Chapter 22

 

“Hon, you need to tell them you’re his wife or fiancée,” Jenna said as she wheeled her pickup truck into the driveway of the Concord Hospital’s ER. “That way they’ll let you be with him in there for sure. Otherwise they might make you park your ass in the waiting room, and that’s not fun, believe me.”

“Sure. Sounds good,” Claire replied, only half-listening.

Not surprisingly, the paramedics had transported Ry to the hospital. It was far from clear what injuries he’d suffered. Distracted and worried, she’d barely been able to tune into Jenna’s constant flow of words on the trip that had seemed to take much longer than it really had.

“Trust me, I know the drill,” Jenna said. “Clay’s been banged around more than a drum in a marching band.”

Claire might have chuckled at that image if she weren’t still vibrating with nervous tension. “Thanks for the ride, Jenna. I really appreciate it.”

Jenna patted her hand. “No problem. And try not to worry too much. I’m sure your man’ll be fine. I’ve seen plenty of crashes, and that one didn’t look too bad. Like you said, Ry was sitting up and talking to the paramedics before they loaded him into the ambulance. That’s a real good sign.”

Claire shuddered to think what a bad crash would look like if today’s debacle wasn’t one. “He was mobile, but I’m really worried about a concussion. He’s already had—”

She bit back the words. Ry’s hockey concussions were a matter of public record, not a state secret, but he wouldn’t appreciate it if she said more.

“You’re right, I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she finished, praying it would be so.

“I’ll probably see you at another race soon,” Jenna said. “I hope so, anyway.”

Claire almost said no freaking way. Instead, she just smiled warmly and gave Jenna a little wave before getting out of the truck.

The ER waiting room was nearly full and very noisy. Two little kids were yelling at each other as their mom pulled them apart. Claire hurried to the reception desk.

“Hi, I’m here for Ry Griffin,” she said to the clerk. “He was brought in by ambulance from the racetrack a few minutes ago.”

She’d decided not to try the fiancée route, since she wasn’t wearing an engagement ring. “I’m his manager,” she added.

At least that statement bore a shred of truth. Concierge, manager—sort of.

“Ah, okay.” The clerk hit a few keys on her computer. “He’s having some tests at the moment. Have a seat, and I’ll let you know when they get him back to the ER.”

“Thanks. Can you tell me what sort of tests?” Some kind of brain scan or MRI?

“I’m afraid not,” the woman said more brusquely. “That’s up to the medical staff.”

Claire was too jittery to sit and wait. It was all well and good for Jenna to say everything was going to be fine, but that wasn’t the way things had tended to work out for her when it came to accidents and emergencies.

“No problem. Could I trouble you to tell me how to get to the cafeteria?”

Maybe she’d grab a cup of decaf and then go for a walk around the hospital grounds. Anything was better than hanging around a crowded waiting room full of tired parents and hyped-up kids. Moving would be better for her nerves than sitting.

Today was yet another reminder of how life could go crashing sideways in the blink of an eye.

* * *

“You’re good to go, Mr. Griffin,” Dr. Patel said. “But I do have to repeat what our specialist told you. It really is not wise for someone with your medical history to be racing motorcycles or anything else. You need to take care of your body and your brain better than that. They’re the only ones you’ll ever have, after all.” The young ER doctor gave him a look she probably reserved for idiots and hillbillies.

Ry climbed off the bed and grabbed his clothes from a little cupboard where a nurse had stowed them hours ago. “Thanks, doctor. The warnings have been duly noted.”

Maybe that sounded a little testy, but in his long experience, doctors tended to be way more conservative than they needed to be.

With a barely noticeable nod of her head, Patel left the room. Her little speech had been mild compared to the lecture delivered half an hour ago by the hospital’s neurologist. That had been a full-scale verbal beatdown.

The doctors were obviously right about concussions being dangerous. He’d have understood their concern better if he’d actual had one today. But he hadn’t, so why all the fuss? His first-rate equipment had done the job and kept him safe in the pile-up.

Today’s incident had turned out to be a whole lot of drama and no life-changing injuries. Though the riders involved in the crash were in separate ER rooms, word had quickly gone around that everybody was going to be okay. One guy had a broken collarbone and another a fractured ankle. Other than that, it was all just the predictable scrapes, bruises, and strains. Ry had suffered his share of those, and pretty much his whole body ached. But he was intact and absolutely okay. Mostly he was just impatient to get the hell out of the ER and back to the inn.

Back to Claire.

She’d managed to get a ride to the hospital, some fifteen miles from the track, and had sent him a text to let him know she’d be waiting outside the ER for as long as it took. He didn’t see her text until after his brain scan but had then immediately messaged her back, telling her simply that he was okay.

That had been almost four hours ago. Even though the scan and other tests had revealed nothing of concern—no concussion, no internal injuries, and no broken bones—it had taken forever for the doctors to conclude that he could be discharged without an overnight stay. He chalked up much of the delay to the fact that it had taken more than a couple of hours for the on-call neurologist to arrive and make his assessment. The ER docs had been more than a little concerned after Ry confessed to a couple of hockey concussions.

Claire must be going stir-crazy after waiting so long. She should have gone back to the inn. Still, the fact that she’d been willing to spend all that time waiting in the ER made him feel pretty damn good.

He’d make it up to her. For one thing, he’d take her into Portland for dinner and an overnight stay at a hotel once he felt a hundred percent again. And maybe he’d take her up to Damariscotta again, and with Grace Yee’s help, pick out a piece of expensive jewelry she’d love. Something to say he was sorry that he’d put her through this.

He finished dressing, working around the sling on his left arm, and then headed out to the waiting room. Claire was sitting there with her head down, her hands gripped around a coffee cup. One of her legs was jiggling like it was attached to a high-speed motor.

Big time nerves.

Mentally grimacing, Ry wished he’d texted her a couple of more times. It looked like she could have used more reassurance that he was okay.

Idiot.

When she spotted him, she flew out of her chair and gingerly hugged him.

“Thank God you’re all right.” She stared at the sling. “But your arm. How bad is it?”

“I’m absolutely fine, and the arm’s no biggie. Don’t worry about it for a minute.”

He headed for the sliding doors. A taxi should be waiting, since a clerk inside the ER had called one for him several minutes ago.

Claire matched his pace. “Don’t worry? Are you kidding me?” Her voice was sharp and a little high-pitched.

“Hey, I’m just banged up a little. Nothing’s broken, including my head. I’ve been hurt worse than this falling down stairs, and a hell of a lot worse playing hockey. I know you were worried, but that dustup on the track probably looked worse than it was.”

There was no sign of a taxi as they stopped under the portico. “One of the nurses called a cab for us. Should be here any second.”

When he slung his free arm around Claire’s shoulders, she carefully slipped it off and took a half step away. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking pale and worried. It definitely wasn’t the kind of greeting he’d hoped for.

“Ry, please, I need you to tell me honestly what happened in there. What exactly did the doctors say after your tests? You told them about your concussions, didn’t you?”

“Of course. I told the neurologist everything.” Well, almost everything. “I’m not a moron, Claire.”

Her gaze narrowed to irritated slits. “No, you’re not. You’re a highly intelligent man. Which leads me to conclude that you have to be delusional to keep risking your life by racing around a track on a death machine with a bunch of other speed junkies.”

Wow. She really was pissed off at him. Not good.

“Delusional? Aw, that kind of talk could hurt a guy’s feelings,” he said, trying to keep it easy.

He was sorry she was so upset but wasn’t about to apologize for racing. It was about his health and his life, not hers. He was more than capable of making rational decisions about what was and wasn’t good for him.

“Ry, stop being a dick. This isn’t funny.” She stomped off before halting several feet away.

Shit.

He went to her and turned her around with one arm as gently as he could. Claire shrugged his hand off but didn’t turn away.

“Look, the race wasn’t much fun for either of us, and neither was the hospital. But I really don’t want to get in another argument right now, okay? I just spent a long time in the ER, I’ve got a busted-up bike, and my shoulder hurts like hell. Can’t we just head back to the inn and get a couple of drinks and dinner before we battle it out some more?”

He wasn’t going to tell her he still had a headache from the crash. If he confessed to that, she’d probably try to drag him right back into the hospital.

“I’ve got a better idea,” she said, staring grimly at him. “Why don’t we just get in your truck and head back to Brides Bay tonight? I’ll drive, since you’re in no shape to do it.”

“Claire, come on—”

She shook her head and interrupted. “You’re obviously not going to pay attention to what I think, so what would be the point in discussing it any further? We should just forget the whole thing and go home.”

That was a load of crap. And he’d be damned if he’d let Claire torch their relationship over something as small as this incident. He was beginning to realize how much she meant to him and wouldn’t let everything burn to cinders in an ugly flash.

With one finger, he tilted her chin up so she had look at him. Her gaze was stony, but her eyes shimmered with a suspicious brightness.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” he asked gently. “Because it’s not what I want. I want to be with you.”

Her shoulders slumped, and the fight seemed to go out of her as she sighed. “Am I sure? No, of course not. Look, I’m sorry I snapped your head off.  I’ve been scared half to death ever since I saw you go down in that pile. You can’t imagine what’s been going through my head. It was like…” She bit her lower lip, and then her gaze skittered sideways at the sound of squealing tires.

A cab shot up the long driveway and hit the brakes right in front of them. Ry ignored it for the moment.

“I get it, babe. That’s all the more reason for me to get you back to the inn and take care of you.”

“No, you’re the one who needs taking care of.”

He opened the cab door but Claire took over and grimly helped him get in.

The discussion clearly wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

* * *

Though a couple of glasses of wine had taken the sharper edges off her nerves, Claire’s legs kept jiggling under the table. Ry was taking his time checking out the dinner menu, but she’d settled on the first thing she saw. She probably wouldn’t be able to eat, anyway.

They’d barely spoken since they got back to the inn. He’d been on the phone talking to race officials about the incident and making arrangements to pick up his damaged motorcycle tomorrow. She had quickly downed a glass of wine in the room and then gone for a walk by the lake. It was a gorgeous, warm evening and, to give Ry space, she’d taken her time strolling, taking in the sounds of a hooting owl, the water lapping against the hotel dock, and the breeze whispering through the trees. It was a perfect scene for lovers, but it mocked her.

Because even if Ry might want some kind of future with her, she was no longer sure she could make it work.

He put down his menu. “I’ve been thinking about a toast.”

He’d taken off the sling and was moving his arm cautiously and stiffly, wincing at times. Despite the obvious pain, he looked gorgeous in a black sports jacket over a tailored white shirt. A butterfly bandage above his left eye was now the only visible testimony to the disaster at the racetrack. Underneath his clothes though, his body had to be a covered by bruises and scrapes. Whether she’d get a close look at that damage later tonight remained to be seen. She had a strong feeling that things were going to go south once they started talking seriously.

“To surviving one more day?” she quipped, trying to camouflage her nervousness.

“No, but I feel you. Actually, my toast is to you. Not just for showing up at the hospital, but for sticking around all that time. That was pretty special, Claire.”

She clinked her glass against his. “What, you thought I’d just go back to the hotel and spend the afternoon at the spa? Don’t be crazy.”

“Crazy? Listen, I’ve been taken to the hospital for injuries more times than I can count. Trainers sometimes stayed with me because it was their job. No girlfriend ever did though.” His dark gaze went darker. “No wife either.”

That admission almost made her tear up. Even if she hadn’t been in love with Ry, she’d have done the same thing for him. She’d have done it for any friend, or even an acquaintance. “Maybe it’s a small town trait. Us Brides Bay yokels do like to take care of each other.”

“Promise Islanders excepted?” He gave her a wry smile before taking a drink.

She waggled a hand. “I’m still hopeful that cooler heads will prevail on that particular issue.”

Actually, she wasn’t sure of that at all. But at this moment, the Promise Island dispute meant nothing to her.

Ry studied her, then said, “You know this was the first time I’ve been involved in a crash on the track, right?”

Claire nodded.

“And you saw that it’s like I told you when we first talked about motorcycles. You saw that even if there is an incident, everybody usually comes out of it in good shape. And that’s exactly what happened today.” He gave a low laugh. “I wish I could say the same for my bike though. It’s not looking too pretty right now.”

She set down her wineglass to avoid the temptation to throw it at him. “Ry, I don’t understand how can you be so…so totally casual about this. We both know it was pure chaos out there today. Bikes were flying, bodies were flying. And yet all you can talk about is how everything turned out fine. Aside from the fact that you’ve got a strange definition of fine, what if it had turned out to be a lot worse? What if you’d ended up breaking your neck, or suffering such a bad concussion that it’d ruin the rest of your life?”

He stiffened. “And what if I got hit by lightning while I was putting on my racing suit? What if the roof of the grandstand fell on your head? Jesus, Claire, worrying about all the shit that might happen is a lousy way to live your life, isn’t it? I’m not going to waste my time and energy dreaming up things that could go wrong, and you shouldn’t either. Look, even if something did go seriously south during a race—and you know that’s pretty rare on sportbike tracks—I could live with it. I’d have to, because it was my choice to take the risk.” He shook his head. “I just can’t dwell on the negatives.”

Not like you do was the unspoken message.

His words stung her like a swarm of black flies. He was right about one thing though. She did obsess about all the scary crap that life could throw at you. Still, it hurt to hear him be so painfully blunt.

He must be running out of patience with her.

“Believe me, I really envy your ability to think like that,” she said. “But aside from how you feel, how do you think it makes the people who care about you feel when they see you risking your life for…for… sports.”

She’d almost said for stupid thrills.

“People like you, you mean.”

“Of course like me. I thought you’d understand, given my past. Given the people I’ve already lost in my life.”

“Okay, but understand what?” he asked in a much softer voice.

Was he that dense, or was he just trying to make her say the words out loud?

“Understand what it would do to me if you were killed in some stupid accident. How it would…would trash me,” she said through clenched teeth.

Dammit, she would not say she loved him. Not now anyway.

He stared at her, but it didn’t seem to be in anger. He no longer even seemed particularly frustrated. Resigned would have been her guess, as if he’d been expecting this result all along. As if he’d always known that she wouldn’t be able to accept his racing, not even when today’s incident turned out to be fairly benign.

They were right back at the beginning—two immovable objects crashing against each other. Except this time, Claire’s heart was crumbling under the impact.

* * *

Her words seemed as close to a declaration of love as you could get without saying actually saying “I love you.” Still, Ry found it all hard to process.

He’d thought her unwillingness to watch him race was about the memory of her accident—more like a flashback than anything else. But now she seemed to be putting in him the same category as her father and her best friend, both killed in horrific accidents.

That sure as hell sounded like love to him.

Then again, Krista had said she’d loved him too and look at how that turned out. As for his old man, there was no way in hell that relationship had anything to do with love. His stepmother and stepsister? Yeah, right. No love lost there either.

In fact, he wasn’t sure he even understood what the word love meant.

He finally realized he’d been looking right past Claire, his gaze fixed on a painting on the wall behind her. Blinking, he refocused on her. “So, what is it you’re actually saying? Are you asking me to choose between you and racing?”

She forced a smile so sad that it made his chest hurt. “I would never ask you to do that.”

Shit.

He wanted to take her hand and tell her everything would be all right. Better yet, sweep her up in his arms and take her back to their room, where he would show her exactly how he felt about her.

And say he would do anything to make her happy.

But it would be a lie. He couldn’t give up on who he was to please her—or to please anyone.

“Maybe not, but it’s what you’d like me to do. You’d like me to quit racing—or even quit riding bikes completely. Let’s just be honest about that, okay, Claire?”

When she swallowed the last of her wine, he poured what remained in the bottle into her glass. She looked like she needed it more than he did.

“All right. I’d be lying if I said otherwise,” she said quietly.

“Okay, and then what would happen if I did? Would you want me to avoid anything that might be remotely risky, like driving my truck or kayaking? Maybe I shouldn’t even walk Stanley out on the bluffs. Hell, I might trip on a rock and break my neck.”

She glared at him. “Ry, come on. I’m not suggesting you should live in a bubble.”

Okay, he was being a jerk by pushing it that far. He blamed part of it on the headache that continued to ratchet up to epic proportions. Still, they had a real problem, and they needed to deal with it now.

“I know you’re not. It’s just that people keep telling me what I should and shouldn’t be doing. It’s been that way my whole life, and I’m tired of it. The only good thing about leaving hockey was that I could finally do whatever the hell I wanted without anybody issuing me orders not to.”

“I understand that, Ry. Really, I do.”

His heart sank when he took in her determined expression.

You understand, but you can’t be with me. Should he make her say it out loud?

No, because her message was already clear.

It sucked to see her letting him go. And without even putting up much of a fight.

“Look, I get why you’re afraid of losing people,” he said. “But you’re the one who pushed me out of my comfort zone. You’re the one who told me that if I’m ever going to get over being a so-called  hermit, I’ll need to do some things that I don’t necessarily like. Like volunteering on committees, or even getting up on that festival stage with a bunch of damn spotlights trained on me. You made me do all that, Claire. And you made me see that it could be worth it.” He leaned forward, intent on making his point. “But you can’t do the same for me?”

Her face had gone ashen. “Oh, God, I’d give anything to be able to get over this. I hate being afraid—it makes me sick to my stomach. But it’s not stupid to worry about the people you love, Ry. It’s not stupid to fear losing them.” She pressed a fist over her heart. “I learned that lesson the hard way.”

Man, she was just about killing him. But sympathy wasn’t what she needed right now. What she needed was a push—and a strong one.

“I know you did. But if I can face up to my demons, so can you.”

She flinched and then shook her head. “What I have to face up to is reality. Maybe I could lie and tell you that I could somehow cope with your racing. But it wouldn’t be true. I can’t pretend that your racing wouldn’t eventually drive me crazy and poison our entire relationship.”

And he couldn’t pretend to be surprised to hear her say that. His disappointment dug deep and was more painful than any hit he’d ever taken on the ice.

She was right. This was one gulf they couldn’t bridge.

“Claire, I’m not sure where we can go from here. Probably our only option is to go back to a strictly business relationship.”

Just saying the words felt like someone was taking a jackhammer to his skull.

Her smile was weak and forced. “Well, at least I’m glad to hear you’re not firing me.”

He shook his head. “You’ll never have to worry about that.”

“Thanks, but we’ll still be friends too, won’t we? And maybe occasional performing partners?” While her lips were curved up in a parody of a smile, her eyes were big, dark pools of grief and regret.

“Yeah, maybe.”

It was only a maybe because the thought of being that close to Claire without being able to touch her seemed like a one-way ticket to hell.