Page 110 of Dirty Pucking Player

He’s a hard, complicated, fucked-up man who uses his attitude as a shield against anything real infiltrating it. No real friendships. No real joy. No real pain. No real relationships. No real love.

But the fact that’s he’s here—that he came here to be with me when his father’s death was imminent, speaks volumes. Only so does his silence right now…and the fact that he can’t look me in the eye.

His gaze drops away from me and centers on our entwined hands. He brushes his thumb back and forth slowly across my palm. The move is both soothing and infuriating because he’s doing it instead of talking to me.

Waiting for him to say something is almost as agonizing as the headache I have right now. At least that will go away, though. If Bash rejects me, rejects this, after that almost confession of love, I’m not sure how I’m ever supposed to get over that.

Is it even possible?

Now I understand why he was so reluctant to let anyone into his life. Rejection is agony. A kind of pain I never want to feel again. What I felt when he walked out of my house that night after saying we were doomed. Yet, I just threw my heart at him again, knowing what he said only a few short weeks ago might still be true. Knowing he’s likely to throw it away again.

Maybe he’s not ready for any of this.

Maybe being here for me now is his final goodbye to whatever we had.

Seconds drag into minutes. Minutes to what feels like hours before he finally looks back up at me, his warm bourbon eyes overflowing with emotion and unshed tears. “I know, Coach.”

It’s not exactly a declaration of love, more an acknowledgement that he understands how I feel about him. But I’m not sure what to expect. He just lost his father, and—

“Ms. Waterson, it’s nice to see you awake.” A woman enters the room with a tablet in her hand, scrolling through something on the screen as she approaches the bed with a smile. “I’m Dr. Burton. How are you feeling?”

I would be a lot better if I could finish this conversation with Bash without being interrupted.

“I’m okay, I think.” I take mental stock of my body, shifting slightly to test my limbs which ache in protest but don’t seem too bad. “My head hurts, and I feel exhausted.”

“That’s all to be expected after an injury like this.”

Bash’s hand tightens around mine. “But she’ll be okay, right?”

Dr. Burton nods and smiles at him. “She should be fine. The swelling has gone down, and now that she’s awake, we can do some final assessments. Do you remember the accident?”

“Yes.” I repeat what I just told Bash about my memory of the day of the accident and rub my temple with my free hand. “It’s still a little fuzzy, like I’m seeing everything through frosted glass, and I’m not quite sure it’s all real.”

“That may take some time to clear up, and some people never fully regain all memories. Others do. The brain is weird that way, but everything looks normal in your most recent scans. We’ll keep you here another day or two and then send you home as long as nothing concerning crops up.”

Bash releases my hand and reaches across the bed to shake the doctor’s. “Thanks, Doc.”

She smiles at him, and a strange pang of something that feels an awful lot like jealousy hits my chest watching the way her eyes rake over him.

Bash is always going to be the guy who attracts attention from women, and even though Dr. Burton is clearly not flirting with him, I can’t help the green monster from rearing its ugly head seeing the way she assesses him.

She’s probably just a hockey fan.

We both watch her walk out of the room, and Bash retakes his seat in an uncomfortable-looking chair next to me. He must be hurting after spending so much time on that thing…

Shit.

His retirement.

In the confusion of waking, I totally forgot the fact that he announced it before the accident…or that I had every intention of finding out why and making sure he corrected what is obviously a huge mistake.

The death of his father probably played a role in his decision. But there may still be something else I’m missing here, some piece of information that will make it all seem like a logical decision instead of some stupid thing he did in the heat of the moment.

“Bash…are you okay?”

He presses a kiss to the back of my hand and winks at me. “I am now.”

“No.” I shake my head, and pain immediately shoots through it. It’s probably going to take some time before that feels better. “I mean, I heard you retired. I thought maybe you were injured or something?”

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