Page 86 of Hate To Love You

Concern is etched in her delicate features, and it makes my heart squeeze. She’s worried about me. God, I can’t remember the last time someone was worried about me.

I reach for her hand, ignoring the pain, and she grabs it, wrapping her tiny hands around me. I can feel my body shutting down, probably due to the pain radiating through me, and even though I want to fight to stay awake, the need to sleep feels stronger.

God damnit.

—————————

The sound of beeping rings in my ears, and a harsh light makes me squint as I try to open my eyes. I feel groggy and out of it, and I hate that feeling.

I’m in a hospital room. Perfect.

“Ryker? Honey? Are you awake?” my mother’s voice breaks through the otherwise quiet room. Why is she here?

She rushes to my side and gives me a hug, a bit too hard. I wince, remembering what got me here in the first place. The game, Gwen, the hit.

“Yeah, mom. I’m awake,” I reply hoarsely. She places a soft kiss on my forehead before backing away. Her brow is furrowed, and she looks like she’d been crying.

“I was so worried. You have a fractured rib, but you’re going to be fine, thank God. I knew that rugby was dangerous, Ryker.”

Great. I’ll be hearing about how I should quit and find a new hobby for the foreseeable future, and I’ll be benched for the next month because of that shit head, Walsh.

I pull myself up slowly, the pain a bit duller than before, probably due to the pain meds they’re pumping into my veins.

That’s when I see my father sitting in the corner of the room. I hadn’t noticed him. Why would he be here? He doesn’t give a shit about me.

“The coffee machine on this floor is broken, so I had to go downstairs,” Logan strolls into the room with two coffee cups in his hand. He hands one to our mother and, she smiles at him sweetly.

Logan glances my way and nods once. Was he at the game? Did he see what happened?

“Holland, Pat, and Mason are here,” Logan tells me.

The guys walk in, and I almost laugh at how similar their demeanours are. Pat’s hands are tucked in his pockets, his face is pulled into a scowl. Holland looks just as serious, and of course, Mason is grinning ear to ear.

Mason strolls over to the side of the bed, his hand landing on my shoulder.

“You’re alive, man,” he chaffs. I shake my head, a hint of a smile crossing my lips.

“Shut up,” I tell him.

Pat and Holland walk up next, Pat looking a bit uneasy.

“Glad to see you’re still breathing, brother,” Holland says. My lips purse and I nod.

“Yeah, hurt like a motherfucker. But I’m fine,” I assure him, attempting to reassure everyone else in the room simultaneously. I am fine, but I’m fucking pissed.

Pat and I exchange a knowing glance.

“It was Walsh,” Pat states what I already knew. The only fucker on that team that would have played that dirty was Walsh. He waited for his moment, and he took it. I can’t really blame anyone but myself. I was too distracted by Ashton and Gwen.

I should have been paying attention to the game. I shouldn’t have let that get in my head. But seeing him with her, yet again, it made me feel things I’ve never felt before.

Rage, jealousy, protectiveness, possessiveness, and defensiveness, all wrapped up in a tight little bow.

It’s all new to me, feeling this way about someone, especially a woman. It’s infuriating, and it’s the last thing I need to be worrying about.

But I wouldn’t change a thing, because I have Gwen.

“I know,” I say pointedly. He nods, probably already thinking of ways to kill the bastard. This is why Pat is my best friend.

---