He’s typically self-sufficient. If anything, it’s me who gets doted on most of the time. Alex wakes up early some mornings to make me breakfast and coffee. He’s the one who makes sure groceries are added to the list when we’re running low. With him out of commission, that’s going to fall on me. Am I a little indulged? Yup. But Alex likes it that way. And honestly, I like it, too, probably more than I should. I’ve never been with someone who takes care of me the way he does.
But that’s not to say I can’t do it when I have to. Growing up without a dad for all those years meant me and my mom had to manage on our own. We were fine. She had a good job, and I never really longed for anything. I mean, obviously I didn’t get the pet pony, but if there were ever financial issues I didn’t know about them. She and I worked together and got things done.
Then Sidney came along in my late teens, and our lifestyle changed significantly. We moved into a bigger house. I inherited an annoying stepbrother. Buck was only around for about six months before he was drafted, and even before then, he was always at hockey practice, “studying” in his bedroom with one of his tutors, or out with his hockey friends.
I spent my time taking extra classes and studying with my nerdy friends, or working a part-time job at an accounting firm, because even in high school I liked working with numbers.
I’m a long way from my self-reliant roots at this point, so having Daisy here as an observer to my lackluster housekeeping skills is concerning. Our relationship started out tumultuously, and while things are much better than they were, Alex will always be her baby, and I’ll always be the woman who took him away from her.
Add to that the presentation for the Darcy account, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have some kind of breakdown soon. Mr. Stroker is obviously giving me some leniency, and we’re postponing the meeting until the end of the week. I hope by then Alex is settled and things are less insane.
Anyway, the presentation is good to go. I uploaded it to the shared account at work so Charlene could review it, and I sent it to Stroker, who gave it the thumbs up, apart from minor tweaks. However, despite being ready, I’m still in no state to present a multimillion-dollar portfolio. As important as this job might be, I need to be home with Alex. And I need sleep and a seriously long shower.
Once we’re in the house, Daisy decides we need groceries, which is true. I haven’t been home at all since the game four days ago, so our leftovers are less than fresh, and the vegetables are wilty according to Daisy’s standards. She helps herself to the keys to my car, and off she goes.
I’ll take private time with Alex since I haven’t had any for the past few days. A nurse or doctor seemed to be constantly popping by the room to check on him, which made for more than one almost-embarrassing moments.
The hit Alex took scares me more than I let on—or at least more than I’ve let on since my initial freakout when it happened. I’m afraid not just because he got hurt, but because there’s no guarantee that was the last time. If he gets injured that badly again, his career is done, and I don’t know how well Alex will handle that.
More than that, I can’t stop worrying about how different things could be if his injuries were more severe—and they’re already pretty damn bad. He might have amazing medical coverage and lots of money, but life can change in an instant with a head injury. What if Alex wasn’t Alex anymore after this? I try not to think about it as I climb the stairs to our bedroom. I want to cheer him up, be a comfort not a burden.
I haven’t been alone with him since the morning of the game. I worry that our disagreement over my continued commitment to my job may indirectly contribute to his on-ice stress.
Guilt is my biggest enemy right now. And it’s making me want to eat a lot of dairy, which is a seriously bad idea. I hope being at home will make Alex feel more normal. And me. He’s been quiet ever since he got the news that he’s out for the rest of the season. I’m nervous about how he’s going to manage that information once it sinks in fully.
For all these reasons, and probably a few more, I’m not expecting anything beave-tastic when I get to the bedroom. Alex tires easily, and he’s still in pain, partly because they’re weaning him off the super-awesome pain meds. He still has the extra potent Tylenol and a prescription anti-inflammatory, but it’s got nothing on what they were shooting into him while he was hooked up to the machines.
When I enter the room, Alex is lying sideways on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Can I run you a bath?”
His eyes flip to mine. “You gonna join me?”
“If you want me to.”
His gaze drifts down my body and back up. “That’d be nice. My mom usually takes a long time when she gets groceries.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really.”
“I’ll set up the tub, then?”
“Sounds good.”
I try, again, to tell my beaver to calm down. Alex is in no condition for a monster cock ride, but the drooling has already commenced. She’s like Pavlov’s dog; any potential MC contact gets her all excited.
I run the water, throwing in some Epsom salts to help manage the aches. When the tub is half full, I strip out of my clothes and return to the bedroom to get Alex.
His eyes are closed. At first I think he’s just resting, but then I note his chest rising and falling evenly. The physical and mental toll this is taking on him is unfathomable. I return to the bathroom and turn the water off so the tub doesn’t overflow. Then I pad across the floor, shivering as I climb into bed with him. I pull the covers over me and snuggle up to his side.