THERE WERE A lot of things in life I could handle without batting an eye.
I could handle being a single father and maintaining a good relationship with my kid’s mother, despite not being able to make things work out between us within our marriage.
I could handle answering the tough questions my son asked me, even when they made me uncomfortable or when there weren’t any good answers to be had.
I could handle being a middle-of-the-road defenseman on one of the worst teams in the entire National Hockey League, knowing it could mean I might never have a shot at playing for the Stanley Cup, because at least it meant I had a good career playing a game I loved and, if I was smart and saved the bulk of my earnings, I should always be able to provide for my family.
I could handle standing up to my own abusive father and the rat bastards who’d done this to Natalie.
But I could not handle seeing her break down in tears in the very same moment I stepped into her room. It felt like she was literally ripping my heart out with each strangled sob and with every tear that dripped onto her hospital gown and turned the delicate baby blue into a deeper shade of sky blue that matched her eyes.
I had never felt more inadequate in my life.
I crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed, but she shook her head frantically and tried to push me away, so I jumped up again. “What’s wrong?” I asked, desperate to brush her tears from her eyes, to sweep the hair back from her forehead, to soothe her in some way. “Tell me so I can help.”
But she was crying so hard that she was choking on the sobs and there was no way for her to tell me anything at all.
A weighted sense of uselessness had me collapsing into one of the lavender armchairs in defeat.
Natalie pinched her eyes closed, refusing to look at me.
I felt as if she’d punched me in the gut.
“Do you want me to leave?” I choked out, praying she wouldn’t ask me to go. But I would. If she wanted me to go, I would.
But even though she wouldn’t look at me, she shook her head no.
I took in a relieved breath, still confused, but at least she wasn’t going to kick me out.
Her tears kept falling, and she was taking frantic, gulping breaths in an effort to make the sobbing stop, but every time she opened her eyes, she cried harder than before.
London wheeled into the room and stopped next to me. “What happened?” she demanded accusingly, as if whatever had gone wrong was my fault. “What’d you do?”
For all I knew, she was right and I’d fucked up royally.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I walked in and she started crying.” Talk about a blow to my confidence. And my ego. Yeah, Natalie’s crying probably had nothing to do with me, but it sure felt as if it were all about me.
I didn’t like that. The thought that I could have done something to upset her made me want to bash my head against the wall.
Natalie caught London’s eye and crooked a finger for her to come closer. London wheeled over and bent her head close to Natalie’s. I couldn’t make out what she was saying—her words were strangled by sobs—but their whispered conversation didn’t take long. Within a few seconds, London was nodding and backing away from the bed.
Then she turned around and gave me a sympathetic look. “Why don’t you go get a cup of coffee or something?” London suggested. “She’ll be fine, and she doesn’t want you to leave. Not completely, at least. Just give us a few minutes, all right?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong?” I asked, staring at Natalie because I needed the answer to come from her. “You swear it’s okay if I come back?”
“Come back,” she croaked, still blinking back tears.
“Ten minutes,” London said. “At least it shouldn’t take any longer than that if I can get a nurse in here to help. Maybe you should knock before you come in, though, just to be sure we’re in the clear.”
“I’ll stop at the nurses’ station on my way to the cafeteria and make sure someone’s coming,” I said. Then, my feet heavy and my heart starting to crack, I backed out of the room and closed the door behind me.
There weren’t any nurses at the station as I went past, which was probably why no one had responded yet. Made sense, even if it was frustrating for Natalie.
It wasn’t about me. I kept reminding myself of that as I paced through the halls. I was concentrating so hard to remember that whatever had upset Natalie had nothing to do with me that I forgot where I was going and ended up in the maternity ward instead of at the cafeteria.
Several newborns were on display through the windows, with friends and family peeking through the glass and taking pictures of their little bundles of joy. It was such a dichotomy, a stark contrast to the hellish nightmare going on only a short distance away within the same building. New life and unbridled happiness bursting from the seams only a minute’s walk away from hellish devastation.
But it wasn’t so many days ago that Natalie was a thousand times worse than she was now. I had to remember that. She was recovering at a miraculous rate, at least physically and mentally. Her emotional state was yet to be determined, and I had no doubt it would rebound far more slowly, if ever.
I finally found my way to the cafeteria and fixed a cup of coffee for myself. I grabbed another for London, just in case, and picked up a few pastries and a couple of individual-sized cartons of milk. I’d seen the shit they were feeding Natalie, and that wouldn’t help her heal any faster. It made no sense to me why the food in the cafeteria for guests was so much more appetizing than what they served patients. Maybe a sugary treat wasn’t the best thing for her, but she’d hardly eaten anything since waking up, and I wanted her to eat something. And at least the milk would give her some good protein. She’d been losing weight while she’d been in the hospital, and frankly, she didn’t have that much to lose.
After paying for my purchases, I loaded them up into a carrier they had handy, then headed through the convoluted hospital corridors and returned to Natalie’s room. Since I didn’t have any hands free, I kicked at the door with the toe of my shoe to knock. The last thing I wanted to do was walk in while they were changing her or something and embarrass her. And since the door was closed, they might still be doing something that would require privacy.
London opened the door and gave me a cursory once-over. “All better now,” she said.
Was it really okay, or was she just trying to appease me? Either way, I raised a brow. “Yeah?”
“It will be if one of those is for me,” she said, eyeing the coffees on my tray. “If you’re planning to drink coffee in front of me and not share, though, we’re going to have issues, you and me. And I’ll make sure that also means my husband has issues with you. You don’t want to have my surly Russian angry with you. Promise. Maybe you’re bigger, but he’s meaner.”
Surly certainly fit Dima, but I wasn’t so sure I’d ever call him mean, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue with London right now.
She backed out of my way and let me bring my goodies into the room. Natalie cautiously met my eye as I set the carryout tray on the wheeled cart they kept in front of her.
I opened one of the cartons of milk since she seemed to have trouble opening things, and I could have sworn there was a hint of a smile in her expression. It was hard to tell, buried under bruises and swelling and bandages, but her eyes glinted just a bit.
That was the first true sign of life I’d seen in her since the night this had all started—the first indication that she might come out of this on the other side. Not unscathed, and certainly not unchanged, but she was going to pull through.
She was a fighter.
I’d been a fighter, too.
Maybe she wasn’t sure what she was fighting for yet. Maybe she’d never know. But I knew what I was fighting for.
I was fighting for her.