Page 4 of Blue Lines and Lullabies

“Someone from St. Francis called.”

I wrack my brain, trying to think of what she means. “Uh, what?”

“The hospital?”

“Okay?”

“They left a number and asked for you to call back. You’ll need to speak with Sandy.”

The secretary hands me a number on a small post-it, and I notice it’s a local area code. “Oh, it’s local.”

She looks at me quizzically. “Were you assuming something happened back home?”

I nod. “For someone to try and track me down here, I assumed the worst.”

She gives me a kind smile. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Call them back. It’s most likely nothing.”

I say goodbye to her and head out to my car. Whatever this is, I’ll deal with it on my way home. I’m tired, and a long soak in my hot tub calls my name.

Many of the guys on the team live close to downtown Denver, but I chose to buy a place on the outskirts of town. I wanted four walls that I didn’t have to share with anyone. I grew up in a small condominium, sharing a room with my sister, and I hated every moment of it. But my parents didn’t have a lot of money, and we survived as best we could.

I’ll never forget the looks on their faces when I bought them a home after my first year in the league. I was able to treat them for a change. They still live in the town I grew up in, a tiny blip on the map in southeastern Ohio. I tried to get them to move to Denver, but they refused.

I plug in Sandy’s number at the hospital and pull out of the players’ lot behind the practice facility. I’m surprised when someone answers the phone immediately.

“Hi, I’m trying to reach a Sandy? My name is Gabe Dawson.”

“Mr. Dawson, yes. I’ve been trying to reach you about Nicole Givens.”

“Uh, ma’am, I don’t think I know a Nicole Givens.” That name doesn’t sound familiar at all. “What is this about?”

“Ms. Givens has been treated here, and she left your name on some paperwork.”

Jesus. Probably some puck bunny trying to score some time with me, or some money. It’s rarely genuine.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know her. She probably put my name down as a joke or something. I play hockey, and my name is pretty well-known, unfortunately.”

“I’m aware of that, Mr. Dawson. We’ll still need you to come in and help us with dotting a few i’s and crossing a few t’s, if that’s okay.”

I’m beginning to feel a burning sensation at the base of my neck. This can’t be good. “Why would I need to come in?”

“Well, there’s been a complication, and we need to rectify it.”

“What kind of complication? Can you forward me to this chick’s room? Let me speak to her, and I’ll see if I can figure out if I actually know her.”

“We can’t do that, Mr. Dawson.”

“Why not?”

Sandy sighs into the phone. “Sir, Ms. Givens had a rare complication. I’m unable to discuss it over the phone. Are you able to come in?”

Dammit. I can hear my hot tub crying my name right now. “I guess.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

Thirty minutes later, I’m checking into the valet parking at a hospital in a less-than-ideal part of Denver. I’m apprehensive about leaving my truck here. Oh well. That’s why I have auto insurance.

Finding my way to Sandy’s office, I’m surprised when it’s down a long and stark hallway. As I find the office number Sandy texted to me after our conversation, I notice the sign above the door says “bereavement.” I’m momentarily stupefied because I can’t remember what that word means.

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