Page 63 of Blindside Sinner

The doctor, a tall, dark, McDreamy type, breezes into the room. “Mr. Daniels.” He’s scrolling through documents on his iPad. “You, my friend, are going to have a headache.”

“That’s a fuckin’ understatement,” Beck mutters.

“Might have a couple days of blurred vision, as well.” He tucks the iPad into the pocket of his white coat and pulls a pen light from the pocket of the scrubs he’s wearing underneath to check Beck’s eyes. “You have what is commonly called a serious whopper of concussion.”

“Ain’t the first time.”

“Beck,” I hiss, “this is serious!”

The doctor chuckles. “The lady here is right. It is indeed serious. That being said, there’s not actually a whole lot to do, besides rest up. So if you’d like, I can discharge you, as long as your…” He looks down at my left hand and cocks a brow. “… girlfriend?”

“Wife.” I hold up the offending hand and waggle my ring finger. “I’m getting it resized.”

He nods. “As I was saying, if yourwifewill stay with you.”

Beck looks at me and blinks slowly, like he’s processing something that he hadn’t noticed until just now. It’s not the reaction I would’ve expected from him learning that I’d told everyone between the stadium and here that he and I were married.

I figured he’d be mad, or cocky, or at the very least rip some jokes at my expense about how needy I am. Instead, there’s a look in his eyes that’s dangerously close to…sweet?

“That’ll be fine,” he rasps after an endless moment of silence.

The doctor nods again. “Great. Ma’am, you’ll need to wake him up every few hours for the first twenty-four and make sure he drinks, eats a little something. If he starts throwing up, bring him back immediately.”

I nod. “Got it.”

Then the doctor’s professional solemnity quirks into something a little more playful. “When I’m being funny, I usually prescribe a candlelit sponge bath, too. But the chemistry between you two tells me that you might not even need the prompting.” He winks at me, then tucks his iPad under his arm and walks out, whistling.

The room is tenser than it was before when it’s just the two of us again. I’m considering hurling myself out of the window just to get away from the heat, but a nurse walks in before I have to resort to that option.

She walks around the bed and lowers the rail, then deftly unfastens the IV feeding into Beck’s elbow. Her perfume is stinking up the room and I notice that she seems to be letting her breasts graze Beck’s abdomen a little more than I’d deem necessary.

“Mr. Daniels, I just have to say, I’m a huge Wave fan. I was watching the game in the lounge, and when I saw you go down, my heart about stopped.” She isn’t finished yet, either. She bites her lip, then adds, “I wasn’t actually even on duty on this ward. But I made Jennae switch with me, because I thought,If I don’t get to see Seattle’s most eligible bachelor tonight, I’ll just die.”

Her smile, like her perfume, is way over the top. I have but one thought. If she asks me to write her number down for him, I’ll do it, but it’s going to be in blood.

Hers.

She unsnaps the sleeve on the gown he’s wearing and lets her hand linger on his pec muscle as she removes the heart monitor sensors.

I close my eyes, feeling sick to my stomach. In about T-minus three seconds, he’s going to say something saucy back, and I’m going to have to watch these two start flirting with each other right in front of me. That shouldn’t matter to me, but it does.

It matters a lot.

Then, to my surprise, he does something else. “Baby,” he murmurs to me, “what happened to Duverger?”

I swallow the acrid taste in my mouth and try to ignore the way hisbabymakes me feel. “Game misconduct. The league already said they’re going to look into it.”

I can’t even bring myself to say his name. That French Canadian bastard better hope I don’t see him crossing a Seattle street anytime soon.

I crack my eye open to see Beck looking at me, eyes glistening through the concussion haze, with a shock of hair falling across his forehead that I’m itching to smooth away. We hold contact for a moment before he winces and lets his head fall back on the pillow.

“Beck,” I say, “maybe you should spend the night here.”

The nurse nods. “You should listen to your friend.”

“Wife,” he corrects without opening his eyes.

“Oh.” Nurse Eau de Toilet wrinkles her nose. “I could’ve sworn I read you’re single.”

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