increasingly sick with grief.

Jesus Christ, how could he say something so fucking horrible to the best thing that ever happened to him?

He could see it now, like a projection screen playing on the wall of the hospital room, the way she’d paled and stumbled backward a little, totally unprepared for him to lash out with that particular weapon—and oh, he was a bastard for using that against her. She was right to leave. She was right to keep walking while he shouted her name. Ignore his calls and texts.

She was right to never want to see him again.

He’d been wounded, devastated to have hockey taken away from him. But ironically, he’d stopped mourning the loss of his career as soon as she walked out.

That was a special kind of fucked up.

Because he might be able to recover from this back injury, but he would never, ever, get over the loss of Tallulah. No, he’d be living without oxygen for the rest of his miserable life.

The hospital room door creaked open, allowing artificial light to illuminate the room and he turned his head away from it, closing his eyes. “What now?” he barked. “I don’t want the painkiller. You might as well shut off the goddamn machine.”

“Wow. You speak to your nurses that way?”

“They’re superheroes, you know.”

Burgess turned his head sharply at the entrance of Sig and Wells. One of them slapped on a light and he squinted into the sudden and unwelcome assault on his eye sockets. “What the fuck are you two doing here?”

“What are we doing here?” Wells asked, shooting Sig a raised brow. “I have a beautiful fiancée back in Florida who gets turned on by wedding planning. I should really be there.”

Sig crossed his arms, regarding Burgess in the hospital bed without a single trace of sympathy. More like disgust. And even in his rock-solid state of self-pity and misery, Burgess felt a spark of appreciation for that. “You remember why we’re here, golf man. Tell him.”

“Ah. That’s right.” Wells swept off his hat and slapped it to the center of his chest. “Welcome to your intervention.”

“Intervention, my ass.” The roar burned his throat. “Get the hell out.”

“Sorry, but no,” Sig replied calmly. “Normally, I would heed that warning from the legendary Sir Savage, but this is my one chance to tell you you’re acting like a piece of fossilized shit without getting my nose broken.”

Burgess’s pulse started rapping in his temples. He didn’t like this. He just wanted to go back to staring into the darkness. “You realize I’ll be healed one day, right?”

“ We realize that,” Wells drawled. “Do you ?”

A twitch started behind his eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wells and Sig traded a look. “It means, you’ve been out of surgery for a week and you’re refusing to be transferred to the rehab facility. You’re sitting here rotting away like yesterday’s trash.” The golfer waved a hand in front of his nose. “And there’s fish in it.”

“We’re here to tell you to pull your head out of your ass.”

A whole week had passed?

Burgess had assumed it’d only been a couple of days since the surgery... but a week?

Apparently shunning sunrises and sunsets had taken a toll on him.

No. Losing her. That’s why time no longer mattered.

“I’ll go eventually. Just not today.”

“Sorry, man, it’s going to be today. They’re getting the paperwork ready.”

“I won’t sign it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t give a fuck if I heal or not!” Burgess shouted at their annoyingly placid faces. “That’s why. All right? Should I go through rehab to buy myself one more year in the league? Two, at best? I’ve already slowed down, but how useful am I going to be out there, postsurgery? And what the hell does any of it matter now, anyway? She’s...”

A few seconds ticked by. “She’s what?” Wells prompted.

Saying the words out loud was like having his esophagus raked with a claw hammer. “She left me. I... hurt her feelings. Badly. I forced her out of my life. So I don’t care if I ever leave this room again. I don’t want to go back to a world where she’s walking around hurt because of me. Just let me lie here and die.”

That statement landed in the center of the room like a ten-ton boulder, the crash followed by a charged silence .

“Burgess—” Sig started.

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think,” Sig snapped, briefly taking off his ball cap to rake five fingers through his hair and slapping it back down. “You were in a bad place. Tallulah is an understanding, compassionate person—”

“Stop talking about her. Please. It hurts worse than the injury.” Burgess let his head fall back against the pillow while he pulled himself together, as much as possible. “Is she okay? Is she staying with Chloe?”

Sig’s voice was gruff when he responded. “Yeah. She’s with Chlo, although...”

“Although what ?”

His teammate looked hesitant to tell him something and it was causing craters to form on his arteries. “She’s been out. A lot,” he said. “Last I heard, she’d gone kayaking on the Charles. Chloe also mentioned Tallulah taking a bus to New Hampshire for a hot air balloon ride tomorrow, but I don’t have all the details. Bottom line, she hasn’t been home much.”

That news hit him like an uppercut.

Too many emotions to process inundated him at once.

Fear of her doing those activities alone, possibly scared. Definitely nervous.

Without him to protect her. That panic momentarily robbed him of breath.

Mostly, though, there was pride. In Tallulah. And it tripled and quadrupled. She’d grown strong and confident enough to take her adventures alone. The message was clear. She didn’t need him at her side anymore. As much as that gutted him, he was proud. So fucking proud.

Wells stepped forward. “As you know, Burgess, I literally fired my girlfriend as my caddie. Fired her. Believe me, I wanted to drink myself to death afterward, because...” He shot a glare toward Sig. “You didn’t tell me this intervention was going to require me to relive my own emotional trauma.”

“Why didn’t you?” Burgess said hoarsely, still thinking of Tallulah soaring in a hot-air balloon.

Wells squinted an eye. “Why didn’t I what?”

Focus. “Why not drink yourself to death instead of coming here and annoying me?”

“Love you too, man. I didn’t drink myself to death because there was a sliver of a chance Josephine would come back. And it was worth living for. Now we’re planning a wedding in Costa Rica.” He cleared his throat hard. “That’s it for me on sharing. I’m out.”

“Nice job,” Sig commented.

“Thanks.”

His teammate refocused his attention on the hospital bed. “This isn’t you. Lying here, feeling bad for yourself. Get better and go apologize. Tell her everything you just said to us.”

“It’s not going to work. I really... did a number on her.” A fresh wave of agony tripped and fell in his sternum. “I fucked up.”

“The game isn’t over. There’s still another period left to play.”

“This isn’t hockey.”

“Is it golf?” Wells asked. “We have a lot of holes, if you’re looking for metaphors.”

Sig shook his head at Wells. “You know, the thing about this intervention, Sir Savage, is we knew you were going to be stubborn. Hence, we prepared layers.”

That tick behind Burgess’s eye accelerated. “What do you mean by layers?”

Wells put two fingers in his mouth and whistled.

The rookies walked in.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Burgess complained, wishing he was closer to the window, so he could jump out. Maybe get lucky and become impaled by a flagpole. “Are you serious?”

“Hey, Captain.”

“Sup, Cap.”

“What the hell are you smiling about?”

“Just relieved to see you alive.”

“Even though, if I’m being honest, you smell like fish.”

Wells pressed his lips into a straight line. “Told you.”

“No one asked you to come,” Burgess growled at the rookies.

“Sig and Wells did,” Mailer and Corrigan said, simultaneously.

“Is there food here? Like a cafeteria?” Mailer asked. “My sister had a baby last year and the cafeteria food was top tier. Came for the baby, stayed for the banana pudding.”

Burgess split a look between Wells and Sig. “I hope you’re happy.”

Sig snorted. “I’ll be happy when you’re out of this motorized bed, you big fucking baby.”

The rookies’ mouths dropped open.

“I don’t like it when Mom and Dad fight.”

“Me either.”

Anger and pressure and resentment built in Burgess’s veins until he swore they were going to burst. “What did you call me?”

“A big fucking baby. What are you going to do about it?” Sig held up his phone, and without breaking eye contact with Burgess, he tapped a green icon on the screen. The ringing sound filled the too-crowded hospital room. “I’m breaking out the big guns.”

Burgess couldn’t swallow, sweat forming on his palms. “Who are you calling?”

A familiar voice answered on the third ring. “Sig. They didn’t have strawberry Pop-Tarts at the store,” said Chloe, audibly crestfallen. “What am I going to eat for breakfast?”

“I’ll track some down when I get back and bring them by.”

“You will?” She sighed.

“Of course, I will.” Sig shifted, coughed into his fist. “Hey, Chlo, you’re on speaker. Remember when I told you we were doing Burgess’s intervention today?”

Burgess rolled his eyes so hard, they almost exited through the back of his skull.

“Yes, I remember,” Chloe said brightly. “Hi, Burgess!”

He grunted.

Sig kicked the bed, as if to say be nice to her or die .

Burgess gave him a withering look. “Hi, Chloe.”

One of the rookies popped up behind Sig’s shoulder. “Hey, Chloe,” Corrigan drawled, adding a wink. “Allow me to formally introduce myself—”

Sig shoved him back across the room into his seat, which rocked ominously before settling back into place. “Absolutely not.” He kept the rookie pinned with a death glare. “Not happening. Never. Don’t even think about it.”

“Sig,” Chloe scolded him. “Don’t be such a meanie.”

“Yeah, Sig,” Mailer complained. “Don’t be a meanie.”

Sig picked up a full box of tissues from the tray attached to Burgess’s bed and threw it at the rookie, who blocked it at the last second with a defensive forearm.

“This intervention sucks,” Burgess declared.

“Really?” Wells asked, settling into a lean against the wall. “I thought it was just beginning to get interesting.”

“I’m sorry my pain isn’t entertaining enough.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Chlo,” Sig said, hitting Burgess with some truly ominous eye contact. “How is Tallulah doing?”

“Stop,” Burgess managed, his chest already on the verge of cracking open like an egg.

“Umm.” Chloe paused long enough that Burgess felt the threads of his sanity thinning, fraying, nearly snapping. “She’s just okay.”

“What does that mean?” Burgess shouted.

“It means, she’s... going to class and staying busy with her outings, but not really... present, I guess. She’s pretty checked out.”

Pretty checked out. Put those words on his grave, because they were going to bury him. He could already smell the freshly turned earth. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Why are you doing this to me ?” Wells raked a hand down his face. “I’m getting flashbacks.”

Sig clucked his tongue. “Because you need a reason to get out of this bed. What would you do if someone else hurt Tallulah like this?”

Burgess’s hands turned to fists. “Slaughter them.”

“Yeah, but after that.”

“I’d . . . go make her feel better.”

“Exactly. You’d do everything you could to fix what’s broken.”

“Lying here isn’t going to do that,” Corrigan pointed out.

“Do you think they still have banana pudding?” whispered Mailer to his friend.

“I’ll concede that inviting them here was a bad idea,” Sig said.

Burgess hoisted a brow. “You think?”

“Burgess,” Chloe said. “I managed to get her out shopping yesterday, so we could both buy some bathing suits and sandals for Costa Rica. Not easy to find in Boston during the winter, but prevail we did! Anyway—”

Sig almost dropped the phone. “What do you mean you both had to buy bathing suits? You’re not going to Costa Rica.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Yes, she is,” Wells interjected. “I hired her to play the harp during the wedding ceremony. On Burgess’s recommendation.”

“Was anyone going to tell me?” Sig sputtered.

“I was a little busy wrecking my back.”

“He did suggest we add you to the guest list, too,” Wells continued. “And we did. Although, I’m sorry to relay the news that you’re sitting with Josephine’s uncle Herb. Aptly named because he smokes a lot of medicinal herb. Glaucoma.”

“We should have brought you shopping with us, Sig!” Chloe lamented. “You always know what colors look best on me.”

“That’s easy. Every color looks—” Sig broke off, took a centering breath. “Back on track, Chlo. What did you tell me about that guy giving Tallulah his phone number?”

Burgess’s chin snapped up so fast, his neck popped. Jealousy went through his chest like a bull in a china shop, smashing plates and teacups as it went. “What?”

“Yup!” Chloe sang brightly. “A professor, actually. But he teaches undergrad, so it’s cool. She’s not sure whether or not she’s going to call him, but I told her to go for it. He’s yummy.”

Burgess and Sig were staring at the phone, like they wanted to bite it in half.

“I told her she should invite him to the wedding, too. She gets a plus one!”

“No, the hell she doesn’t.” Burgess ignored the sting in his back as he sat up slightly, pointing a stern finger at the golfer masquerading as his friend. “Wells. Take back the plus one. Now.”

“The invitations are sent.” He faked a wince. “It’s out of my hands.”

His head was on the verge of exploding. There wouldn’t be enough doctors to repair him if Tallulah showed up at this wedding with a professor. How old was this guy anyway? He didn’t want to know. “How old is this professor, Chloe?”

“Um... like, forties? Yeah. And a Sagittarius, so he loves an adventure.”

Burgess could barely see straight, the throb in his head had intensified so much. Forties? Adventure? This had all happened in the space of one week ? Was she... moving on already? Because he never would. Ever. It was Tallulah or no one—end of story. And suddenly, he was more helpless and panicked than he’d ever been in his entire life. This would never have happened if they’d just let him remain in the darkness, numb and angry and protected from further pain. “As soon as I’m better, I’m kicking everyone’s ass!”

“Aha!” Sig widened his eyes. “Does that mean you’re going to rehab?”

Burgess crossed his arms over his chest. “I didn’t say that.”

“You stubborn motherfucker.”

“Sig!” Chloe gasped.

“Sorry.” He tapped his finger on the back of the phone. “I’ll see you later with some Pop-Tarts. Frosting, right?”

“My hero !”

A line appeared between Sig’s brows. “ You don’t have a plus one to this wedding, right, Chlo?”

“Yes, I do.”

His left eye twitched. “Okay. See you later.”

Sig hung up the phone.

The rookies were elbowing each other.

Burgess and Sig traded a silent communication that could only come between two athletes that had spent the last six years predicting each other’s moves on the ice. Sig’s jaw flexed. Burgess shook his head almost imperceptibly. Sig’s upper lip curled. Burgess sighed.

“What was that?” Wells said, sounding almost awed.

“We’ll tell you in a minute. But we have one more intervention guest and she’s been waiting very patiently with an iPad and a Big Gulp.” Sig jerked his chin at one of the rookies and they stood, opening the door.

And in walked Lissa.

Burgess’s throat seized up so suddenly, he briefly looked away to get himself under control. His chest burned like the surface of the sun. My kid. My kid is here. Seeing me like this. It was unbearable and yet, he was almost knocked over by the relief and joy of her presence.

“Hey, Liss.”

She’d stopped at the side of the bed. “Hi.”

He reached out and ruffled her hair. “I’m okay, kid.”

Was he, though? He should be up trying. To move. To heal.

If anything could be deemed motivation... it was his daughter. She needed him. Tallulah had made him see that, hadn’t she?

Lissa remained stoic for several beats of time, before her chin started to wobble. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

It took her a long time to speak. “I messed everything up,” she whispered finally. “I keep thinking about how happy you looked with Tallulah before... I said those horrible things to her. I didn’t even mean them, I was just sad.”

“She knows that, Liss.”

Hope traveled like a shooting star across her face. “How do you know? Have you talked to her?”

Burgess took a moment to breathe. “Not in a while. But she knows you love her, Lissa.”

“You love her, too. And I made her leave.”

“I’m just as guilty of making her leave, kid. Believe me.”

“When is she coming back?” She looked down at her fingers as she twisted them together. “I didn’t even get to tell her I got picked to play Juliet in English class.”

“You did?” he managed to say. “Damn. Congratulations, kid. I’m proud of you.” The next part burned his esophagus, because it was so true. So heavily true. “Tallulah would be proud of you, too. You know that.”

“Please. I wouldn’t have done it without her. I want to tell her in person.”

All Burgess could do was shake his head. She wasn’t going to come back. He’d blown it. Not only for himself, but for Lissa. If he’d let her stay and help him through surgery and recovery, the family unit they’d formed would still be intact. God , that burned. He would kill to have her there right now, smelling like blood oranges and basil, her calming energy lifting everyone else around her like a steady wind. Instead, he had stale air and desolation.

“She’s coming back , right?” Lissa asked again, pools of tears forming in her eyes.

Burgess glanced at Sig and Wells, even the knucklehead rookies, for help, but they only looked back at him expectantly. And he knew that expression. It was go hard or go home. What else could he expect from a room full of professional athletes? And maybe, as fucking obnoxious as this intervention had been... he’d needed it. As galling as it was to admit.

He could remain lying in this hospital bed, letting life carry on outside without him, Tallulah eventually—or maybe already —moving on from him. Dating a professor. Wearing bathing suits in Costa Rica. Going on adventures without him.

He could hide from his mistake, instead of confronting it. Apologizing. Making it right.

He could explain to his daughter that Tallulah wasn’t coming back and hope she eventually got over the loss.

Or he could get up and fight. Rehab his back, get whole again...

And go to that wedding and get his woman.

Burgess flicked a look at Sig.

Sig nodded.

Burgess pointed at Wells. “I’ll go to rehab if you take back their plus ones. Tallulah and Chloe. No dates allowed.”

Wells rocked back on his heels. “Is that what that whole silent communication thing was about earlier?”

They gave a synchronized shrug.

One of the Orgasm Donors smacked the other one in the shoulder. “Why don’t we communicate silently like that?”

“We do. What am I thinking about right now?”

“Banana pudding.”

“Holy shit!”

“Fine.” Wells sighed, but the corner of his mouth ticked up. “Worked like a charm.”

“I hate you,” Burgess deadpanned.

“Josephine thought we needed a fail-safe. That’s why she was the best caddie I’ve ever had.” He pressed a fist to his mouth. “God, I’m going to marry the shit out of her.”

“What’s everyone talking about, Dad?”

“Sorry, Lissa.” He hesitated to say the next part, but if he really thought about it, there could be no other outcome. Not without him losing his will to live. Did that mean... he had one now? Yeah. He looked at his daughter, who meant so much more to him than hockey. He thought of Tallulah and how she felt in his arms, how her voice sounded like it had been missing from his ears his whole life. “Go get the paperwork, Sig.” He stroked a hand down the back of Lissa’s hair. “I’m going down to Costa Rica to get Tallulah back. But I’ve got some work to do first.”