It Had to Be You (Christiansen Family) (23 page)

“I have a little headache. I just need to lie down.”

The doors opened and he gathered himself, managing to stumble inside. He leaned against the elevator wall, letting go of her hand, then slouching down, his head in his hands.

“Now you’re scaring me.”

“Just put in my code. I’ll be fine.” He gave it to her and felt the elevator rise. He fought the urge to curl into a fetal position right there on the floor but opted to get on all fours and crawl off when it opened into his hallway. Eden shuffled beside him and took his hand, helping him up. It was a little like a first grader helping him off the floor, but he took it and even allowed her to put her arm around his waist, ease the key fob out of his hand, and open the door.

He had the presence of mind to disable the alarm, then dropped his bag on the floor and stumbled to the living room, where he collapsed onto the sofa, pressing a pillow over his face.

“What can I do?” Her voice seemed to ricochet in his head.

“Cold cloth. And painkillers
 
—in the cabinet.”

“I’m on it.”

He heard her in the kitchen, but the migraine had seeped through his brain, flooding every cranny. Everything hurt, and he just had to breathe through it, calm down. He thought he heard himself moaning.

Suddenly a cool cloth draped over his face. Her hands pressed his cheeks. “You’re sweating.”

Just thinking about forming words hurt. He moaned again, and she disappeared.

He could hear her voice in the distance as if she was talking to someone
 
—maybe the doorman bringing up his dinner order, the one he’d placed this morning in anticipation of tonight.

Food hadn’t a prayer of staying in his stomach.

And then Eden was back, replacing the cloth. “I found the pain reliever, but I don’t think that’s going to cut it. Here.” She gave him the medicine and held a glass of tepid water to his mouth.

“Holy Tea,” he whispered. “That helps.”

She was gone again, and he wanted to call her name, bring her back. Make her put her cool hand on his face again. Yeah, that had felt good.

Maybe he’d conjured her up with his powers because she reappeared.

This time she had a cup of something hot. She moved her hand behind his neck, but it only added claws to the pain.

“Jace, you’re really scaring me.”

He couldn’t remember it being this bad before, where it felt as if his brain might be bleeding out of his ears. A thousand needles laced his body, and he wanted to roll into a ball and cry. But that would hurt too, and now
 
—oh no, his stomach began to lurch.

He pushed her away, rolled off the sofa onto his knees, and retched all over his white carpet. Then he collapsed on the floor, put his hands over his face, and the sounds that came out of his mouth sounded very much like weeping.

But he’d stopped caring.

“In here. He’s in here.”

Eden directed the EMTs into Jace’s living room, where he lay curled up on the floor, groaning, almost incoherent. “He hasn’t responded to anything I’ve said in twenty minutes. I think he’s having a stroke or . . . I don’t know.”

It took both EMTs to get him to stop writhing, and she watched, hands over her mouth, as he tried to push them away. But he was clearly over the edge because he kept asking for Sam, sometimes her, but mostly just crying.

That was the worst part of all. His moans sliced through her, cutting into her chest, and she nearly started weeping herself.

They finally gave him a shot of painkiller, along with a sedative, although he grabbed at the bigger of the two men and pushed him away with a half growl, half groan.

Then they somehow maneuvered him onto a stretcher and wheeled him out. She should have requested firefighters, big burly men, for that.

Eden followed them in Jace’s car. She’d called the team trainer, and he’d sent her to the university hospital, where Owen had his surgery. She guessed there must be specialists on staff who worked with the team. The ambulance turned on the lights but not the siren, parting traffic all the same.

She parked in the lot and raced through the building, finally finding Jace in the ER, an IV strapped to his arm, a slew of doctors huddled around him.

“He has a migraine
 
—or it started that way,” she said before a nurse ushered her out, past the doors into the waiting room.

And then there she was, standing just outside his life, watching. This time not family but relegated to the vinyl chairs of the waiting room. She sat down, leaned her head back.

What if he needs us?
The last thing Jace said to her, really, before the migraine took him.

Us.
It rattled her how easily that pronoun seemed to slip from Jace. As if they truly belonged together. As if he meant it.

Us.

She picked up a magazine. Paged through it without reading an article. Put it down. Paced. Bought a Hot Pocket and a Coke. Called Owen and didn’t leave a message. Considered John Doe.

Tried to get a peek inside the ER.

Read through all the Facebook messages on Owen’s wall.

Tried to forget the way her brother had changed into a person she didn’t know. Wondered if it might be her fault.

Change your name or change your ways.
What if she’d started it all? What if her words had caused him to go out hunting for a fight that night?

What if she’d inadvertently cost him his career?

“Miss Christiansen?” A nurse appeared through the double doors, wearing pink scrub pants, a floral top, her red hair pulled into a messy ponytail. “He’s asking for you.”

Eden could hug the woman for not using Jace’s name but instead nodded and followed her down the hall.

Jace was most certainly a little high on a vibrant cocktail of
migraine drugs. And none too happy about it, either. She could hear him down the hall, his voice loud, saying her name.

He brightened when she appeared beyond the curtain.

“Hey, Jace, I’m right here.”

He gave her a sloppy smile. “I thought I lost you.”

“Of course not.” She ran her fingers down his arm, caught his hand. “You scared me.”

“I’m fine.” He rolled his head toward the IV bag, then back to her.

“You’re not fine. I’m just hoping you didn’t have a brain bleed or something.”

He closed his eyes as if in pain. “You called Adam.”

“You were throwing up. And crying. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I wasn’t crying.”

Of course not. “No. Not crying. Just very pained moaning. With tears.”

One side of his mouth tugged up. “Adam’s worried I can’t play.”

“More than worried. Hey, Eden. Sorry it took us so long to get here.” Adam Moe, the team trainer, came in, followed by the team doctor, Robert Wilson. “You did the right thing, bringing him in. Jace is too stubborn to take care of himself.”

“I was fine.” Only he winced at the end of his slurred words.

“You weren’t fine and you know it. You just didn’t want me to know,” Wilson said.

“Know what?” Eden asked.

Adam and Wilson exchanged a glance.

Jace looked at her with sad, glassy eyes. “They’re worried I’m going to blow up my brain.”

They weren’t the only ones.

Adam crossed his arms over his ski jacket. “He’s had too many concussions, and this is the effect. Migraines. They could lead to a stroke or brain bleeds. A coma.”

They didn’t say it, but the word
death
parked at the end of that sentence. Eden turned to Jace, and she didn’t know if he avoided her eyes out of shame or morphine. But she had to reach out, sit down. Run her hands over her face.

No wonder he wanted to help John Doe, coma boy. The whole thing hit too close to home.

“I knew he had migraines, but . . . I didn’t realize it was this bad. Why is he still playing?” She turned to Adam, Doc Wilson, and gave them her best I-want-answers face.

“Aside from the fact that, with Owen gone, we need him?” Adam said.

Jace had his eyes closed.

“And that he’s been migraine-free for the past two games,” Wilson added.

“I would point out that he hasn’t gotten in a brawl during the past two games,” Eden said.

“Agreed,” Wilson said. He looked at Jace. “You want to talk about what happened in practice today?”

She stilled. “What happened?”

“Your brother didn’t tell you?” This from Adam.

Oh no. “I only know he showed up at practice. And clearly Jace isn’t talking, either. So spill it.”

Adam blew out a breath. “Fine. Owen showed up today wanting to practice. He said if he wore his helmet and a visor, he’d be fine. I thought it would be good for him to get back on the ice, some light practice, see what he could do.” He sighed. “Probably
not a great idea because it was clear as soon as he got on the ice that he was missing passes and a little unsteady on his feet.”

“The optical surgeon said he’d have some vertigo issues.”

“We just have to get him up to speed, make him game ready
 
—”

She stared at Adam. “You can’t be serious. Owen isn’t ready to play
 
—the doctor said he might not ever play again.”

Adam looked away.

She shook her head. “I want him to play as much as you do, but the fact is, he can barely see out of his left eye! His peripheral vision is shot, and he’s going to get killed out there. What’s going to happen when some defenseman comes at him on his blind side? He won’t be able to brace himself for the check. He’ll get smashed.”

“Probably why Jace told him to get off the ice.”

She looked at Jace, back to Adam. “Just a guess, but Owen didn’t handle it well.”

“He went after Jace and angled him into the boards from about five feet away. Max and Kalen rounded Owen up, talked him off the ice. Coach benched him.”

“And it never occurred to you to take a look at Jace?”

“This is hockey,” Wilson said. “Players take hits all the time.”

“Yeah, and each one adds up a little more until you land in the ER with a brain bleed!” She didn’t know when she’d found her feet, started shouting, but a couple nurses glanced her direction, and it occurred to her that maybe Wilson had sent him here for the privacy. “Sorry.”

“I’d like the news to not get a whiff of this. But yeah, I’m not sure it’s wise for Jace to keep playing. We might need to put him on the injured reserve list
 
—”

“No.” This from Jace, who winced as he said it. “I’ll be fine.”

“Jace!”

“I’m
fine
.” He even made to get up, pushing the covers off. They’d put him in a gown, and he appeared a little silly, all that muscle and bare body trying to climb out of bed. She averted her eyes because it didn’t seem that he cared much for modesty.

Adam pushed him back into bed. “Not so fast, pal. You’re spending the night. We’ll talk about Thursday’s game in the morning.”

And Eden would talk to him about any game at all tonight.

Jace glared at Adam, but the drugs made him pliable and he collapsed into the bed, leaning his head back.

“He needs sleep.” Wilson reached for Eden as if to walk her out.

“I’m sure he does. But if you think I’m leaving so he can walk out of here after we’re gone
 
—and I can guarantee that is exactly what he’s going to do
 
—then apparently you haven’t been paying attention. I’m not a fan. I’m not a rink bunny. I’m
family
.”

Jace gave the smallest smile as he drifted into the morphine.

Eden moved with him when they took him to the third floor. She’d spent the night in a chair before and had no problem doing it again. When they got him settled in the room, she pulled up next to his bedside to watch him sleep.

In repose, he had such a beautiful warrior’s face. She had the urge to trace the scar over his eye, then move to his strong jaw. The wan bedside light picked up the flecks of gold and red in his whiskers, and his long lashes lay against his cheeks.

She’d hardly ever seen him quiet, and a wave of compassion washed over her. Oh, Jace. She laid her head on his bed, closed her eyes.

Eden awoke with a hand on her shoulder, her neck aching. A nurse stood in the glow of the hallway light streaming into the room.

“Would you like a blanket? We don’t usually allow visitors, but . . . it’s so nice of you to visit again.”

Eden frowned at the woman even as she accepted the blanket. She looked familiar
 
—sturdy, with white hair like a halo around her head, wearing a scrub top with tiny hockey players and Band-Aids printed on it. And a pin that read,
Be nice to nurses. We keep doctors from accidentally killing you.
Eden tracked to her name tag: Becky Norman.

It came to her. “You take care of John Doe.”

The nurse nodded. “And you visit him. Or did.”

“I was out of town.” She stood, extended her hand. “I’m Eden Christiansen. How is he?”
Please, please still be alive.

“He doesn’t have an infection, and he still has brain activity, so we’re not sure why he hasn’t woken up.” Becky walked over to Jace, checked his IV bag, took his pulse. He didn’t stir.

“Has anyone else been in to claim him?”