Nickolai's Noel (15 page)

But wait. When had she done the right thing by Nickolai? He had been nothing but considerate and loving, all the while respecting her work and praising her skill. But what had she done the one time he had needed something from her?

Refused to even hear him out, that’s what.

He had offered her a life, and she had been the one who had relegated them to a snow globe.

And even after all that, when she had texted him tonight, he had only wanted to know if she would be waiting for him after the game tonight.

And she would be, if there were anything to wait for.

If he didn’t die.

What she did next seemed like a crazy, time-wasting thing to do, but she did it anyway because, somehow, it seemed very important. She grabbed her sewing basket, shoved in a handful of scrap fabric, and jerked
Lazy Morning
from the dowel rod where it hung. Then she stuffed it all into a bag and ran to her car.

On the drive into Nashville, Noel refused to turn on the radio or answer her phone. If no one told her that Nickolai had bled to death, maybe he wouldn’t.

But when she pulled into the hospital parking lot, she began to shake. It was huge and she didn’t know where to go. Emergency room? Seemed a logical place to start. She drove until she found it, parked, and ran, dragging her Piece by Piece bag behind her.

If she could wrap him in that quilt, he would live.

“Nickolai Glazov!” she said frantically at the first desk she saw. “Where is he?”

The woman typed into her computer. “You are?”

“Noel Verden.”

“Relationship?” she asked

Oh damn.

“Wife.” Noel tried to sound assertive.

Only then did the woman look up. “Oh?” She let her eyes slide over Noel and land on her left hand.

“Yes.” Noel put her hand in her pocket.

“You said your name last name was Verden.”

“We just got married. I’m not used to it yet. Besides, not everyone takes her husband’s name.”

“But which is it? Are you not used to it or did you not take it? And I noticed you don’t have a ring.”

“Look.” Noel leaned in. “We’re not married. But I have to get to him. He’ll want me.” At least she hoped he would.

“Look, Ms. Verden. We’ve already had to call security once tonight on someone claiming to be Mr. Glazov’s wife. You need to leave.”

Figured. “Was her name Tewanda?”

“How did you know?”

“Just a guess. There’s a restraining order against her. I’m not like her.”

“You need to leave,” she repeated. “I’m sure the team will make a statement soon.”

“Can you please just tell me if he’s dead?” The words came out in a whisper, and she must have looked devastated because the woman took pity on her.

“No. He’s not dead. Now, Ms. Verden, please don’t make me call security again.” Her tone was somewhere between kind and disgusted.

When Noel turned away, she tried to look dejected and resigned so as not to give away what she planned to do next—run like a banshee through the place, opening every door until she found Nickolai or someone killed her.

Where to start?

But then a voice called out. “Noel!”

Never had there been a more welcome sound. The voice was familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it.

When she turned, it was Gabe Beauford striding toward her like a big, blond warrior angel in savior mode. He looked like he’d been to war because there was blood on his Nashville Sound jersey. Noel didn’t know Gabe that well, but circumstances made for familiarity, and it didn’t seem odd to let him draw her into an embrace.

“I was just about to try to get in touch with you, but here you are. Come with me,” he commanded as he circled her shoulders with an arm and began towing her across the room like an ox pulling a wagon. “They’re taking him to a room now.”

Relief washed over her. “So he’s really not dead!”

“No. Not dead.” Gabe was more set on getting where he was going than talking, but at least he was taking her with him.

Still, there were things she had to know. “But surely surgery. The commentators said his carotid artery … ”

“Speculating. Making stuff up,” Gabe scoffed. “But the cut was close and deep, so they weren’t too far off. They shot him full of drugs and sewed him up.”

“So he’s all right?”

“I wouldn’t say that. He lost a lot of blood, and he’s got a lot of stitches. If the Sound doesn’t get eliminated too early, he might get in on the playoffs, but I don’t see how he can play the rest of the regular season. That’s rough. Nobody wants a break after a bad streak like he’s been having.”

Holy mother of a gargoyle! She was worrying about Nickolai living, and Gabe was talking about playing
hockey.

“But he’s not going to die? His vocal cords are okay?”

She’d love him if he were mute. She’d take him any way she could get him.

Gabe halted in front of a bank of elevators and pushed a button. “He’s not going to die today. And he was talking till they knocked him out—mostly cussing in Russian.”

Given his bloody shirt and wealth of information, it was clear that Gabe had been close to Nickolai. Noel supposed this was no time to ask how he’d managed that when she’d been threatened with security.

“Here we are.” There was a cluster of Sound people gathered in the hall outside the door, but Gabe sailed right through them liked he owned the hospital.

Noel rushed to the foot of the bed only because she couldn’t get close to his sleeping face where nurses were fussing with monitors and an IV. His neck was bandaged, and he looked pale against the pillow.

“Who is she?” one of the nurses asked Gabe.

“His girlfriend. She needs to be here. He asked for her.”

“All right.” The nurse looked from Gabe to Noel. “You’re staying?”

If you want me out of here, bring your dynamite.

“Yes,” she said.

“He needs to rest. We’ll be checking in. Use the call button if you need us.” And they were gone.

Noel rushed to the head of the bed. It had been an eternity since she’d touched him. His hair was matted stiff with sweat and blood, and she longed to wash it for him.

“You okay?” Gabe asked. “Do you need anything? Food? Coffee?”

“I couldn’t eat, but thank you.”

“Anything at all that I can do for you?” He looked around the room. Everything about his attitude said:
I’ve stepped up. I’ve conquered. And I’m out of here.

If Gabe thought it was one bit odd that Noel asked him to help her spread
Lazy Morning
over Nickolai, he didn’t show it. He only made one comment.

“Hmm. This is torn.” He pointed to a rip on the top edge.

Noel looked over his shoulder. “It is at that.” It must have happened when she ripped it from where it had been hanging. Two days ago—no, two
hours
ago—she would have been devastated. Now, it didn’t matter. “I can mend it. Things can be mended.”

“Good.” He gave his hands a little clap. “If you’re okay here, I think I’ll go back to the arena. Jackson called and said Rafe is there. He took off a couple of weeks for the wedding and went straight to the game to meet us. I had Emory put on the visitor list. She wanted to come, but I told her to wait until morning. It’ll be a madhouse here as soon as the game’s over.”

Noel laughed a little. “Why is everyone listening to you?”

“I pretended like I was in charge, so I am.”

She crossed the room to where he stood. “You know, we broke up. I’m not really his girlfriend anymore.”

“Yeah. I know,” Gabe said. “And he didn’t ask for you, either.”

“Oh.” Noel looked at the floor. She had believed that.

“But he thought he was dying. And he told me to tell you he loved you. And you came here without being asked. So I guess when he wakes up and finds himself alive, you’ll be his girlfriend again.”

“Thank you, Gabe. For everything.”

“Ain’t nothing but a thing.” He smiled.

“Gabe,” Noel said, “when you find her—
the one
—don’t let things that don’t matter get in the way. And nothing matters but that you’ve found her.”

Gabe laughed, with one foot out the door. “I’ve been finding her for years—at this party, on that beach, in this bar. She’s everywhere. I’ll be back tomorrow.” And he was gone.

Noel pulled a chair as close to the head of Nickolai’s bed as she could. Careful not to wake him, she kissed his cheek, took his hand, and looked into his face for a long time.

Then she reached for her sewing basket and got to work. She set about doing something that would horrify any quilter, from novice to artisan. She was going to add motifs to a finished quilt. She cut out a hockey puck to appliqué to the edge of the quilt beside the embroidered cat’s paw that never failed to make Nickolai laugh.

As she worked, she had to smile. Everything else that decorated the quilt made sense—the abandoned nightgown, the newspaper, and breakfast tray. It was hard to think of a scenario where Nickolai would toss a hockey puck onto the bed—but he could if he wanted to. And even though leaving a pincushion full of needles and pins on a bed would just be asking for trouble, she cut out the tomato shape from a red scrap and checked to make sure she had silver thread to embroider the pins and needles.

This quilt certainly wouldn’t win a prize now, even if she hadn’t torn it. Not only did the added motifs upset the balance of the design, the new work wasn’t good. The stitches were large and hurried, but Noel wanted the new images in place when Nickolai woke. As she stitched, Nickolai slept on, and nurses and doctors came and went. Noel had no doubt they would talk for years about the crazy woman who had sat quilting at Nickolai Glazov’s beside.

And she did not care.

• • •

Nickolai was in a fog. There was pain in his neck, he was thirsty, and there was a voice in the room—a sweet, familiar voice, but firm, too.

Where was he, and was she talking to him? Or was he dreaming? He fought his way out of the fog, desperate to hear, praying that she
was
talking to him. But she wasn’t. On the other hand, it wasn’t a dream. She was here. Everything began to come back to him. He was hurt, though not dead, which surprised him.

And she had come. He tried to call out to her, but he wasn’t awake enough yet. But he could listen. Gradually, the voice that had seemed so far away phased in.

“… I don’t care,” she was saying. “I don’t care about any of that. He can play hockey or not. He can drive a garbage truck for all I care—though the doctor said there was no reason to think he can’t play once he recovers.”

That was good. Of course, with the way he’d been playing …

“I don’t know. But I’ll tell you this: You might be right. I may be way out of my league, but he doesn’t think so. Or he didn’t. And if he still wants me, I’ll gladly take it.”

What was this league his Noel was speaking of? She didn’t play a sport.

“Yes, Mother. Yes. You
did
say that. And if things go like I hope they will, I will not be returning to Louisville to live—not ever. For now, Nickolai is going to play hockey. In the foreseeable future, that’s probably going to be in Nashville. If he were to be traded, I’ll be wherever that is. I can quilt anywhere—Canada, California, Russia … No, Mother. I was kidding. He can’t be traded to a team in Russia. But I will not leave Nickolai—if he still wants me. Do you understand?”

The things she was saying made his heart sing.

Finally, he found his voice. “Noel,
zvezda moya
?”

She turned and gave him a radiant smile. “Mother, I’m hanging up now. Nickolai is awake. Yes. I’ll call. Yes. Thank you. I love you.”

And she came toward him. When he tried to sit up, her expression turned stern, and she rushed to push him back against the pillow.

“No, my darling. Lie back.” He did as she asked, and she smoothed his hair. “What can I do for you?”

He wanted to tell her he’d heard what she said, and that yes, he wanted her, so they could get on with being happy. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

“Can I have a drink?” She held the cup, guided the straw to his mouth, and then stroked his cheek while he drank. The stroking might have made him drink a little more than he needed. He pushed the cup away and tried to take her hand. When he couldn’t quite make the connection, she did it for him. “I heard what you say to your mother. You mean those things?”

She nodded. “I’m so sorry—as much for not being willing to even listen to you, than for not believing you.”

“Meh. Mikhail said I made mistakes. I should have told you about Tewanda following me. I did not think.”

She shook her head. “My mother is terrified you’re going to take me off to Russia to live. I told her there’s no reason to think that. But if that’s what it took to be with you, I’d go.” A frown crossed her sweet face. “Unless it’s too late and you don’t want me anymore.”

“What would make you think such a thing, that I might not want you? Is lunacy. And what is this talk of Russia? Is pretty, yeah. Maybe I would like to show to you, but not to live. No.”

Ah, she was stroking his cheek again and his hair.

“You made me so happy,” she said, “that I couldn’t believe it would last. I was looking for a reason to end it so I wouldn’t get hurt. And I ended up hurting you. I never imagined someone like you could want someone like me.”

“You make no sense, Noel. But you’re sweet today. I don’t mind so much that you don’t make sense when you’re sweet.”

“Then I’ll try to be sweet. Do you feel like looking at something?”

“Da.
Sure.” He reached for the neck of her shirt, but his hand still wasn’t working right. “You have on purple lacy ones today?”

She pushed his hand away. “None of that.” And she laughed!

“Your laugh, it has healing powers, no? You must laugh for me until I’m well.”

“I will. I’ll take good care of you when you leave the hospital.”

“At your home? I can go there?”

“If you like. And maybe if I cover you with this quilt, it’ll help you get well faster.” She stroked the covers.

It was the
Lazy Morning
quilt.

“You brought this for me? A present?”

“Not so much a present as a trade. If you still have it, I’d like that hat trick puck.”