by Zoe Lee
“Dunk,” she breathed, and dialed him.
“Hey, darlin’, you—”
“Dunk!” she practically screamed.
“Daisy, are you alright?” he demanded urgently.
“It’s—my brother Conor, he—” She sobbed, suddenly overwhelmed by the terror, even though she knew he was alive, collapsing onto the bench out front of the firm. “He’s alive but he’s so, so hurt and I don’t know—”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighed softly. “How can I help?”
She hiccoughed and smeared her tears over her cheeks. “I’m at the firm but I need to get to my parent’s place. I don’t want anyone driving.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes, baby,” he promised. “I’m staying right here on the line with you, okay? I need you to breathe though, Daisy.”
“I-I’m breathing,” she sobbed.
“Just a little deeper,” he urged, and she dragged in a quick, shaky breath. “Good. Now another one. Can you do that for me?”
She dragged in another one, just as shaky, but not as quick.
“Focus on my voice, sweetheart,” he said, his deep voice so soothing, so sure and so capable.
She kept sobbing, but she kept breathing for him too, until his truck careened around the corner and rocked to a stop right in front of her.
Then he was there, his hands racing over her hair and her wet cheeks before he gathered her into his arms and carried her to the truck. He buckled her in and got back in on his side. He took her hand, threading their fingers together until they were locked tightly.
“Can you tell me what you know so far?”
“A riding accident,” she hiccoughed dazedly. “My mom said… a broken leg, his wrist is hurt, concussion, something about a lung… a lung collapsing—”
“Okay, I shouldn’t have—let’s not talk about that now.”
He sped, axle squeaking with every hard turn, and got her to her parent’s house in under ten minutes, then helped her out of the truck.
“I’m not going to come in unless you say you want me to,” he said as they reached her parent’s door, hugging her so tightly. “But I’m going to call you in a few hours and see how you are, see what you need.”
“I—thank you so much,” Daisy gasped.
Dunk shook his head, his outdoorsman’s face almost gaunt with his tension and concern, and he pushed open her parent’s door. “Go on in and be with your family, Daisy Rhys. I…” he swallowed. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yeah,” she agreed and went inside.
Everyone was around the kitchen table, fresh coffee in their mugs.
“Oh, baby,” her dad said, his voice tight and uncertain.
She flung herself against his chest and cried some more as she stuttered out, “W-what happened? Where is he?”
“Here, Buttercup,” Shane said, gently taking her from their dad’s arms and helping her take her chair at the table. He let her hold his hand as her wide, teary eyes ran over her parents, Levi, Levi’s wife Cora, and Shane. “So here’s what we know so far,” Shane began, squeezing her hand back.
Daisy tried to take it all in, the facts of the riding accident and the injuries he’d sustained, the fact that he was in England and that was why they weren’t already in the car headed to his place in Kentucky near the Downs. But it was so hard to concentrate when all she wanted was to see him, to hear his voice, to hold his hand, anything to know he was alive. But he had to stay in the hospital for about a week before he could fly home.
“We told him that he should fly here instead of Kentucky,” Daisy’s dad explained, “because the leg was bad and it’ll take months to fully heal.”
“I’m so glad he’s coming here,” Daisy whispered.
“Now we’re just trying to figure out the logistics. Conor’s so proud and private, we don’t think having in-home care will be… easy,” her mom sighed.
Shane grunted in agreement and Levi added, “We’ve been talking about using the Family and Medical Leave Act—not that Dad would fire us, anyway—but it’ll leave the firm a body down and we’ll have to find someone new, then decide if it’s just a temporary thing or…”
Thinking about something more purely practical pierced the fog clouding Daisy’s worried, anxious brain.
“Conor wouldn’t like any of you men carrying him around or watching him get physical therapy,” she pointed out gently. Conor was proud and independent, and it would be too much to have his brothers or his dad acting as his caretaker. “And, Mom, your boss would make your life hell when you came back, you know he would,” she added.
“What are you getting at?” her dad asked, but there was admiration and approval underlying the almost grumpy question.
Daisy hesitated. What she was getting at was a good solution—but it was also a selfish one, because she wasn’t happy with her job and…
She shook off the doubt and suggested, “I can do it.”
“But… you’re just getting on your feet,” her mom fretted.
“We all know I’m not going to work at the firm forever,” she stated firmly, sweeping her sure gaze over everyone at the table. “It’s been so helpful and I’m really grateful, but you could find a new admin in a snap.”
Her dad drummed his fingers and then declared bluntly, “You’re going to have to let us help, Daisy. If you’re not working, you can’t pay your bills.”
Daisy’s pride balked, but her pride was nothing compared to wanting to see Conor taken care of without him feeling humiliated. Still, her throat worked for a few seconds before she could squeeze out, “Okay.”
Her mom practically leapt out of her chair to come squeeze Daisy in her arms. “Thank you, baby,” she whispered, and Daisy squeezed her back.
Once her mom let her go, everyone took deep breaths.
They started to make a list of questions they had about Conor’s injuries and how to help him, which was overwhelming. They also made a list of all of the things that needed to be done before he arrived. But by the time they were done for the night, Daisy was certain that she’d made the right call.
They all said goodnight, and Daisy found herself in Shane’s truck again.
But when he started to turn to head to her place, she said, “Wait.”
“You forget something at Mom and Dad’s?”
“No. I’m going to Dunk’s.”
Wordlessly Shane drove her over to his place, where she was so relieved to see the lights on in his basement apartment. She hugged her brother and then jumped out of the truck and ran across the lawn and down the three steps to Dunk’s door. She knocked fast and hard until he pulled the door open, wearing just basketball shorts, his hair a wreck.
He tugged her inside, then jogged up the steps to raise a hand at Shane, who was idling in the truck to make sure Daisy got inside alright.
Daisy wandered to Dunk’s couch, an L-shaped, incredibly comfy thing with a throw blanket in the corner. She fell in the corner and wrapped the throw around her body, and Tugger climbed up next to her, whining softly as he laid his head on her leg. Her fingers crept out from the throw to pet him, staring up at Dunk, shivering, beseeching, when he sat too.
He stroked her cheek. “First thing: he’s alive? It’s not… critical?”
“He’s alive,” Daisy croaked. “I don’t really understand the technical medical part of it. But they don’t think he’ll have to have surgery for the leg, and the wrist is in a cast, the lung is okay but there’s a tube coming out of it so the fluid doesn’t build up. He has to stay a week, they think.”
Dunk nodded slowly. “And where is he?”
“Ascot, England,” Daisy whispered, pulling at Dunk until he lay down with her, shooing Tugger down to the floor. Dunk slid one arm under her neck and the other around her waist, her feet tucked between his calves. “I guess it’s an hour or so from London. But he’s at the hospital that’s close by the race track.”
“Thank God he’s going to be okay,” Dunk whispered into her hai
r.
Daisy nodded, her throat so tight that she couldn’t even echo him.
“When he’s okay to fly, he’ll fly here until he’s healed up,” Daisy went on, feeling so dulled from the worry, but nonetheless feeling protected by Dunk’s body against hers. “And I’m going to take care of him.”
“You are?” Dunk asked, raising up so that he could peer down at her.
“He doesn’t have anyone in Kentucky—I mean, he has friends and stuff, but no wife or girlfriend,” Daisy explained. “Someone will need to take care of him, but it takes him so long to warm up to people that we’re afraid a nurse will make it harder. My parents and brothers all have jobs they love, and Conor would probably rather cut off his leg than let Shane or Levi baby him. Plus, I don’t really care about my job and he’ll let me baby him.”
Dunk frowned, though he smoothed her hair away from her face so gently. “That’s going to be tough.”
Angrily, Daisy shoved at his chest. “What’s that matter? Conor is my brother. I’m so grateful that he’s alive, that it’s only broken bones, when it could’ve been… People d-die, or break their backs, or get their heads kicked in so they’re never right again, around horses, you know.”
“I know,” he murmured.
“I’m not a nurse, but I can do it. And you know my mom works at the hospital, so I can get advice and help from them about all of it.”
“Ssh, ssh, I’m sorry, Daisy,” Dunk whispered, kissing her hair. “I didn’t mean to upset you any more than you already are. You’ll be great.”
Abruptly Daisy started crying again.
Dunk carried her to his bed, carefully undressing her and taking out the bobby pins so her hair was loose. Even though it was probably barely nine at night, he got ready for bed too and then curled around her. He breathed against the back of her neck, one big hand splayed over her upper chest and her heart, and let her cry it out. She was cocooned in the safety of his arms, but she was so worried that something would happen to Conor. She’d watched enough medical dramas, heard enough stories from her mom who worked in hospital administration, to know that there were infections and a million other complications. There were so many terrible what-ifs, even though her parents had told her that he was stable.
“Do you know what happened to me?” Dunk asked suddenly, some unknown amount of time later. “With my football injury, I mean?”
Daisy shook her head against her pillow.
“It was at a practice the year after the bowl game,” he began. “I was twenty-one and it was the summer before my senior year. Everyone on the team was a little harder on me, still working off that frustration over the loss because I was the one who fucked up. I’m not saying my injury was their fault,” he clarified a little sheepishly, as if he were worried that she would think that he blamed them for what had happened. “I understood it. Hell, I was angrier at myself than they ever could have been. But we were rougher than usual, all of us. They hit me harder, I ran harder.”
His chest expanded to press hard against her shoulder blades before he sighed deeply. “And then I just… I honestly don’t even know how it happened. I’ve been over those seconds a million times and I still can’t figure it out. I was running, I jumped to catch the ball, and I just… came down wrong. It was like I tripped, but I was going so fast.”
He shuddered then, one big one, as if his body were feeling that impact again, an echo of what must have been a horrifying, terrifying moment.
She covered his hand and pressed it further into her skin, as if she could keep him grounded in the present with her heartbeat.
“Something in my knee snapped. I heard it. I still hear it, sometimes.”
“That’s so awful,” was all that she could say.
Shrugging, he told her, “I think I felt every damn emotion in the dictionary over the next weeks, Daisy darlin’. Anger, frustration. Humiliation. I felt like my body betrayed me. No one had to tell me that I wouldn’t be able to play again. Games with my boys, sure, but never like that. Never like I had. My reality, my future, they both changed just like that.” His finger snapped right next to her ear, making her almost cringe with their finality. “Maybe not right away, but Conor will be okay, Daisy.”
Tears backed up in Daisy’s eyes, not just for her brother, but for Dunk too. She knew better than most that a cheerful disposition didn’t mean that there was no sadness, or that a life had been easy and challenge-free. But sometimes she was still guilty of forgetting that.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Sometimes I am too,” he admitted roughly.
“I’m going to be the best untrained nurse in the world for Conor,” Daisy said fiercely, wondering who had helped Dunk when he was recovering, if he’d been alone or if he’d been in Maybelle, but not wanting to push further into his old hurts right then.
Dunk chuckled and kissed her neck gently. “You train for that, and I’ll train to be the best dance-off champion in the history of Maybelle.”
“Okay,” she slurred, suddenly so exhausted she couldn’t keep her eyes open a second longer. “G’night, Dunk. You’re so good to me.”
“You deserve it,” he whispered as she tumbled into blackness.
Chapter 12
Dunk
Dunk was at the pool hall down the street from Wild Harts, their table littered with pitchers of beer, a dozen glasses, and two baskets of wings. He was crammed into the back corner of the table, his closest friends all wedged in around him. Someone had posted a bunch of pictures of them, so everyone’s cells were buzzing with notifications they all ignored.
Time was, this was all he needed in life to be happy: friends, food, drinks, and laughter.
Tonight, he was conscious of this empty space at his side where Daisy was supposed to be, like a phantom limb that should’ve been easy to rebuild.
It didn’t matter that Aden sat to his right and Jesse sat to his left, or that Munn kicked his boots every time he cracked up. It didn’t matter that their banter game was on point, sending themselves into gales of laughter. It didn’t matter that he had a good beer buzz on. It didn’t matter that there was a grin on his face and a ruddy flush on his cheeks from the overheated bar, the spicy wings, and the beer.
Because Daisy should’ve been there, displacing Aden or Jesse to be by his side, her much tinier hand in his, her peachy scent making his heart trip, and she wasn’t.
She had a lot of things going on, he understood that, he really did.
In the week between Conor’s accident and his arrival in Maybelle, Daisy gotten so much accomplished. She had rented a little a cabin near Tristan’s house on the lake and ransacked the big box stores on the county line to furnish it. She had taken a classes at the hospital for caretaking and CPR. She’d found a replacement for her job, a temp in case she needed to go back after Conor was well again. Someone had bought an ancient but reliable hatchback so that they were able to get where they needed to go.
In the three weeks since Conor had come home, she’d been living with him, taking care of him, grocery shopping, and cleaning. She took him to Maybelle County Hospital for physical therapy three times a week.
And she hadn’t had time for Dunk.
Dunk knew it was unfair of him to feel anything anywhere close to resentment, but there it was. He was selfish. He loved her and he hadn’t gotten to see her for more than a quick lunch a couple of times while Conor was at an appointment. He hadn’t gotten to talk to her on the phone nearly as much as they had been doing before, since the cabin walls were thin and Conor still slept a lot. He certainly hadn’t made love with her or gotten to sleep with her in his arms, comforted by her warmth.
So he was here, in a moment that had always been both commonplace and reassuring, the bedrock of his life, and he was selfish, grumpy, and lonely. His grin felt like a grimace, his laughs grated his vocal chords.
“Dunk!” Chase exclaimed.
He jerked out of his thoughts to look over at her.
�
�Are you working on a new football play or something?” she asked, screwing up her face. “You look like you’re thinking really hard.”
“So all I can be thinking hard about is football?”
Chase’s eyebrows lifted dangerously.
“Never mind,” Dunk muttered.
Jesse stood up abruptly and grabbed the neckline of Dunk’s shirt, twisting it so that he was glad it wasn’t buttoned up all the way because it would’ve choked him otherwise. It was better than grabbing his ear.
“Okay,” she said loudly, “come on, we’re going to play some pool.”
Dunk stumbled along behind her, narrowly missing tripping over Tristan’s chair and toppling into the whole table.
“Shit, Jesse, ease up,” he mumbled.
“Why don’t you just play some fucking pool?” she ordered, letting him go once they’d reached an empty table.
She took two cues off the rack and shoved one handle-first into his gut, then turned away to break. She broke the pyramid of balls with a sharp crack, sending them shooting towards the pockets. Two stripes went in, so she lined up her next shot and took it, missing this time.
Dunk took his turn, too wound up to joke around like usual.
“What the hell is wrong with you tonight?” Jesse asked.
He braced his hands on the edge of the table and rocked back on one boot. He couldn’t help but think of a night here a year and a half ago.
It had been in the middle of his mom’s health scare, the day the tests came back negative for cancer. But the doctors still hadn’t known what the problem was. So he’d gone to the Rec Center to work out, trying to burn out all the relief it wasn’t cancer and all the worry about all the terrifying things it still might be. It hadn’t worked, and Leda had run across him like that, then tagged along with him here, to the pool hall.
She’d tried to get real with him, to be a good friend, but she’d been at her most cynical, short-tempered then and she’d frankly sucked at it. Her last attempt to cheer him up had been to offer to show him her boobs, as if he were so shallow that anyone’s boobs, even one of his best friend’s, would snap him out of it.
