Page 62 of Pucking the Grump

“I don’t have any update on that yet,” she says as she moves to Stone’s bedside, adjusting one of the monitors. “But I’ll let you know as soon as we do.” She casts a smile over her shoulder. “You must be Remy. Carrie said Mr. Stone was calling your name in his sleep when he first came in. She was so happy when you showed up a few hours later.”

I blink and my heart flips in my chest. I don’t know who Carrie is—she wasn’t one of the nurses I met—but I’m suddenly very glad she likes to gossip. It makes me so happy that I trusted my gut and bailed on everything in Seattle. A little voice in my head said Stone would be pissed at me for skipping the Seattle Storm game on Saturday—and the chance to network with the owners of the new pro women’s team, who’d invited me—but I just couldn’t stay.

I had to be here. With him.

I’ve always been a driven, work-focused person, but with the man I love on his way to the hospital in an ambulance, it suddenly became very clear to me that my priorities have shifted. Stone’s my number one now, and when he’s in trouble, I’m going to move heaven and earth to be there for him, the way I know he would for me.

“Yeah, I’m Remy,” I say with a smile.

“Nancy,” the nurse says, motioning to her badge.

“Thanks for taking such good care of him, Nancy. Everyone’s been so great.”

She beams. “Well, thank you. We try. The team here is really special. I’m glad to have met you. My grandkids will be so excited to hear I met someone with the same name as their favorite cartoon rat.”

I let out a soft laugh. “I love that cartoon. Sadly, however, my real name is Artemis.” I shrug. “But I couldn’t say that as a kid, so my mom started calling me Remy, and it stuck.”

“Artemis, the goddess of the hunt,” she murmurs as she records something on her tablet. “That’s a good name, too. Very strong.” She glances back at me. “Looks like it fits. But don’t be too strong, okay? Even the toughest women need sleep. If you decide to nap, I promise I’ll wake you the second he opens his eyes.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I might take you up on that. I’ve been up for about twenty-four hours by now, so…”

“Sleep,” Nancy says, wagging a finger my way as she heads toward the door. She flicks out the already muted lights, leaving only the lamp above the sink on the other side of the room to illuminate the small space. “I’ll be back when I have an update on when the doctor will be by for that follow up.”

When she’s gone, I sigh and plod reluctantly toward the recliner. She’s right. As much as a part of me still hates the idea of going to sleep before Stone knows I’m here, I won’t be much help as an advocate for him if I’m too tired to think straight.

But just as I’m preparing to kick off my shoes, Stone stirs. I turn toward him, my pulse spiking as his lips begin to move. But he doesn’t open his eyes or murmur my name. Instead, he mutters something that sounds like, “no more planes,” before exhaling a ragged sigh and sinking back into a deeper sleep.

Planes.

He always has weird dreams about planes, ones he shares over coffee so Barb and I can hear all about his bizarre nightly adventures. For some reason, the fact that I know that—that I know him so much better than I did even a few months ago—sends a wave of tenderness rushing through my chest.

I step closer, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Can’t wait to hear your plane dream later,” I whisper against his skin. “Get some rest, and I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Remy, what are you doing here?”

My father’s voice from the doorway is like a glass of ice water poured down the back of my shirt. I jerk upright, stomach coiling into a knot as I face him across Stone’s prone form.

Dad lurks in the doorway, dressed in his coaching gear despite the fact that it’s not even six thirty. His grey eyes move from me to Stone and back again, his expression unreadable. But he doesn’t look angry or even particularly shocked, so maybe he didn’t see me with my lips on Stone’s forehead?

Though, I’m honestly not sure how he could have missed it.

“Dad, hi,” I say, the words sticking in my suddenly dry throat. “I saw the hit on television last night and?—”

“What about your interview?” he cuts in, his brow furrowing as he ambles slowly into the room, the signature Coach Lauder cool still mostly unperturbed. “Surely, you didn’t leave Seattle before that was done.”

I blink, taken aback by the question. But I guess I shouldn’t be. After all, he was the one who taught me to put work and accomplishment before everything else. Of course, he’s more concerned about my job prospects than the fact that I clearly have a more intimate relationship with Stone than I’ve let on.

“No, the interview was already over,” I say. “We met yesterday afternoon.”

“And?” he demands.

“And it went very well,” I say, fighting a wave of irritation.

Dad is just being Dad and now isn’t the time for a talk about our relationship dynamics moving forward. I just need to soothe his feathers and get him out of here before Stone does something completely damning like call out my name in his sleep.

“They seemed impressed with my preparation and on board with my coaching style,” I add. “I think we share a similar ethos when it comes to balancing player development and performance. They want a program that fosters resilient athletes, not just quick wins, so…that was great to hear.”

He nods, looking pleased. “And they invited you to sit with the owners at the Seattle game tonight. That’s a good sign.” He acts as if this is common knowledge, not private information I’ve shared with exactly zero people.

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