Lucas by Sawyer Bennett

  "You're still on the lemon thing?" she asks with a laugh.

  The light for pedestrians turns green and I take a step off the curb along with a guy to my left. I chastise Jules as I step into the street. "Don't make fun of my cravings."

  "I wouldn't dare dream of it," she says with a laugh.

  I start to laugh too, but then I notice from my peripheral vision the guy to my left jumps backward to the curb. My head starts to swing that way and I see the car too late. It's already bearing down on me, and the last thing I remember is the man reaching toward me and yelling, "Get back."

  --

  A beeping sound penetrates and I groan, wanting it to go away. I'm so tired and sleep is so lovely. But then I hear voices and I struggle to open my eyes.

  The minute I see a nurse adjusting an IV bag near me, it all comes back.

  Me stepping into the street.

  The car coming.

  A man yelling at me.

  And then I was in an ambulance. I remember that, and fuck, my left wrist is throbbing, but I remember it hurting worse.

  And my head...

  I lift a hand up and gingerly touch the bandage starting near the top of my forehead and extending into my hair.

  "You okay on the pain?" the nurse asks me, and I nod.

  "I'm pregnant," I mumble, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.

  "We know," she says with a smile. "You told us several times."

  I nod again, because I think I remember that. "Is the baby..."

  "The baby appears to be fine. Strong heartbeat."

  "Thank God." I exhale with relief.

  "Do you remember why you're here?" the nurse asks as she leans over my bed and places a Styrofoam cup with a straw to my mouth. I take a grateful sip of cold water.

  "Car was coming, and someone pulled me back, but something hit my arm. And then I hit my head somehow," I rasp out, then take another sip of water.

  "That man probably saved your life," the nurse tells me. "The car's side-view mirror hit your wrist and it's fractured, and you got thrown into the light pole and hit your head."

  I nod again and grimace. "I remember getting a CT scan. And the doctor setting my wrist. It's coming back."

  "You're a little groggy," she says with a smile, and places the cup in my hand. "We've got you on some morphine for the pain."

  "And that's okay with the baby?" I ask.

  "It's fine," she says. "You're only getting a small amount and we'll give you a safe pain medication to take home. You're really lucky. The break was clean and you've just got a minor concussion. They're going to admit you once a bed opens up and keep you overnight, just for observation."

  "Okay," I whisper, my eyes starting to feel heavy again.

  Then they pop back open when I hear Jules's voice. "I'm looking for Stephanie Frazier."

  "She's in there," an unknown voice says, and then Jules is rushing into my room and goes pale when she sees me lying in the bed. She looks at the cast on my left wrist and the bandage on my head, and tears well up in her eyes.

  "I'm fine," I say with a smile, and then wave her closer to me. She comes to the bed and takes my hand in hers. "How did you even know I was here?"

  "We were on the phone and I heard screeching tires and yelling before the call disconnected. I kept trying to call you back and got no answer, but then about five minutes later, some guy calls me and told me you'd been hit by a car."

  "Must have been the guy that pulled me back," I muse. "Guess my phone's okay."

  "He dialed the last number, as he'd seen you were on the phone," she says. "I had to wait to get a baby-sitter then I got here as soon as I could."

  "You shouldn't have come," I scold her gently as I shift up in the bed a little, wincing because my head really hurts when I move. "They're going to admit me and I should get out tomorrow."

  Jules bites her lip and then asks fearfully, "The baby?"

  "Fine," I say as I squeeze her hand.

  "Oh, thank God," she practically wheezes. "I was not looking forward to calling Lucas with this news."

  "Don't call him," I blurt out, and then shoot a look to the nurse, who is typing into a computer by my bed, but she doesn't seem to be listening. "I'm fine. The baby's fine. He's on his way to New Jersey for a play-off game, so let's not stress him out about this."

  "He'd kill me if I didn't tell him," Jules says with a pointed look at me. "He has a right to know."

  "No, he doesn't," I tell her with an empathetic but firm voice. "Sure...if the baby was at risk, I could see it. But it's just me with a broken wrist and a few staples in my head. He absolutely doesn't have a right to know about that."

  "Stephanie," Jules says pleadingly. "Trust me. He'd want to know."

  "No," I say, not in a mean way, but again very firmly. "Don't bother him. I feel really strongly about this, and it's mostly my hurt over what he said to me that's talking right now. Just...give this to me, okay?"

  I can see she wants to fight me, but she eventually just nods and says, "Okay. I won't bother him."

  "Thank you," I say with an apologetic smile. "It's just...better this way."

  "If you say so," she says dubiously.

  "And you don't need to stay here," I tell her as an afterthought. "I have great nurses to look after me."

  "That's not something I'm going to argue with you about," she says just as firmly, and I know she means business. "The kids are at the neighbors', who can watch them all night. I'm going to stay until you get into a room, make sure you get settled, then I'll go."

  "Okay, fine," I tell her before I let out a huge yawn. "But don't expect me to entertain you. This morphine is making me sleepy."

  "You can't go to sleep," Jules says quickly, and squeezes my hand again.

  "Actually, she can," the nurse says, and she must have been listening in. "She's got a mild concussion, but it's fine for her to sleep. We'll wake her up every four hours or so to check on her, though."

  "See," I say as I look back to Jules. "I'm going to go to sleep and you're just going to stare at me. So go home. You've been assured I'm fine, and if you want to come back tomorrow, I'd love it, but you don't need to sit here in an uncomfortable chair and watch me sleep."

  Jules chews on her lower lip, her gaze going to the nurse, who says, "She's in good hands. If you want to leave your number, I'll call you when we get her moved upstairs and tell you the room number."

  Looking back to me, Jules asks, "Are you sure? I hate leaving you alone."

  "I'm used to it," I say without thinking, and I watch as Jules blanches at the reminder I've always been a loner. Her eyes start to mist up and I give her a stern shake of my head. "Don't you cry. It's forbidden."

  Jules laughs...well, snorts, and then looks at my sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

  "For what?" I ask curiously.

  "No one should ever be fine with being alone," she murmurs as she leans over and kisses my cheek. "I hate that you feel so comfortable with me leaving."

  And now I'm the one that gets a film of moisture over my eyes. I blink them harshly as she pulls back from me and smile confidently. "You're sweet, but you shouldn't worry about me."

  "Someone has to," Jules mutters as she stands up from her chair. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. With something lemony for you."

  "Yay," I say as I start to lift my hands to clap, and then I wince as I realize I have a cast on and my head is still throbbing.

  "Go to sleep," Jules says, then blows me a kiss. She turns to the nurse, gives her number, and waves as she walks out the door.

  "You need anything?" the nurse asks, and I finally look to see her name on her credentials hanging on a lanyard around her neck.

  "Yes, Tabitha," I say her name. "Is my phone around here?"

  She nods and turns to a plastic bag with the hospital's logo on it. "It's in good shape considering what happened to you. Just a tiny crack on the screen."

  She smiles when she hands it to me and then leaves.

 
I hold the phone in my good hand, contemplating it.

  Wondering if I should make the call.

  Trying to decide how much of a glutton for punishment I am if I do.

  Figuring that life's too short--which became readily apparent to me today with the close call that I had--I turn the phone on and dial my parents' home number. Their housekeeper, whose name I don't know, answers. "Frazier residence."

  "Yes, hello. This is Stephanie Frazier. Is my mom or dad available?"

  "Just a minute, miss," she says, and then there's nothing but silence for a few minutes. I wait and wonder what's going on, but then she's back. "I'm sorry, Miss Frazier. But your parents have asked if they can call you back. They're in the middle of something right now."

  A grim smile tips my lips upward and I say, "Can you let them know I'm in the hospital?"

  "Oh, well...yes, please hold on and let me tell them," she says in an urgent tone. Again, silence, and they must have a hold feature on their phone system. Within moments, the housekeeper is back. "Um...Miss Frazier, with all apologies, they said they are tied up with something very important but they asked for me to, um...find out what happened...and well, to get your information and they'll call you back as soon as they are done."

  Jesus, the sympathy in her voice pierces through me deep. She's horrified by their reaction, and yet it's exactly what I expected. It confirmed to me what I had thought all along.

  It's better to rely only on yourself, because people have the brutal capacity to shred you to pieces even in their neglect of you.

  "That's okay," I tell her gently, more for her feelings than for anything. "They can call me on my cell phone when they get a chance."

  "Of course, I'll tell them," she gushes, then adds, "I'm sure if there's anything you need, they'll be right on it."

  I can't help the laugh that pops out of my mouth. I want to disabuse her of that, but figure she must be new to their employ, and why even bother her with the cold hard facts about my parents?

  "Thank you," I say quietly, then disconnect the phone.

  I think for a few more moments before tossing my phone onto my lap. I see the nurse walking by the open curtain of the ER bay I'm in and call out to her.

  She stops, pokes her head in to look at me. "What can I do for you?"

  "Do I have to stay overnight if I don't want to?" I ask her.

  Her eyebrows draw inward and she steps into the room. "You can leave, but I wouldn't advise it. It's best for you to stay the night and let us keep an eye on you."

  "Unless you tell me I'm in mortal danger, I think I'd like to go home," I tell her with my chin raised.

  "You'd have to check out against medical advice," she says.

  "I'm aware of that," I return calmly. "But I think I'd just be more comfortable resting at home."

  "Do you have someone who could stay with you?" she presses.

  I lie to her face so I don't have to continue the conversation. "Yes. My friend who was just here. If you can start to work up the discharge papers for me, I'll call her to come back."

  "Okay, then," she says, but I can tell she's not happy with me.

  It takes almost two hours to get the paperwork done, and I think it's because they were hoping I'd get frustrated and just stay. I assure them I have a ride, and God bless the Uber app, there's a car waiting for me when the nurse wheels me out of the emergency room doors.

  The driver's nice and actually helps me all the way to my apartment door. I give him a tip, which he doesn't refuse, and I'm glad.

  Then I walk into my room, crawl into my bed, and fall asleep.

  Chapter 25

  Lucas

  "You know your brooding is getting a little pathetic," Max says.

  I don't even look at him, preferring instead to look out the airplane window as we descend into Newark. My thoughts have been dark and bitter, all because of Stephanie. I can't go back and I can't go forward. I'm stuck in hell and miserable as fuck.

  I've been a prick to my family and teammates, but they've given me a pretty wide berth lately, so I'm left gloriously alone most of the time. I like to imagine it's my penance for the crappy way I left things with Stephanie.

  "Why the hell you just don't go see her is beyond me," Max continues. I don't even lift my temple off the window, where it's been resting most of the plane ride. "You can totally fix this if you just try."

  How do I fix what I said? How will I ever convince her that I think she'd make a fantastic mother, when my last words to her were that she'd fuck up our child? And really, why would I even bother trying when she made it clear she's the one who wanted space? Stephanie is the one who called things off, and yet here I am wallowing in misery.

  "Lucas," Max says sharply, and I finally lift my head off the window to look at him. "You've got to snap out of this. Fix it or move on, but do something, for Christ's sake."

  "What do you care?" I ask him softly. "I'm playing the best hockey of my life. Apparently channeling my bad temperament into the game is making me a better player."

  "The play-offs are what's making you better, moron," he says with the deepest affection he can muster.

  This much is true. There are only two things that help to dull my thoughts about Stephanie, and that's getting drunk and play-off hockey. Since that disastrous night last week where I got shit-faced drunk and walked away from an easy lay, I decided I really should just focus on hockey. That was the best thing I could do, because this was the Stanley Cup play-offs and I didn't need to be distracted. So I funneled my pent-up frustrations into the game, choosing to focus on something that I could be successful at to make me feel better about myself.

  "This isn't like you," Max says. "My brother doesn't give up on what he wants."

  I let my head roll and my temple thumps against the window again, my eyes staring blankly out the window. "Your brother also knows when he can't win at something and cuts his losses."

  "Bullshit, Lucas," Max whispers in an acidic voice. "You're a chickenshit, and frankly, I'm ashamed of you."

  This gets my attention. While Max and I might not always see eye to eye on things, he's my best friend in the world. He's my brother and the one I trust most in this world. Disappointing him is like a gut punch.

  My head pops up and I turn to look at him. "What do you think I should do that I haven't?"

  "You should try," he says simply.

  I tense up at his words as I remember saying something very similar to Stephanie that day we broke up. I pushed her to keep trying, and the minute she said something I didn't like, I gave up.

  "She said she wanted space," I say in a low voice. "That she only wanted to be friends."

  "And then you told her she'd fuck her child up," Max returns gently, because he knows that still chafes me hard. He knows this because he knows I'm not the type of person to react so viciously. "I'm pretty sure the lines of communication were dinged a little at that point."

  "Which is why I'm trying to move on," I point out.

  "No, it's why you're giving up."

  "You think that if I just apologize to her that she'll forgive me for saying something so fucked up?"

  "I think you don't know until you try," he says, and fuck, why does it have to be that simple?

  It can't be that simple.

  My body jostles in the seat as the plane's wheels touch down, then leans slightly forward as the brakes are applied. Max pulls out his phone and turns it on so he can text Jules that he's landed. I used to think that was ridiculous, being so tied to someone that you wanted to let them know when you were no longer in the air and on solid ground, but goddamn, I'd kill to be able to do that with Stephanie.

  I'm only half paying attention as Max reads something on his phone, then he's got it up to his ear. I perk up and listen intently, though, when he says, "What's wrong?" into the phone.

  I turn my head to look at him and his eyes are worried as he listens to whom I'm assuming is Jules on the other end. I'm also assuming she must have sent
him a text to call her when we landed.

  Max listens for a very long time and I feel my anxiety increasing, because the worry never leaves his face. I have no clue what it could be. One of the kids? I'd die if something happened to one of them. Or our parents? Simone?

  Finally, Max says, "I'm going to tell him."

  Fuck...he's talking about me. My gut tightens, and then I feel bile rising in my throat when he says, "He deserves to know. I'll take the heat for telling him."

  Shit, shit, shit. This is about Stephanie. I know it.

  "Okay, honey...love you too. I'll call you in a little bit."

  Max hangs up and immediately confirms my worst fears. "It's Stephanie."

  My breath gushes out as my lungs deflate and I prepare for the worst. "Is the baby--"

  Max shakes his head. "No, the baby is fine. But Stephanie was in an accident; hit by a car. She's got a broken wrist and a concussion."

  "Jesus," I mumble as my head spins. "When? Where?"

  "A few hours ago," Max tells me. "She was stepping into an intersection to cross and a car was coming. Some guy pulled her back but the car caught her arm, then she hit her head. Jules has been to see her in the ER and is going back in the morning."

  "Stephanie didn't want me to know, did she?" I ask. Max told Jules he'd take the heat, and that means I was finding out something that someone didn't want me to find out.

  Max shakes his head. "No, but Jules wouldn't keep that from me. My telling you takes Jules out of it with Stephanie."

  A heavy weight presses down on my chest. Stephanie really doesn't need me, or anyone really for that matter. I should call her and check in, make sure I hear it with my own ears that she's fine, then I have to move the fuck on.

  Except, I can't fathom how I do that when I know she's lying in a hospital all by herself. She may feel most comfortable as the loner who handles everything on her own, but that doesn't mean it's right. That I can't give her support. In fact, I'm thinking maybe I sidestepped this too much with Stephanie, playing it a little too casual so I didn't offend her sensibilities. Maybe what I should have been doing was pushing her out of her comfort zone more, forcing her to see that things like care and trust and loyalty don't have to be high-risk endeavors.

  Damn it all to hell, I played it all wrong with her from the beginning. I should have been shoving this shit down her throat to show her that she could have so much better than an existence holed up behind thick walls.