Page 39 of Tough Score

"Here," I say, carefully placing the ice pack on his knee. "This should help numb things a bit."

Reeve winces slightly but then relaxes as the cold takes effect. "Thanks," he murmurs, the tension in his shoulders easing.

I hover over him for a moment. "Do you need anything else? Water? More pillows?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm okay. You can go back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"It's fine. I want you to wake me when you're in pain so that I can help," I say. "I'm going to sleep on the couch tonight so that I'm close. Just call out if you need me for anything."

But as I turn to leave, his hand reaches out and gently grasps my wrist. "Actually...would you mind staying? Just until I fall asleep again?"

The vulnerability in his voice tugs at my heart. Against my better judgment, I nod. "Of course."

I sit on the edge of the bed and then lay down beside him. We lay there in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound his gradually steadying breathing.

Just as I think he's drifted off, Reeve speaks softly. "My mom died when I was fourteen."

His admission takes me by surprise. "You were so young," I say.

I look over to find Reeve staring up at the ceiling--his eyes deary and sad--his lips pressed into a thin line.

"She and I were in a car accident when I was five," he continues quietly. "I only broke my arm but she sustained more injuries and needed multiple surgeries after that. Some of the surgeries were successful, but others weren't and only caused her more pain."

I listen intently, sensing this is something he doesn't share often. My heart aches for the young boy who went through such trauma.

"The doctors kept prescribing her pain medication. No one knew how bad it was getting, not even me," Reeve says. "At first it helped, but then it became something else entirely. She tried rehab a couple of times but it never stuck. Then years after the accident, I got my first bad hockey injury and my doctor prescribed me pain meds. I thought I was being forgetful about taking them when I noticed that the bottle seemed to dwindle faster than it should have, but I was just a kid. The next summer, I broke my collarbone on a rope swing, and the same thing happened. I still didn't put it all together."

"How could you have? You were just a kid."

He shakes his head as if he's still trying to think of what he missed with her like the signs were there.

"After that, she started seeing a therapist and within a few weeks she had checked into rehab. hat was the first time. After she got out, I denied pain meds whenever a doctor prescribed them."

I hold my breath, already sensing what's coming next. I already want to wrap my arms around the eight-year-old Reeve, who had to handle such a difficult situation.

He takes a shaky breath. "She died of liver failure when I was fourteen. That's why I stopped taking pain meds."

"What about your dad? Was he in the picture?"

He nods. "My parents divorced when I was four after my dad got a promotion that required a move to Texas, but my mom never warmed up to the place-- she missed the mountains and her family. Six months later, she packed me up and took me back. I spent the school year with her and a month in the Texas summer with my dad."

"That must have been an adjustment?"

"I spent every minute I could at the local ice rink practicing with the Zamboni driver until his wife made him come home for dinner."

I laugh--that sounds like Reeve.

"So the obsession with hockey isn't new?"

"It's more like an addiction; I've just learned how to channel it."

"Reeve..." I start.

He turns his head against the pillow, and those warm eyes that I'm finding harder and harder to say no to settle on me.

"I'm sorry I dumped all of that on you. This surgery has brought up stuff that I haven't thought about in a really long time. It's not something I usually fixate on."

I nod, understanding that having to manage the pain has brought some other hurt to the surface.

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