Chapter 6

Six

Josh

W e’re apart for a little over three hours. In that time, I talk to Mom and Carl, text with Luke McDowell, field a visit from Bama’s head coach, and receive Ezra’s luggage from the players’ hotel—plus a bunch of food that Luke and his man, Vance Rayne, had delivered. I get an automated-looking text informing me the surgery’s wrapping up and feel a wave of gratitude that Ez did okay.

I figure it’ll be a bit before they call me back, so I’m bringing the first bite of some yummy-smelling pasta stuff to my mouth when a nurse calls me back to recovery. I box the food up in a millisecond and sling all the bags I have over my shoulders. I can’t get down that white hallway fast enough.

My heart is racing as I step into the recovery room, and more so when I see that it’s partitioned by the same curtains that I think freaked him out before. But when the nurse ushers me into his space, Ezra’s still sleeping. He looks like Sleeping Beau on the bed, his head tipped back slightly with a towel rolled under his neck. His leg is propped on pillows, wrapped in what looks like a mile of ACE bandages. I notice he’s still got the oxygen tubing on. His body—all except that leg—is swathed in white blankets.

“We brought you back before he’s fully awake, so I’ll be monitoring him as you wait here,” the nurse tells me.

I’m so grateful my throat closes up, and it takes me a second to thank her for letting me back early.

I ask a few questions about the surgery, which apparently went well, and then Ezra’s muscles start to twitch and his eyelids start to flutter.

The nurse lets me get right by him, ease my arm through the rail so I can rub his shoulder and whisper to him as he wakes up. I’m prepared for the worst, but he just seems confused and sleepy. I tell him a few times that he had a surgery and it went fine, and I’m not going to leave him. At one point, he smirks and slurs, “Are you my husband?”

That makes me laugh. “Yeah, angel. I’m whatever you want.”

The surgeon comes in while Ez is dozing, giving me a full report on what he did to Ezra’s leg and telling me he’ll set up followup care in Alabama. He says we have to stay here overnight, but we can probably leave tomorrow. Then our nurse starts actively trying to wake Ez up. She hands me a cherry-flavored slush to feed him with a plastic spoon, and he blinks at me with his glassy eyes as he swallows the cool liquid. After that, he’s more awake, and he’s peering around the room. I tell him again what happened, and he shuts his eyes, whispering something nonsensical about bubble gum.

“I’d love some bubble gum,” I whisper back, just to keep things conversational.

He rasps, “Hold me?”

His dazed eyes lift open, and he looks somehow both pained and high off his ass. I’d do anything he asked at this point—okay, really at any point—so I convince the nurse to let me lower the bed’s rail on his unhurt side. I think Ez is sleeping when we do it, but his eyelids tremble open, and he tries to hold his arm out for me.

“You’re okay…I’ve gotcha, angel.”

I scoot my chair right up to the bed’s side, wrap an arm over his upper chest, and press my face against his shoulder. Ezra’s hand comes up to wrap around my forearm and, again, he does this sweet thing where he leans his head toward me—like he wants to snuggle up to me and can’t, but he’s still trying.

It strains my back and shoulder to hold this pose, hugging him from the side, but I don’t mind it. I guess he’s still waking up, because a few times, he shudders, or he’ll startle awake. Each time, when he feels me wrapped around him, he drifts back to sleep.

And…that’s it. That’s how it goes. I don’t know what I thought it would be like, but after an hour in recovery, a nurse wheels his bed to the room where we’ll be overnight. When his eyes lift open, I make sure I’m in his line of sight, and he smiles, looking high as hell, and pale, but not unhappy.

In his private room, I eat a little of the yummy food that Luke and Vance had delivered. Then I fire off a few more texts—including to Luke and Vance, who are going to drop by with my luggage—and wrap an arm around my angel’s chest.

He wakes up once with what I think is pain—he’s too out of it for me to know for sure—and I call for a nurse, who gives more pain meds. The next time I see his pretty lake eyes is almost two hours later. He startles awake, mumbling something about Paul, and all my hairs stand on end. But I lean over him and stroke his neck and his warm cheeks. I tell him I’m here and I love him, and he won the Rose Bowl, and he drifts back off.

He has another nightmare a few minutes later. I lean over him and kiss his cheek and reassure him. He’s less sedated now, and wraps an arm around me. “Get in bed,” he mumbles, his voice raspy. I don’t, but I hug him pretty solidly, and he’s back into dreamland.

That’s the pose I’m in when someone knocks. I say, “Come in,” and two men step into the room. I recognize the blond one on the left from TV. Luke McDowell! He has my luggage. The guy on his right with the kind smile and short brown hair is holding a chubby baby.

They both smile, and I laugh, feeling silly leaned over Ezra like this. They come over, standing by the rail on the bed’s other side, and they both look at Ezra, who, with a sheet over his leg, just looks like he’s napping shirtless with a few EKG leads stuck to his chest.

“Hey, Ez…” I realize after I say it that it’s a dumb idea to wake him, but the damage is done. His eyelids flutter open, and he frowns at me, and then at Luke McDowell and his husband. Then he smiles, and his eyes roll back. Somehow, he’s not too high to lock an arm around my shoulders.

His eyes open again. “Hi,” he whispers, looking up at Luke.

“How’re you doing?” Luke asks softly.

Ezra looks from Luke to his husband, and when he sees the baby, he gives a big, medicated smile. “You brought her,” he slurs. His eyes shut, but he lifts them open again.

“Hey,” he says, and I can tell from his tone that he’s saying hello to their baby.

Vance lifts baby Eden’s arm up in a wave. “Hey, Ezra,” he says in a falsetto voice that reminds me of old-school Alvin and the Chipmunks . “You played a great game. We’re sooo proud of you!”

Luke chuckles and shakes his head, and I can’t help a soft laugh.

So kicks off a long spell of whispering between Luke and Vance and me. It ends with Luke asking me how Ezra’s doing. I tell him about what happened in the triage room, and Vance tells me I should get in bed with Ezra .

“Every time you move from that pose,” he says, nodding down at me, “his eyes crack open. Is your back hurting like this?”

I shrug. “Nah.”

“Get up there on your side, dude, and I’ll put the rail up behind you. That way, you can both sleep.”

Luke nods. “We can stay. I’ll sit in the rocking chair there and we’ll nap Miss Eden here.”

I guess I must look hesitant, because Vance nods at Luke. “Mr. Surname over there—his dad donated money to this place. Long time back.” He lifts his brows. “It was a lot of money. If they give us any trouble, he’ll be Pastor My Dad Gave You Money.”

I laugh, because this Vance guy is seriously…not like I thought a pastor’s spouse would be. Luke shrugs from where he’s standing, bouncing Eden over by the recliner. “If you’ve got it, use it.”

Vance shakes his head. “Shameless,” he whispers.

“But isn’t that your surname now, too?”

He laughs, biting on his lower lip, and I see why Luke McDowell likes him. While Luke himself has a quiet, strong, steady energy, Vance seems fun-loving and open. Like he loves to rag on people, but he’s also serious and caring.

Vance lifts a brow. “Move off him,” he tells me softly. I try to ease myself off Ezra, and he opens his eyes. His gaze moves around the room. When he sees Vance, he looks calmer. Then his eyes find mine, and he winces. “Mills?”

“What’s the matter, angel?”

He shuts his eyes. “Don’t let go.”

Vance is looking downright smug, with one brow popped up. I give him a protest look, and he motions with his hand like I should get this show on the road.

“You want me to get up beside you in the bed?” I ask Ezra, stroking his cheek so he’ll open his eyes .

His voice is rough and hoarse as he says, “Yeah,” and in a tone like “no shit.” His eyes are still shut as he lifts an arm up off the mattress, sort of like he’s asking me to come up under it.

“C’mon, Mr. Miller,” Luke says. “V will help you settle in there, and I’ll go talk to your nurse about it.”

It’s strange how sedated Ezra still seems as I climb up into the bed beside him. He doesn’t move at all, and I don’t mess with any of his blankets. I lie on my side, hesitating for a second before wrapping my arm over his chest.

God, it feels so good to hold him. I’m giving him a big grin when he opens his eyes. He blinks a few times, wraps his arm around me, and we settle like that. Vance leaves the room and returns with one of those heated hospital blankets, which he drapes over me.

Then Luke’s back from the nurse’s station, with the baby sleeping on his arm. He sets a cup with a straw on the rolling table by the bed and pushes it closer to me with a little reassuring smile. I smile up at him and Vance, feeling equal parts grateful and awkward here, all cuddled up to Ezra. I decide I’m more grateful than awkward.

Vance is looking around the room with a thoughtful expression, and it hits me that they must know all the tips and tricks. They spent some time in the hospital a while back, in an incident that got a ton of media attention.

Vance steps closer to my bedside. “You need anything?” he asks softly.

I shake my head.

“We’re gonna go to a hotel across the street, and one of us will text you in about three hours.”

“That’s when she’ll be up again,” Luke explains, stepping behind Vance so I can see him without moving too much.

“Thank you. You don’t have to do that…if you’re busy or something. ”

“We’re glad to,” Vance says, at the same time Luke says, “We want to.”

“Thank you.”

Ezra shifts his shoulders, and I lighten my arm’s weight on his chest. His heavy eyelids open, and he gives Luke and Vance a little smile before hugging me against him.

Once the room is empty and we’re wrapped together, Ezra sleeps for a long time. There’s some kind of thing on his good leg that blows itself up like a blood pressure cuff every so often, and it wakes me a few times, but Ezzie is deep in dreamland. Vance texts at 2:30 a.m., and I tell him we’re good.

Ez gets restless around sunrise—about the same time the nurses change shifts and a doctor from orthopedics comes into our room to check him over. He’s awake for that, but he seems…not himself. He seems like he’s trying to act normal, but he’s on edge, while also being fuzzy from the pain meds. The doctor unwraps the bandages on his leg, and Ez presses his face against my hair and holds me tighter with his arm that’s wrapped around my shoulders.

“Everything looks good,” the doctor tells us when he’s finished. He tells us Ez will need to check in with an ortho group in Alabama within two days of discharge, and I promise we’ll do it.

For a while, the room is quiet. I’m debating how much longer I can go without a trip to the restroom when Ezra’s arm around my back shifts a little, and his hand starts stroking my spine.

“You been in the bed all night?” he asks, his voice gruff from sleep.

I smile up at him. “Maybe.”

“You need to pee?”

I laugh. “Maybe.”

“’S okay. You can go.” He looks frowny, like he might be in pain. I kiss his cheek. “You okay? ”

He nods. When I step out of the restroom, he’s still awake. He smiles, just a twitch of his cheek, and he says, “You don’t have to get in…if you don’t want to.”

“You want me not to? Just give you some space?”

“I want you to.” He does the wince-smile again.

When I’m back in bed, he hugs me harder than he has so far. “I love you, my Miller. Thanks for coming on the field.”

His voice is thick and hoarse, his big body warm around me.

I kiss his jaw. “Of course, angel.”

“You’re one,” he murmurs. And then he’s sleeping with his cheek against the top of my head. An hour or so later, Luke and Vance are back with breakfast. They bring a bunch of random stuff from Starbucks, and I’m surprised Ezra takes the iced coffee, but he looks cute as he sips on it with his sleepy eyes. He has a few bites of a biscuit, and then—it all feels very sudden—lots of different people start to come in.

Luke and Vance take baby Eden for a walk as nurses rid poor Ez of all his wires and tethers and help him sit up in bed. For the next hour, we watch Wheel of Fortune on the room’s TV, and he hugs me against his chest.

“You okay, angel?”

He nods. He’s got his cheek against my hair.

“You sure?” I ask.

He nods again. “I was worried…but it’s okay.” His arm tightens its grip on me. “Because of you.”

“Because of you ,” I say. “Because you’re so strong, dude.” He shakes his head. He rubs his temple against my hair, and a minute later, I’m surprised to feel what I think is a teardrop. His chest gives a quick heave, and I turn to face him. He’s wiping his eyes with his hand that has a Band-Aid from the IV.

“Sorry,” he says, and I’m shocked to find he’s full-on crying.

“Hey…Ez. Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.” He holds his head, and his shoulders shake with a few silent sobs. Then he takes a few deep breaths and wipes his face again. “Thanks, Millsy. I’m not upset,” he rasps. “It’s okay.” His sleepy eyes look puffy.

“Yeah?”

“I just…realized something.” His voice breaks.

I cup my hand over his shoulder. “What is it, angel?”

Fresh tears spill down his cheeks. He rubs his temples and shakes his head. Then he lifts his face so he can tell me, “It’s not me. That’s strong. I was scared on the field.” His lips tremble. He presses them flat, and another tear falls. “But you were there, so it wasn’t as bad.” His voice is thick. He swallows again.

When he speaks next, it’s just a soft rasp. “Nobody was there at Alton. Or at Sheppard Pratt.” He hunches his shoulders and covers his eyes. “I don’t understand why.”

He’s breathing heavy like he’s crying behind his hand. Then he’s holding onto me, and I’m rubbing his back as he sobs with his face against my shoulder for a long time.

When he pulls away, he looks embarrassed. He looks sleepy as he rubs a finger over my neck. “Sorry for the…moisture there.”

I reach out and stroke a hand through his hair. “Don’t be sorry for that. Be upset, dude. You went through some horrible shit. You should be upset.” I put my hand over his heart and give his chest a tap with my fingertip. “Means all that’s still working.”

He wipes his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Ez. For talking to me. And for letting me share the bed.”

He smiles, and he looks so fucking cute with sleepy, puffy eyes. I cup his cheek with my hand. “You’re so fucking badass. So damn gorgeous, and my favorite person. You killed yesterday, and Bama won the game. Surgeon said your ankle’s gonna be good, and Luke and Vance said they could fly us home if we want.”

Ezra is still smiling as he leans his head back against the raised bed. He pulls me to his chest, hugging me hard, and I rest my cheek on his shoulder.

“Josh?” he whispers.

I kiss his throat. “Yeah, Ez?”

“When can we go home?” He lays his head against mine, his big body heavy on me, and I feel so fucking sorry for him.

Luke and Vance come through the door a second later. Ezra sees the baby, and I’m surprised to see that he meant what he told me: He likes babies…or maybe this one in particular. We recline the bed a little, and he holds her in the crook of his arm. He keeps giving her these goofy smiles. She seems content cooing at him—and at me.

“Uncle Ezra,” Luke says softly.

“What about Uncle Josh?” Ez smiles at me.

“I’m not so experienced with the babies.”

It’s agreed that I should hold her, so I take her out of Ezra’s arms and try that. It feels pretty good to hold a little squishy baby, but she fusses with me—so much so that V has to take her. “Not sure that she liked that.” I laugh, feeling embarrassed.

“She was fine till she pooped,” Luke says.

“What? She pooped on me?!”

Everybody gets a laugh out of that. Even Ez is grinning as a nurse comes in to check his vitals. She offers him tablet pain pills, but he doesn’t want them. “I feel okay.”

Another person comes in with some crutches for him. Apparently, it’s well timed, because he tells me he needs the restroom. Somehow, Luke and I help him to the door of the bathroom, and he doesn’t fall on his new crutches. Then it’s just him and me.

He seems tired after we get back in the bed. So, naturally, that’s when the orthopedics doctor comes back in and tells us we can leave.

“Really?” Ez says.

“Well, unless you want to stay,” the doctor replies.

“Fuck no.” He blanches, raising his hand to his mouth like he’s regretting the F-bomb, and the doctor smiles down at him. “Let’s get you the fuck outta here.”

Less than an hour later, I’m pushing Ez out of the hospital. He’s wearing sweatpants and a Nike swoosh sweatshirt Luke bought from the gift shop. He looks over his shoulder a few times as I push him through the hallways, giving me these little smiles. Like he’s content despite his broken leg stretched out in front of him. Like maybe, somehow, he’s happy.

“You fucking did it,” I say, feeling buoyant as I brake the wheelchair beside the McDowells’ rented SUV. I wrap an arm around his shoulders from behind.

Ezra leans his chin down on my forearm, then kisses my elbow. “We did.”