Playing Hard (30 page)

“Well, he has a decent concussion,” she said. “Plus a nice gash in his forehead. I’ve cleaned that out, have a call in for a plastics resident. The paramedics said he fell off a table?”

“I wasn’t there,” Amelia said, tasting bile in the back of her throat. Plastic surgeon? How bad was the cut? “But yes, that’s what I was told.”

“He’s probably lucky he didn’t hurt himself worse.” She glanced down at the chart again. Pressed her lips together for a moment.

“Let me guess,” Lucas said. “Decent blood alcohol as well?”

“Gold star for the ortho guy,” Dr. Simpson said. She paused again, looked at Amelia. “The tests showed traces of amphetamines as well.”

What? Amelia shook her head. “That can’t be right. Finn doesn’t do drugs. He’s never done them.”

They both looked at her, clearly not believing her. She lifted her chin. “His high school had a positively rabid anti-drug stance. He’d have been kicked off the baseball team if he was ever caught with so much as pot.”

“Lots of people don’t get caught,” Lucas said.

“Teenage boys aren’t masterminds.” She refrained from adding any commentary about Finn’s IQ. Damn it. He was exactly smart enough to hide it if he’d wanted to. But she just couldn’t believe that he had ever wanted to. “He wasn’t an angel. He got caught drinking a few times. But I’ve known him a long time and I’ve never seen him with drugs.”

“Well, he took something tonight.”

Lucas frowned. “Either that or someone slipped something in his drink.”

Dr. Simpson looked surprised.

“If you know who I am then you presumably know I own part of a baseball team. He’s one of my players,” Lucas said. “It’s happened before. Somebody thinking it would be funny to dope the famous guy.”

“I’m sure it’s possible,” Dr. Simpson said. “Though in my experience, the less complicated explanation is more likely to be the truth. Either way, he’s probably feeling crappy now and will feel crappier when the booze wears off. He already threw up in the ambulance, so we didn’t pump his stomach. We’re hydrating him but there’s not a high enough level of whatever it is he took in his system to warrant anything more extreme. I’m more concerned about the concussion. The paramedics said they were told he’d had a concussion a few weeks ago?” She looked at Lucas for confirmation.

“Mild,” he said. “Very mild. A little over two weeks ago.”

“Mild or not, two concussions in a short period of time isn’t good. I know you probably want to move him but I’d rather keep him here overnight for observation. Moving will just jostle him. Which in his current condition will hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Lucas said. “All right. We’ll talk again in the morning?”

Dr. Simpson nodded. Then she turned to Amelia. “You can go in and sit with him, if you’d like. I suspect he’s just going to sleep but I want him on hourly observations tonight so the nurses will be coming in to wake him up every hour. If he wakes up in between, tell him he has a concussion and try to get him to stay still. I’ll send the plastics resident down to stitch his head as soon as they’re free.”

“Who’s your plastics attending?” Lucas asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Our residents are excellent.”

“I’m sure they are but I want the best for my guy.” Lucas patted Amelia’s arm. “Will you be okay for a few minutes? Dr. Simpson and I are going to discuss this some more. I’ll get Oliver to come down if you want.”

Amelia smiled at him. “No. Thanks but I’m okay. I’ll just go in and sit with Finn for a while.”

Chapter Seventeen

Finn didn’t stir when Amelia came back into his room and closed the door as quietly as she could. So she curled up in the chair beside his bed and just watched him. She couldn’t believe he’d taken drugs willingly. It wasn’t him, no matter what they thought. But only Finn would know the truth on that one. And whether he chose to tell it would be another matter altogether.

She gnawed her lip, eyes gritty from lack of sleep. Lucas had been cool and professional dealing with the doctor and he’d been kind to her, but she was under no illusions that Finn hadn’t fucked up big-time tonight. Other players injured. Cops. Press.

Shit.

If he couldn’t handle losing the divisional series without getting wasted for a week and then into this much trouble, what would happen if the Saints dropped him?

She didn’t want to think about it.

So she just watched him. The room smelled like disinfectant and sweaty man. There was a distinct odor of booze in that sweat. God. What if Finn had an actual problem with alcohol? He’d always liked to party, but she’d never thought he was out of control.

But falling off tables and picking fights and getting in trouble with the police seemed pretty out of control to her.

She didn’t think he’d take kindly to her telling him that but she’d do it anyway. It wasn’t as though she could screw up their friendship any more than it already was. But not tonight. Not while he was hurt and sick and alone in a goddamned hospital. Tonight she would just sit and be here if he needed her.

The door creaked open behind her. She turned, expecting Lucas, but it was Oliver. Oliver bearing a can of soda, already opened.

He held it out to her. “I thought caffeine and sugar might be easier to stomach than that hospital coffee,” he whispered. Then he bent and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Are you okay?”

She nodded and took the can. “I’m fine.”

Beside them, Finn stirred. Amelia froze. Finn opened his eyes. “Milly? And Shields? What the hell is he doing here?” He started to sit up then started retching halfway through the motion.

“Finn!” Amelia shoved the soda can at Oliver and stood, but Finn retched again and then suddenly slumped back on the bed. “Finn!” She put a hand on his arm, and he didn’t move. “I think he’s passed out.”

“Hit the call button,” Oliver said.

Amelia did but didn’t move from Finn’s side until the nurse came through the door at a run and muscled her aside. “What happened?”

“He woke up, tried to sit up, but then started vomiting—no, trying to vomit. He didn’t actually throw up. Then he passed out.”

The nurse hit another button on the wall. “Okay. It’s probably just the concussion. But there’re going to be a few more people in here in a minute. You’re going to have to go back to the waiting room.”

“I want to stay,” Amelia said.

“Sorry,” said the nurse. “You need to leave.”

*   *   *

Oliver shepherded Amelia back down to the waiting room, feeling her reluctance to leave Finn in the tension running through her body.

Lucas looked up from his phone when they came through the doors. “What happened?”

“Castro woke up, started vomiting, passed out. We called the nurse. The nurse kicked us out,” Oliver said. They were alone in the waiting room. Or rather, there were no other Saints people in the waiting room. “Where’d everybody go?”

“Sent them home,” Lucas said. “No need for everyone to get no sleep.” He yawned, stood, stretched. “Okay. I’ll go see what’s happening.” He came over to Amelia. “It’s probably just the concussion. Nausea is common. And vomiting. And if he sat up too fast then he could have been dizzy, and that could make him faint. They’ll take good care of him.”

Amelia nodded but her gaze followed Lucas as he headed back the way they’d come.

“It’s going to be okay,” Oliver said. “Come sit down.”

She did and he put his arm around her, ignoring the ache that was beginning to set into his left hand. His painkillers were sitting safely at home back in his apartment. He hadn’t thought about grabbing them when they left. But fuck it. This was a hospital. Lucas would be able to get him something if they didn’t have a dispensary in the building. Amelia was very still next to him. He remembered the soda. Which was now sitting back in Finn’s room. She should have something in her stomach.

“I’ll get you another soda,” he said, but she shook her head and tucked her arm through his, resting her head on his shoulder, hands gripping him so he couldn’t move.

“I’m not thirsty. I just want to sit here for a few minutes. I’ll get something when Lucas comes back.”

“Whatever you need, sweetheart,” he said and pulled her closer. It took a few minutes but gradually he felt her relax against him, heard her breathing even out. And then felt the extra weight lean into him as she fell asleep. He struggled against the yawn that rose in his chest at the thought. The clock on the far wall of the waiting room told him it was nearly four a.m. Well. Let her sleep.

Lucas would be back soon enough with news.

But Amelia didn’t stir when Lucas came back into the waiting room and he smiled when he saw her, holding a finger up to his lips. “Don’t wake her up,” he said. “They’ve taken Finn for some more scans and then their head plastics guy is going to stitch his face up so you won’t be able to see him for a while anyway. No signs it’s anything other than the concussion so far.”

Part of Oliver couldn’t help feeling grimly satisfied that Finn was now feeling as crappy as he had when he’d woken up in the hospital after his accident. But most of him was more worried about Amelia. So he just nodded at Lucas and stayed where he was, watching over his girl while she slept.

*   *   *

Two hours later, Em walked into the waiting room, and this time Amelia did wake when Em called her name. Lucas had vanished again about twenty minutes before, in search of Finn’s doctors, but he hadn’t yet reappeared.

Oliver’s arm had gone numb under Amelia’s weight. As she straightened, blinking at Em, he felt the first surges of pins and needles.

“Em?” Amelia said, blinking. “What time is it?”

“Six. Where’s Finn?”

Amelia looked at Oliver. “How long was I asleep?”

He shrugged, “A couple of hours.” He looked at Em, while he tried to flex his arm, to get the circulation flowing. She looked exhausted, dark hair piled up, black jeans and a rumpled gray hoodie doing nothing for her olive skin. “Lucas just went to get an update. Come and sit down. I’ll text Lucas so they know you’re here.”

Em came and sat on the edge of the seat on the other side of Amelia. Her foot tapped nervously. “Why aren’t you with Finn?”

“He—”

“They had to stitch his head,” Oliver said smoothly. “They’re limiting how much time he can have with visitors.” Okay, not entirely the truth, but he didn’t want Em to have a meltdown in the waiting room. “He has another concussion.”

Em frowned at him. “I know. Amelia texted me.”

“Good. Then you know as much as we do.” He rolled his shoulders, looked down at Amelia, who was looking at Em with a vaguely guilty expression. “Does anyone need coffee?”

Em shook her head. “No. I’ve had enough. Did Finn say what happened?”

“No,” Amelia said. “But he’d been drinking. And…” She hesitated.

“And what?” Em demanded.

“There were drugs in his system,” Amelia said.

There were? Lucas hadn’t mentioned that part. Oliver straightened. Hell, if Finn was doing drugs then he was on a short road to being an ex-Saint. The club had always taken a tough stand on drugs, even out of season.

“Finn doesn’t do drugs,” Em snapped.

“I know,” Amelia said. “That’s what I told them. But—”

“What? What did you tell them, Milly?” Em said.

“I didn’t tell them anything they don’t already know. That he likes to party. That he’s always liked to drink a bit.”

“Are you saying my brother’s a drunk?” Em’s face was turning red, eyes turning a poisonous shade of green. He knew that look. He’d seen it on Finn’s face a few times. The look of a Castro in a rage. But he held back. This wasn’t his battle to fight. Not yet.

“No. I know you’re worried and tired and not thinking clearly. But Em, he hasn’t been happy this season. And he has been partying. I think he did that in Chicago, too. He must have. The Cubs wouldn’t have sold him cheaply if he wasn’t doing something they didn’t like.”

Em shook her head. “You don’t know that.” Her gaze flicked to Oliver. “You’re just worried that Finn’s going to take your boyfriend’s spot on the team.”

Amelia sucked in a breath.

“Hey,” Oliver said, feeling his temper start to curl. “Amelia has been nothing but good to your brother. Far better than he’s been to her, as far as I can see.”

Em’s head snapped up. “He—”

Oliver held up a hand. “If you’re going to tell me he saved her mom, I know. Just like Amelia knows. Just like I’m sure you know that she’s always going to be grateful for that. But frankly, your brother has been acting like a brat all year.” He watched Em suck in a breath, obviously ready to argue. “I don’t care if he’s rude to me. I can fight my own battles at the Saints. If Finn wants my spot then he’s going to have to earn it the old-fashioned way. By being the better player. The better man.” He narrowed his eyes at Emma, who was practically spitting anger now. “And your brother is a long way from the better man in this situation. But I’m not going to let him deal with his shit by taking it out on Amelia.”

“Is that so?” Emma said, viciously. “How sweet of you, defending Amelia.” She shot a look at Amelia, who glared right back. “I hope you’re not expecting the same loyalty from her. After all, she’s not sticking around much longer.”

“Em!” Amelia gasped at the same time as he said, “What?” feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.

“Oh? Didn’t she tell you?” Em said, looking satisfied. “Milly here is about to move to Hong Kong.”

He shoved to his feet, ears ringing. Leaving? She was leaving. Beside him, he heard Amelia hiss something at Em. Then felt her put a hand on his arm. He shook her off.

“Oliver,” she said.

“Not here,” he said. “I’m not having this discussion here.” Then he headed for the exit.

*   *   *

Amelia shot a disgusted look at Em, who only tilted her chin defiantly, green eyes gleaming—though whether with tears or satisfaction, Amelia couldn’t tell. Quite frankly she didn’t care. What the fuck did Em think she was doing, telling Oliver like that? But she wasn’t going to stay and have it out with Em. Not when Oliver was walking away.

She grabbed her purse and went after him. Her head was spinning as she followed him down the corridor toward the car park where they’d come into the hospital. He was moving with barely a limp. Moving at speed and his long legs had hers beat. She didn’t catch up with him until he was nearly at the taxi rank.