Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection)

by Ketley Allison

  Locke.

  Lily.

  I’m coming.

  30

  Carter

  Easton and I burst through the hospital doors—I finally remembered his name, his dodging and speeding through cars helped me with that, because I have to thank him, later—and directly to the nurse’s station ahead.

  “Lachlan Hayes,” I burst out as I slam my palms on the counter to stop my momentum. “He and a baby, Lily Tobias, were just brought in an ambulance.”

  If the lady is startled by my appearance, she doesn’t show it. She merely grazes her attention from me to the computer screen and begins typing.

  “The baby was brought to Pediatrics Emergency Care and the male directly to Critical Care,” she says.

  I part my lips, unsure what to say. Locke has gone into intensive care? And Lily…?

  “The floors?” Easton asks behind me.

  “Five and here. Critical Care is on this floor.”

  “All right.” Easton spins me to face him. “You go check on Lily. I’ll go see about Locke.”

  I nod. It sounds as good a plan as any.

  “If either is stable, we’ll go find the other. Got it?” Easton continues.

  “Yes.” I swallow. Lily.

  Pressure lifts from my shoulders as Easton loosens his hold. “Let’s go.”

  We follow the signs to the elevator, and when the doors slide open, Easton’s parting words to me are, “It’s going to be okay. I’m gonna call Astor and the guys. All you have to do is focus on the baby. All right?”

  “Yes.”

  That’s the only word I’m capable of responding with. Easton doesn’t mind. He gives me a brief hug, my nose filling with the scent of leather and another woody smell I can’t identify.

  “Stay strong, baby girl,” he says, and then he’s gone.

  The trip to the fifth floor is silent and—thankfully—alone. When the doors slide open, I rush to the nurses’ station, the proximity to Lily gifting me with the words I need.

  The nurse, after asking if I was a family relation—I’ll be her mother, goddammit, if it means I can see her—directs me to an examination room, where I’m told to wait outside until the doctor is finished.

  I can’t sit. The plastic scoop chairs aren’t inviting in the least, anyway, and neither is the coffee machine, or the people in scrubs and doctor’s jackets wandering by with smiles or their attention buried in clipboards. Nothing makes me comfortable, not the white walls or the crackling intercom or the squeak of sneakers against bleached floors.

  It’s all too familiar.

  I can’t be still; I won’t stay here. I’m going to burst through this fucking door and hold that child if I’m tackled by security or shot where I stand, I don’t fucking care.

  Lily’s wail pierces the air.

  My palms hit the wall and skid down. My knees won’t hold my weight because, dear God, thank God, Lily’s alive and pissed off. “Lily!”

  I slide to the door on shaking legs and push on the lever. “Lily!”

  A group of doctors turns from the gurney where they’re standing. “Miss, you can’t be—”

  But they’ve left space between them, a wide enough gap where Lily, seated on the mattress, turns and sees me.

  Her face crumples, and it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

  “Maaaaaaaaah!” she cries.

  “Lil!” I cry in return, and I’m ready to throw elbows to get to her.

  But, the two nurses part and give me enough room to get to Lily and hug her while she sits. Adrenaline courses through me, utter relief at seeing Lily’s tear-soaked, reddening face.

  “Is she okay?” I ask the closest person in a white jacket.

  “Our examination is preliminary, but it looks to be a minor concussion,” the doctor says.

  I drop my forehead to Lily’s. She’s screaming for me to lift her up, clamoring against my arms. “You’re okay, sweetie. You’re all right.”

  “You can hold her,” the nurse next to me says kindly. “She needs her mama right now.”

  I’m crying along with Lily, my throat so closed over it hurts to swallow.

  I lift this little girl in my arms, bury my face in the scent of her, and call her my own.

  “There you go,” the same nurse says, and rubs my back. “Everybody’s fine. Give her all kinds of love.”

  “Th-thank you,” I garble out, raising my head.

  “Have a seat, honey,” another nurse says softly. “Right behind you. You can sit with her for as long as you like.”

  I nod, sobbing, and the nurses gently guide me down.

  “We’ll need to keep her overnight.” The doctor, unobtrusively, steps out in front. His glasses shine in the overhead lights. “But otherwise, I’m not worried.”

  “And th-the man that came with her—he-her father. Do you know anything about how he is?”

  The doctor—Dr. Garvis is written on his name tag—shakes his head. “Sadly, no. But I can have a nurse assigned to him come in here and give you some details. And the doctor, too, once he’s finished taking care of your husband.”

  I nod, but can’t stop myself from keeping Lily’s head cupped against my shoulder. “I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome. Once you’ve had some time together, I’ll come back, give you a more detailed progress report. She’s a healthy girl.”

  He and the other nurses depart, and I barely notice. I’m rocking Lily, back and forth, singing soothing words. Her cries quell to whimpers, and soon I even elicit a smile from her.

  “You’re okay,” I whisper to her with a thick voice. “You’re going to be just fine.”

  I can’t bring myself to think of Locke. Not yet.

  Because whatever happened, whatever made him fall, was bad enough to make him let go of his daughter.

  And that thought alone has the dread returning in sharp, black spades.

  What seems like hours pass by in a daze. Nurses come into Lily’s room constantly, checking her inside and out, waking her at certain intervals to ensure there’s no brain swelling. Each time, I have to let her go, lay her down, and I hate every second of lightness against my arms. I don’t feel whole again until I’m given the go-ahead to lift her up, put her heart next to mine.

  Night’s fallen by the time another doctor comes in. He introduces himself as Dr. Hurwitz, and he’s small and thin with a dark beard, bushy brows, and cropped hair.

  He’s here about Locke.

  I’m holding Lily, swaying her around the small room, but I have to sit down for this.

  Dr. Hurwitz’s words hit my ears, but it’s hard for me to understand them. Pulmonary embolism, he says. A blood clot to the lung. Likely formed by all the times he lay prone, not exercising, after multiple surgeries, and his expedition today likely loosened a clot in his leg enough that it traveled to his lungs and stuck there.

  A life-threatening occurrence. More deadly than not.

  “Is he all right?” I ask. Lily makes noises about wanting to be let loose, but I hold her close.

  “We’ve done what we could, and all signs are pointing to yes,” Dr. Hurwitz says. “He’s awake. Bruised and weak, but alert. You can go down and visit him.”

  I glance down at Lily.

  “I’m afraid she’ll have to stay up here. Babies in the ICU…well, you can see the obvious there.”

  I’m torn to shreds between leaving this vulnerable little girl in a hospital crib and making sure Locke is okay. Before, when I hated Locke, the choice would have been easy. But now, with all we’ve shared and the very close chance of losing him, I simply don’t know what to do.

  The same nurse that assured me before walks in while Dr. Hurwitz is discussing my options.

  She says, with much better communication skills than the doctor, “How about you wait until she falls asleep, honey, then sneak downstairs. I promise I’ll watch her like a hawk.”

  Lily seems to like Nurse Avery, because every time she
bends down to listen to Lily’s heart, Lily’s taken with the color of her pink scrubs and yellow duckies printed all over.

  I squeeze Lily, then say, “Thank you. That sounds like a great idea.”

  “It’s settled then.” Nurse Avery winks at me, then makes herself busy in the room. Dr. Hurwitz nods his good-bye before departing.

  Within the next twenty minutes, Lily’s eyelids are getting heavy again. She’s not used to the constant wakings and is getting crankier each time it happens. Part of me is secretly grateful I’ll miss the next one, now that there’s relief she’s perfectly healthy.

  When Lily starts her light snores, I lay her down gently, whispering another thank you and good-bye to Nurse Avery, then begin the short walk into another unknown.

  31

  Locke

  Goddamn.

  Goddamn, I hurt.

  Each breath is like an icepick being driven into my chest, so I don’t gasp too deeply, keep my breaths shallow. I’m unwilling to feel that kind of stabbing pain on repeat.

  The nurses won’t let me leave my bed. My left leg is hanging from an all-too-familiar strap, remaining elevated to reduce swelling.

  I’m lucky, the doctors say, I didn’t sustain further damage to my mostly-metal kneecap. I’m lucky, they continue, I didn’t break my neck.

  You’re right, I only dropped my eleven-month-old down an entire flight of stairs. So lucky. So fucking lucky I did that.

  The docs cleared their throat at that. The nurses couldn’t look me in the eye.

  “It’s not your fault,” one nurse dared to say.

  Now it was my turn to look away.

  When I came to the first time, the ambulance rocking my body in the worst way as we hit every pothole to the hospital, they had to restrain me. The agony in my chest bit at me with every exertion, every hoarse cry for my daughter, where was she, tell me where she is, take me to my daughter—my knee spiking with damage at each movement. But I didn’t care. Don’t care. All I want to know is what happened to Lily.

  My Lily.

  I want to die. Just fucking curl up and wither away like an old man as soon as I regain consciousness in this hospital room, the lights so bright the mere act of blinking brings tears to my eyes.

  Where’s the black, I want to ask. Take me back there. If Lily’s hurt, take me to the black with her. I don’t want color anymore. Fucking erase the light.

  A few minutes ago, I was assured Lily’s okay. Carter’s in the room with her. Carter—

  And Lily is being well cared for and will likely be discharged by morning.

  Me, however, I have a few days left in this gurney, both because of my knee, my fall, and oh, yeah, the blood clot we’re waiting to dissolve in my lung.

  None of that matters, though, because I hurt my daughter.

  She’s been admitted to the hospital, and it’s my fault, and she’s not even a year old. And I’ve only been responsible for her for not even a month. Two and a half weeks was all it took to fuck up epically.

  My jaw clenches. The machine monitoring my heart starts beeping rapidly, and I tell myself to calm down. I’d only just gotten rid of the constant barrage of hospital staff and prefer the chance to further wallow alone.

  “Locke?” a tentative voice asks at the door.

  “Go away,” I say with a rasp. I frown at how much weakness is in the tone. “I’m fine.”

  “Okay.”

  I register a dark sweep of hair, a golden arm before it hits me. “Carter.”

  She stills with the door halfway shut. Her buttery eyes, framed by clumped, damp lashes, hover near the door.

  “It’s okay.” I usher her in with a clumsy hand, an IV shoved into the center with tubes trailing down. “You can come in.”

  “I don’t want to disturb you if you’re resting.”

  “You could never.” I clear my throat, demand some masculinity back. “You’ve seen Lily?”

  “I have. She’s doing great.” Carter moves closer to the bed, taking in every single part of me. She worries her lower lip.

  “I’m fine,” I assure. “I’ve experienced worse.”

  “You could’ve died,” she says, staring hard at my chest. “Just like that, you could’ve been snuffed out, because you’re not taking care of yourself. And you almost took Lily with you.”

  My body goes cold. “I’m well aware of that.”

  “Are you?” Her gaze skates to mine, all that melted butter going hard as stained glass. “Because the doctors tell me it was because you weren’t exercising properly after surgery, weren’t doing much, really, other than pretending to be fine, all the while your blood was working against you.”

  “I didn’t know,” I say honestly. “I had no idea the kind of danger I was bringing on. When you and Lily came into my life, that was all I could think about. I wasn’t concerned with my physical therapy, my fucking knee—”

  “Clearly,” she says. “All those times you carried her when you shouldn’t, you lifted the stroller when you shouldn’t—”

  “What did you expect me to do?” My breaths are going tight, but I’m ignoring it. The pain in my chest is nothing compared to the way Carter’s looking at me. “Not hold my daughter for the first time? Not learn to love her and play with her?”

  “Of course not. Don’t frame it like I’m telling you to stay away from Lily.”

  The stone of Carter’s expression, the sheer anger radiating from her gaze, is nothing I’ve ever endured before. Not when she first met me and despised me on sight. Not when she considered me nothing but a turkey baster. Not even when she knew she’d have to give Lily up to me.

  “You could’ve been honest,” she continues. “And let me know your limitations. We could have worked with it, made sure you were healthy while you got to know your daughter. Because, Locke, while you’re so busy living in the present determined to ignore any sort of flaw, I’m worried about Lily’s future. And she needs you in it.”

  My teeth grind, and I hate how her words sting. “I didn’t pretend to be macho just to look good. I wanted to be a father to Lily and not show any weakness for her—”

  “She’s a baby,” Carter practically spits. “She can't understand you’re weak.”

  “But she will,” I cut in.

  “What the—? Get off your fucking throne, Locke.”

  “What throne? I’m an athlete. I’m supposed to fight off pain—”

  “Right, because all the time you spent thinning your blood with alcohol, you were thinking of being the best athlete you could be—”

  “Oh, come on—”

  “Ironically, that’s what saved you, back then. But the instant you stopped drinking, you upped your risk of serious complications. And you didn’t give a damn.”

  “Don’t pretend you know anything about what I went through.”

  “You have a daughter. You’re responsible for someone other than yourself, and here I am, hoping that’s enough to get you to stop being Mister Macho Man—”

  “And what kind of dad am I, huh? One who wasn’t around for her birth, a guy who had no clue about Lily until she was plopped into my life, in a way where she could have no opinion on the matter. She was obviously better off with you. I didn’t start out so good with her, Carter. Don’t blame me for wanting to be better and stronger for my daughter.”

  “Strong and pigheaded are two different things.”

  “Give me a break! My whole life was upturned when you showed up at my doorstep. I’m navigating it as best I can—don’t you give me some sarcastic apology about ruining my life, I can see you gearing up for it—and I thought I could do more. Obviously, I fucking failed. Again.” I splay out my arms. “Lesson learned, all right? I’ve got no macho man left in me. You win.”

  “You nearly died, Locke.” Carter’s voice breaks. “I understand your injury making you question everything. Having your pro-athlete title stripped from you, making you feel like less of a man. But was that really enough reason to put your life at ri
sk?”

  “I didn’t give a shit about my life,” I mumble.

  “I did,” she says, her voice trembling. I catch her eye, and she’s sparkling with tears. “I give a shit about you. And so does Lily. And maybe I should’ve been clearer on that.”

  I look at her closer. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this.”

  “I should’ve known,” Carter says. “All the times you complained about your knee. Or even those moments when you were wincing, pretending it didn’t hurt you as much as it did. Your growing stiffness. I should’ve caught on.”

  “I swear, lady, if you put this on yourself I’m going to be even more fucking angry than I already am.”

  “Don’t you dare be mad at me.”

  “I’m—” Oh, fuck, this is starting to hurt. “I’m mad at myself, Carter. Furious with what could’ve happened to Lily. And blame? I’ve got a whole boatload of that, directed at yours truly. I am not so prideful as to understand what I’ve done. And I don’t need you reminding me.”

  She closes her mouth, but she hasn’t finished her scrutiny of me. I don’t snap at her to stop, because I can barely muster the energy.

  “Even now,” she eventually says, so quiet I barely catch it, “you’re pretending to be stronger than you are.”

  I stare at her a while. “I will do whatever I need to so you don’t leave this room hating me.”

  She closes her eyes and shakes her head, tears trailing down her cheeks. “I’m far from hating you.”

  I’m stuck for words. That’s the last thing I thought she’d say.

  “You can break down with me,” she says. “You can trust me enough to show your cracks in the armor. I’m not going anywhere. Okay?” When I don’t say anything, she says, more urgently, “Okay, you asshole?”

  I nod. She reaches for my hand and squeezes.

  “You do not get to blame yourself for this. I’m sorry I came at you. There was just this…an overwhelming sense of…” she trails off.

  “You don’t have to explain it.”