The Game of Love (25 page)

“Hurt?”

“What?” She looked back up at Brett. “No, I mean, yeah but not bad. I was just thinking how the Home Owners Association was going to react.” She gave him a grim smile. “I might not have a place to live after this.”

His big hand stroked gently over her hair, down her back. “We’ll talk about that later.”

Talk about what? But she didn’t get a chance to question him. At that moment, Chance and another uniform dragged a cursing, spitting, flailing Dax out her front door and toward awaiting squad cars.

Brett’s hand made another pass down her shoulders and back. “Don’t look at him, baby. Just sit and breathe for a minute.” One of his eyes was swollen almost shut, his lip puffy and cracked. But at that moment, he was the most handsome of knights.

Not that she was some damsel in distress. She’d gotten a good hit in there, too. She opened her mouth to inform him of that when he was tackled from the side by a still-handcuffed Dax, who had apparently wrenched himself from his captors. There was nothing to do but watch as, in horrifying slow motion, Brett went from bending over her to prone on the sidewalk with Dax lying over him. She actually heard the sickening thud of his head making contact with the cement before Chance and company rushed over to regain control of Dax.

As she crawled over to Brett, her lungs burned and her heart jumped into her throat as she realized he wasn’t moving. His lashes feathered suddenly pale cheekbones, and she couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

“Chance!” she screamed, her voice hoarse with panic. “Chance, he’s not moving!” She tried to check for a pulse but her hands were shaking too much. Her hands framed his face, willing him to open his eyes, but nothing happened.

Then, in a hurricane of activity, Chance and an EMT rushed to Brett’s side as Jared pulled her away. She let him guide her away like a small child, all the while keeping her eyes on Brett. They loaded him onto a stretcher, his limp body more terrifying to her than when she thought she might die herself.

“I want to go with him,” she whispered as he was lifted into the waiting ambulance.

Katie brushed hair off her bruising temple with a soft touch. “Sweetie, let’s get you checked out first, then we can see how he’s doing.”

“Can’t they just look me over in his ambulance on the way to the hospital?” The desperation to be near him was like an animal clawing from the inside.

“Let them look, and I swear we’ll take you to the hospital ourselves, all right?”

Seeing no other way around it, she subjected herself to an exam, after which the EMT pronounced her bruised but healthy. No signs of concussion, no broken bones.

“Let’s go.” She tugged on Katie’s arm. “You promised.”

“You go with Jared. They’re not ready to shut the place down yet so I’ll stay behind and lock up.”

Seriously, she had the greatest friends in the world. Though her ribs ached, she drew Katie into a close hug—or as close as a gimp and a massively pregnant woman could get. “Thanks. Love you.”

“Love you too. Now go. And tell Brett he’s in serious trouble. I’m not supposed to be this upset so late in the pregnancy. It’s not good for Cletus.”

One more squeeze and Chris was to the hospital in Jared’s SUV. She caught herself biting her nails—something she hadn’t done since she broke up with Dax—and sat on her hands to stop. But her fingers curled unwillingly into the leather seat and she gripped until her fingers ached.

This wasn’t happening. She couldn’t lose him.

Brett was still unconscious. The doctors were running some tests, Chance told her, and they’d have to wait awhile. Then Scott—who’d received a call from Chance on the way to the hospital—guided her to a chair and told her to relax.

Relax? Was he serious? Cleaning solution mingled with the bitter smell of burnt coffee and made her want to gag. The entire place, from walls to floors to ceiling, was white. CNN played from a small television hung in a corner, the volume too soft enough to hear the newscast but loud enough to buzz in her ear like an annoying gnat.

She tucked her knees up next to her chin, wrapped her arms around her shins and ducked her head until her eyes were pressed into her jeans. The position hurt her battered body like hell, but it was a comfort all the same. She hummed the high school fight song in her head to combat the sterile, nerve-inducing environment.

A warm hand rubbed her back, and she turned to face the source of comfort. Brett’s mother. “Hi, Mrs. Wallace.”

His mother studied her face for a moment, brushed her hair back much the same way Katie had. The combination of maternal affection and simple physical touch had Chris’s eyelids growing heavy.

“Sweetheart, has someone looked at you? Checked you out?”

She nodded.

“Do you want to go lie down somewhere? Scott could take you back to my house for a nap.”

She shook her head no.

Anna nodded. “We’re all worried. With his history of concussions—”

“Oh God,” she moaned, turning her face back into her knees. “I forgot. I can’t believe I forgot.” Her eyes burned, and she gave up the fight to hold back tears. They rolled down her cheeks in hot trails, and her chest heaved in silent sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.”

Slowly, her breathing returned to normal, and the hand rubbing her back and shoulders was a balm to her guilty conscience. Then Brett’s mother gathered her like a little girl, pressed Chris’s head to her shoulder and made soothing noises.

“You love him.” Her tone was low and gentle.

No point denying it now. “I do.”

“Good,” his mother said firmly. “Then you two can stop dancing around each other and make this work.”

Chris gave a watery laugh. “Yeah. I guess we can. If my stubbornness didn’t kill him.”

“My son is strong. He’ll be fine.”

Lily, Scott’s wife, sat on the other side of her. She took Chris’s hand, curled it around a cold bottle of Diet Pepsi. “Here. If you’re staying, you need to drink something with caffeine or you’ll slide right off that chair. And only God knows how long ago that coffee was made.” She leaned in and stage-whispered, “My guess is yesterday.”

Despite her momentary pity party, Chris smiled. “Thanks.” She took a fortifying sip, the bubbles dancing on her tongue and making her shiver.

“Anyone here for Brett Wallace?”

As a unit, the entire Wallace family, along with Chris, stood to face the doctor. Enveloped in more white, his eyes tired but kind, he stood with his hands on his hips.

“He’s fine. Tests are showing no damage. He’s awake, lucid and annoyed.” The doctor gave a quick grin, then surveyed the brothers. “Which one is Chris? He’s asking for a Chris.”

“That’s me.” She stepped forward.

The doctor studied her for a moment. “Family?”

Before she could respond, Scott was by her side. “She’s my brother’s fiancée.”

Fiancée? She gave the doctor a weak smile.

The frown stayed in place, and he glanced at her left hand, which was bare. He wasn’t buying the fiancée story, but he must have decided to pick his battles that day because he sighed. “You can go back. With one of his brothers.”

Not wanting to bite the hand that fed her, she grabbed Scott’s wrist and dragged him through the double doors that led the way to her sanity, also known as visual confirmation that Brett was fine.

“You don’t even know where you’re going.” Scott dug in his heels to slow her down.

“I’ll know,” she muttered. “Just follow the scent of arrogance and white-knight complex.”

Sure enough, moments later a nurse walked out of a room up ahead, her back being blistered by a gravely voice telling her and all medical personnel to leave him the hell alone and stop poking him with needles. A few colorful curses followed, and she couldn’t help but grin. He certainly
sounded
like he felt better.

Cracking open the door, she was greeted with, “I swear to God, if you’re offering me anything but a stiff drink, I’ll—” His words were cut off when he opened his eyes and saw her instead of a nurse. The mouth that had been one second away from ripping someone a new one curved into a sensual smile. “Hey, baby.” He motioned for her to come in.

Scott followed a few steps behind her, but when Brett shot him a look of death, he held up his hands in surrender. “Just had to make sure you were in one piece. Mom would kill me if I didn’t have a report. Now, if anyone asks, I was in here.” He gave Chris a wink and closed the door firmly behind him, leaving her alone with the disgruntled patient. Some piece of medical equipment kept beeping. Hopefully that was a good thing.

Brett reached out for her arm, but she skirted away from his grasp. Instead, she looked around the hospital room, walking over to stand in front of the window, her back to the bed. “Nice view.”

“That’s a brick wall,” he said with amusement.

“Well. No graffiti.” Turning, she surveyed the room. Just as sterile and impersonal as the waiting area.

Brett was stretched out in bed, propped up on pillows, his hands laced behind his head. He was covered from the waist down with a thin white bed sheet, but he wore a hospital gown that they’d most likely had to force on him at some point. Despite his swollen eye, puffy lip and the bruises on his face and arms, he didn’t look like he was knocking on death’s door.

She hugged herself, cold despite the warmth of the room. “You look like you’ll survive. Doctor said you’re fine.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “More embarrassed that the douche got the drop on me than anything. They want to do another MRI just for precaution, but yeah. I evaded the Grim Reaper. Bastard probably doesn’t wanna deal with me.”

“Who does,” she murmured.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “Come here.”

She shook her head. Physically touching him would break the fragile hold she’d just regained on her emotions.

His hand dropped to the bed. Looking to his left, he tilted his head toward the rolling table. “Could you get me a glass of water, then?”

“Sure.” Finally, something to do besides standing around, feeling like an idiot. She walked around the bed and was reaching for the pitcher when he grabbed her forearm and yanked her down. When she toppled over him in bed, he grunted and she bit her lip to fight back a yelp of pain.

“You moron.” The bed’s joints squeaked as she struggled to get away, but she only succeeded in making him suck in a breath and having her own abused body scream at her.

“Just sit still for a sec,” he ground out, trapping her next to him in the narrow bed.

Realizing that any further movement would just bring on more pain, she stilled, breathing heavily. Brett’s own breath came in quick puffs, and trapped against his chest, she could hear his heartbeat. The rapid thumps slowed to a restful pace, and his arm came around her, cuddling her to his side.

Tired of fighting, she relaxed against him, letting her free hand rest on his chest. His lips brushed her temple, and she lost the final battle against the tears. They streaked in hot paths down her cheeks, soaking a spot on the thin cotton hospital gown while large hands stroked her hair, her back, her arms.

“I thought you were dead, or a VeggieTale.”

His chest rose beneath her hand, his chuckle a rumble in her ear. “A VeggieTale?”

“A vegetable.” When he didn’t say anything, she tried again. “
VeggieTales.
The cartoon? Bob the Tomato, Larry the Cucumber…”
Would you like a shovel to aid the digging, Chris?
“Never mind,” she mumbled, and turned her face into his chest so he wouldn’t see her blush.

“You’re a nut.” He kissed her forehead. “Luckily, I love nuts.”

Lifting her face, she stared at him. “I almost got you killed, and you can still say that?”

He took her chin in his hand with a firm grip, not letting her look away. “That wasn’t you. That was your punk-ass ex, who was batshit crazy. Yeah, I wish you’d told me about him sooner, but I understand why you didn’t. And, while I have the floor, I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. I’m sure you can guess why I did, but that doesn’t excuse it.”

It melted her heart to hear him apologize so freely, so sincerely. How could she not reciprocate? “I’m sorry, too. For keeping him a secret. For not trusting you enough to explain my past.”

He was silent for a moment. Then, “I love you.”

She smiled against his chest. “I know. Ow!” Rubbing the spot where he’d pinched her, she glared up at him.

“Try again.”

She sighed, as if saying the words hurt. “I love you, too.”

He laced his fingers through hers, flattened their palms over his steady heartbeat. “You know, we both need to do some serious penance for how stupid we were about this whole situation.”

“Penance?” She bit her lip to hold in the smile. “Are you Catholic? ’Cause you know, that might just be a deal breaker.” Another pinch had her yelping and giggling at the same time. “All right, fine. What’s this big penance?”

His chest heaved in a dramatic sigh. “I think we’re going to have to get married.”

The room stilled. Beeps from his monitor echoed in her ears, each one louder than the last. His thumb rubbed the inside of her ring finger in a silent request.

She was pleased with her control when she asked, “And how is marriage a form of penance?”

“Well, think about it. Should we really subject society to each other? I mean, who else could put up with you but me?” He grabbed her wrist before she could give him a good pinch back. “And vice versa, of course.”

“Hmm.” She pretended to contemplate that for a while. “You may have a point. Society might be safer if we were paired off. Kind of like community service, but less icky than picking up trash on the side of the highway.”

“Saving the world, one match at a time,” he said with a grin. He picked up her hand, kissed the knuckle on her ring finger. “So, what do you say?”

“Ah, how romantic. Just the words every little girl dreams of hearing when a man proposes marriage. ‘So, what do you say?’” She took her hand back, lightly scratched his chest with her fingers.

“All right. How about…I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I’m not letting you go.” As if to prove his words, his arm squeezed her tighter to him, and she muffled a squeak of pain.

But when she didn’t say anything, he barreled on. “I want kids. I mean, you’re great with your students and the nephews, I know you’ll be an amazing mom. Hell, I’d take a whole football team.”

She choked on laughter. “As opposed to a tennis team?”

His brows knit together. “What’s the difference?”

She did chuckle then. “About twenty trips to the labor-and-delivery unit, and a whole lot of pink.”

His lips brushed her forehead. “You sound like you’re considering it.”

“Well, my agreement to marriage-slash-penance is conditional.”

He took a deep breath, his chest rising under her hand. “Conditional on what?”

Stalling, she traced an invisible pattern over his torso with one finger. “That you give me free rein to decorate that mausoleum you live in. Beige is blah. I need color.”

Air whooshed out of his lungs. “Done.” Before she could say another word, he kissed her hard on the lips, his hand clamped at the base of her skull to keep her steady.

It started as a show of possessiveness, of triumph, but slowly it slid into passion. His lips moved over her jaw, her nose, and back to claim her mouth with his tongue. She felt the brush of his fingers along the side of her breast, and her body responded, despite the inappropriate setting. Her hand smoothed a path down his chest, feeling the ridges of his ab muscles along her way to—

“Ahem.”

She jerked her hand back as if she’d been burned, the movement causing her to almost roll out of bed. Only Brett’s strong arm prevented her from face-planting on the linoleum.

Jeremiah stood, shoulder propped on the door jamb, a knowing smile on his face. “Baby brother. Half-dead in the hospital and you can still get a boner. I’m not sure if I should be proud or disturbed.”

“Be neither and leave,” Brett growled. He tightened his grip as she tried to slip out of bed. “Stay,” he said in a hushed tone. “He’s leaving.”

Jeremiah leaned back, looked to his right down the hallway. “You’re about eleven seconds away from an Anna Invasion, so perhaps you should get yourself together before she goes ballistic on you?”

“She’s not going ballistic on me, not when I tell her the news.”

While Brett and his brother ribbed each other, Chris slid out of bed and into the chair positioned next to him. The lack of contact hurt almost more than her battered body, and she grabbed his hand to compensate, unable to stop touching.

“What news?” His mother swept into the room, smiling briefly at Chris before hustling to his side, sweeping her hands over his face and shoulders as if confirming by touch that he was really all right. Chris understood. “Oh, that’s a goose egg back there. Now, what news?”

“Chris broke down and agreed to marry me,” he said, a big shit-eating grin on his face.

“Well, of course she did, sweetheart.” His mother looked at him like he was delusional. “You two have been circling each other like cats in heat for months.”

“Mom.” He moaned, and Chris laughed. He sounded like a little boy when he whined.

“Okay, okay,” she placated, her hands held up in retreat as she stepped back. The brothers piled into the ever-shrinking room at that moment, and his mother made the announcement for them. A few well-meaning but painful slaps on the shoulder, some joking, a few names being called, and hugs for everyone ensued. Each brother had a piece of advice for her, most of which included some joke at Brett’s expense. He groaned good-naturedly, but she could see he was tiring all the same.