Unwrapping Her Perfect Match: A London Legends Christmas Novella (6 page)

“Here? This is the hospital you had my
flowers sent to?”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. She cleared her
throat. “I knew I’d be working all week, hardly home at all. I had
them sent here to…”

When she couldn’t think of a good excuse, he
cocked one brow, the corner of his mouth pulling up with a hopeful
twist. “To…remind yourself to return my call?”

She turned her attention to gathering some of
the bedsheet in her fists. “I’m really sorry about the other night.
And really embarrassed. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. I
don’t even know why I did it.”

A complete lie, but much better than the
truth: that a ten-year-old wound still festered inside her—one
she’d thought had healed but obviously hadn’t.

He laid a big hand over hers. “It’s all
right, Gwen. You can make it up by having dinner with me when my
brain’s unscrambled.”

“Really? You want to have dinner with me?
Still?” Hope surged in her. “I’ve been trying to work up the nerve
to call and thank you for the flowers, but every day it got more
difficult. I’ve never been very good”—
at talking to men who
aren’t bleeding
—”um, at apologies.”

“No need to apologize. Just tell me your
favorite restaurant and let me take you there.”

“Can we snog on your couch afterward?”

“My couch, my bed, my shower—lady’s choice.”
He winked, and she laughed.

Surely it couldn’t be this easy. She’d felt
so humiliated when she’d left his house, and every time she’d
picked up the phone to call him, her tongue had tangled over the
words she’d wanted to say. In the end, he wasn’t making her say
them at all. She could’ve kissed him if he didn’t look so ill.

“Did we win the match, at least?”

She shook her head in amazement. “Really?
That’s one of your biggest concerns right now?”

“Always. Did we?”

“Sorry, I don’t know. I’ll see if I can find
out.” She tentatively took hold of his hand. “John, who can look
after you for the next few days?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the
bridge of his nose. “I’ve got no bloody idea. I can’t ask my mates
to give up their holidays to sit around my house ready to shove a
bowl under my face if I chunder up my Christmas goose. We have the
next three days off, and that’s our only time off for at least the
next five months. I can’t ruin their holidays.”

Suddenly, he clasped her hand so hard her
bones rubbed together. “Gwen, I need to get home. I need to be home
by eight tonight, so I’m leaving here by six no matter what the
doctor says. Please help me. Do whatever you can—pull strings,
stick a boot up someone’s ar—” He coughed mid-curse, obviously
remembering the boy in the next bay, and she wanted to smile and
hug him at the same time. “Please. I’m begging you. Help me get
home.”

She fought her curiosity, but it got the
better of her. “Why do you need to be home by eight?”

Expecting him to mention a post-match
interview or a favorite TV program, she was caught totally unawares
when he said, “That’s when my daughter’s coming over.”

Gwen felt her head bobbing up and down like a
dandelion in a strong breeze. “Oh. You have a daughter?”

And presumably the daughter had a mother,
because John didn’t look old enough to have a child who could
transport herself. “Couldn’t her mum look after you over
Christmas?”

“No. Her dad had a stroke last week, so she’s
spending Christmas helping him get settled back at home. She’s just
flying over to drop Agnes off, and she’s catching the first flight
back tomorrow.”

So many questions flooded Gwen’s mind that
she barely knew where to start. He’d pronounced his daughter’s name
the French way, An-
yes
. Did she live in France? Was her
mother French? Had his ex planned to spend Christmas at John’s
before her father had a stroke? When Gwen and John had come close
to having sex on his couch, had he been biding his time until his
ex arrived?

A horrible thought doused her with frigid
reality. What if the woman wasn’t his ex? What if she was current?
Maybe her father lived elsewhere, and she was bringing their
daughter back so she could spend Christmas at home.

“Gwen, I need your help.”

She batted away the questions and brought her
focus back to him. “Do you? Because it seems like you have someone
who can look after you tonight.”

He winced. “Caroline won’t look after me, and
she’ll take Agnes back to Aix-en-Provence if she thinks I can’t
take care of her. I really…” He bit his lower lip. “I always go to
their place for Christmas, even though I can only spend a day or
two there. This is the first year Agnes is coming here, and it’s
all so last minute that I don’t know how the fu—how the bloody
he—how…”

Gwen pushed a sweaty lock of hair off his
forehead, telling herself she did it only because her job was to
provide what comfort she could.

Liar
.

He shifted so he could hold her hand in both
of his. Desperation mixed with pain to make his voice crack as he
pleaded. “Gwen, I get four weekends and one week a year with my
little girl. Spending Christmas with her is the most precious thing
I get to do all year. Please. Will you help me?”

Hopeless against his entreaties, she couldn’t
stop herself from asking, “How?”

Before he could answer, the sounds of chaos
erupted from the other side of the curtain. Gwen shot out of her
seat, calling over her shoulder. “Rest there till someone comes to
collect you for your scan.”

She rushed through the curtain to help her
colleagues treat a man who’d been hit by a car just outside the
hospital. She didn’t get another break for hours, and a combination
of snow, ice and alcohol kept the A&E bustling. Gwen caught
glimpses of him trying not to nod off as he waited to find out how
badly he’d damaged himself. Maya spoke to him briefly, presumably
to give him the good news that he hadn’t fractured his skull so
he’d be free to go as soon as he had a ride.

A few times, she glanced up to find him
watching her, and her whole body flushed in response. It’d been a
long time since the mere sight of a man had caused her belly to
clutch.

When her shift ended at six, she finished
handing over to one of the night nurses and walked past the nurses’
station. To her surprise, a familiar face stood there. “Liam! What
are you doing here?”

Her sister’s boyfriend smiled, despite the
fist-sized contusion discoloring the skin around his eyebrow, and
gave her a swift kiss on the cheek. “Came to pick up Shelly.”

He must’ve noted her confusion because he
said, “John Sheldon. Big fucker. You went home with him the other
night.”

Blood rushed to her face. “Cheers, Liam.
Appreciate that.”

“Just stating facts.” He watched her
carefully for several uncomfortable seconds before adding, “He’s a
good bloke, Gwen. A little clueless sometimes, but he’s got a good
heart.”

“He’s also got a bruised brain,” Gwen said,
eager to change the conversation to one she was comfortable having,
one based on fact and evidence instead of feeling and emotion.
“What are you going to do after you get him home?”

“Give him a big kiss on the forehead and tuck
him into bed.” Liam shrugged one shoulder. “Then I’ll get my arse
back home to your sister as soon as I can.”

Gwen refused to smile. “He needs looking
after, Liam. For at least a couple of days. If you can’t do that,
is there someone else from the team who can?”

“He, uh…” He shifted his weight from one foot
to the other, jamming his fingers into his jeans pockets and
thumping his thumbs against his hipbones to an invisible beat.
Having met thousands of liars in her life, Gwen recognized the
signs. Of course, most of the liars she met were on the hunt for
painkillers, not the man who seemed to adore her sister. “He has
someone…”

“If you’re trying to tell me that his ex will
be there, I already know. At least, I assume she’s his ex because I
know you wouldn’t encourage me to think he’s a good man if he were
involved with someone.”

Tension flowed out of his shoulders. “She
is
his ex. Well, technically, I don’t think they were
together long enough for her to be considered his ex.”

Gwen held up her hand. “Too much information.
All I need to know is how he’ll be taken care of. He indicated that
he didn’t want her to know he’s ill.”
Her—Caroline.
Again
with a French accent, Caro-
leen
.

“Yeah, he mentioned something like that when
he phoned me. Look, I know you’re worried, but remember who you’re
talking to. I’ve had concussions, and I lived alone till I met
Tess. He’ll be fine.”

“Will his daughter?”

He stilled. “What do you mean?”

“From what I understand, he’s taking care of
his daughter over the holidays. What happens if he loses
consciousness? How old is the girl?”

He dragged his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Eight…or so? Fuck. I didn’t think about that. Ah, shite. I’d
better call Tess.”

“Why?” John’s voice from behind—and
above—Gwen made her jump.

She pressed against her heart. “God, you
startled me. How does a man your size manage to sneak up on
someone?”

“Finesse. I’m very nimble. Also excellent
with my hands.”

Liam snorted. “Mate, I wouldn’t be bragging
about your ball-handling skills if I were you.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay,” Gwen broke in, “whatever John’s
skills—”

“I could demonstrate.”

“—we need to figure out a care plan for
him.”

John cursed under his breath. “I don’t need a
care plan. Let’s get back to Liam and Tess. Why do you need to call
her?”

“To break the bad news that I’ll be spending
Christmas nursing you.”

John’s jaw unhinged, and Gwen could tell he
was about to lose his cool so she laid a hand on his forearm. “You
don’t need to do that, Liam. I’ll look after him.”

John’s muscles hardened under her touch, and
Liam’s brows shot up. “Really? Why?”

“Because I owe Tess a really good Christmas
gift. A five-thousand-pound Christmas gift. I’m hoping she thinks
you’re worth at least that.”

The journey home just about finished the job
that the Leicester forwards had started when they’d knocked him
over. Although Liam had done his best to drive slowly and
carefully, he’d had to swerve and slam on his brakes twice—once for
a cyclist with a death wish and once for a minicab that pulled out
of an alley and nearly blindsided them. Driving in London: more of
an adrenaline rush than eighty minutes on a rugby pitch.

By the time Liam pulled up outside John’s
building, John’s head ached as if it would burst open like an
overripe watermelon. Gwen had insisted that he take the front
passenger seat. They had argued about it for several minutes, each
offering to squeeze into the back of Liam’s midsize Toyota—which
didn’t feel midsize to anyone oversized—until Liam had yelled, “For
fuck’s sake, Shelly, let her take the back seat so we can get you
home, you stubborn git.” Now, as Liam put the car in Park, John sat
there holding his head in his hands, praying it wouldn’t explode.
Consciousness drifted away from him, and he only vaguely heard Liam
and Gwen’s voices as if they came from the opposite end of a long
tunnel.

“Shelly, mate, wake up. Come on, we’re here
and I don’t want to have to carry you like my bride.”

Liam had to be joking, considering he was
nearly a foot shorter than John.

Gwen’s voice sounded calm as she said, “John,
we want to get you inside so we can start making arrangements for
Agnes. Will you help us?”

Agnes
. His beautiful girl who seemed
like a completely different person each time he saw her, since he
saw her so rarely. How did Gwen know about Agnes?

Oh, yeah. He’d told her at the hospital.
Concussion. Christmas. He pressed the button on his seatbelt, and
it unlatched.

“Good lad,” his skipper said. “I’ll get the
door for you.”

Next thing he knew, hands grabbed at him and
hoisted him to his feet. His vision swam and he stumbled. A pair of
strong arms wrapped around his ribcage, giving him someone to lean
against. He looked down, fully expecting to see Liam hugging him.
But the pale blond head tucked under his chin didn’t belong to his
captain. It belonged to someone a little taller.

Jesus, Gwen was taking most of his weight and
helping him take steps that were so unsteady he reminded himself of
a newborn giraffe attempting to walk on shaky, untried legs.

“You’re strong,” he muttered against her
hair. It smelled faintly of strawberries and a little of sweat.
That shouldn’t turn him on, but knowing how she’d exerted herself
all day made his heart thump harder. No shrinking violet, this
one.

“And you’re massive,” she replied.

“Huge. I still want to hear you say I’m
huge.”

“Mate, could you save the sexy chat for when
I’m gone?” Liam asked. “I’d appreciate it.”

He’d forgotten Liam was here. Fuck, just how
bad had he messed up his brain?

Someone’s fingers reached into John’s pocket
for his keys, and Liam jogged up the three steps to open John’s
front door.

“I can do the stairs myself,” he assured
Gwen. But she clearly didn’t trust him to stay on his feet because
she and Liam flanked him, both hooking an arm around him and taking
each step with painstaking slowness.

When they finally reached the third step, his
body leaned forward. Suddenly the air around him disappeared and he
was falling...

Something hard jammed into his stomach and
broke his fall, sending him only to his knees instead of his face.
A feminine cry of pain brought reality back with a rush. Gwen was
hunched over in front of him, Liam on his knees too, his hand
cupping the back of her head.