After all, he literally pays the rent.
The corner of Knox’s mouth twitches. “You’re just as stubborn as he is, you know that?”
I force a smile. “I guess that means I get it honestly.”
He eyes my untouched plate. “You need to eat, darlin’.”
He’s right. I’m emotionally drained and it’s going to be a long day, but I just don’t have it in me right now. “My appetite seems to have vanished.”
“If you want me to make you something else, just say the word.”
I lean forward and press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m just going to shower and get dressed. Two o’clock will be here before you know it.”
The trauma wardis busier today, more alive. The sharp tang of industrial cleaner still hangs in the air, but doctors and nurses move through the corridor with purpose, their wrinkled scrubs and tense whispers a testament to their life-saving work.
We pass a few other visitors as we make our way to Ollie’s room, and my unease grows with every step, anxiety twisting my belly.
Knox must sense it because he reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just nervous.”
He nods, understanding without needing further explanation.
When we reach Ollie’s room, Knox knocks softly on the door before pushing it open. “Hey, man. You up for some visitors?”
The sight that greets us stops me in my tracks.
Ollie looks so small.
It’s the first thought that crosses my mind, and I can’t shake it. Just days ago, he was a powerful athlete with a commanding presence on the ice, but now he’s been reduced to this fragile state.
He’s propped up in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines that beep and hum, doing god knows what. His face is pale, almost gray, and there’s a bandage on his forehead that doesn’t quite cover the bruises on his temple. There’s an IV inhis arm and someone—probably the nurses—has tucked him in under a white knit blanket.
It’s only been two days since I last saw him, but he looks like he’s aged years.
When he sees us, he tries to smile, but the movement makes him wince, and the expression dies before it can fully form.
“Hey,” he manages, his voice rough and barely above a whisper.
I move to his bedside, my heart breaking at the state of him. “You don’t have to do that, Ollie. You don’t have to talk and smile, okay? Right now, your only job is to rest and heal.”
Schultz rises from the visitor’s chair on the other side of the bed. We exchange greetings, and he says goodbye to Ollie, promising to return tomorrow.
When he’s gone, Knox steps up beside me, his hand finding the small of my back. “You gave us quite a scare there, Davis.”
Ollie’s eyes flick to Knox, and this time when he speaks, his voice is even quieter. “Gave myself a scare too.”
The admission hangs in the air between us, heavy with meaning.
I can see how tired he is, how much effort it’s taking just to engage with us. His eyelids keep drooping, and he has to force them open again.
“We’re just glad you’re okay,” I tell him, reaching out to touch his arm gently. The gesture feels inadequate, but anything more is likely to cause him pain. “You don’t have to respond or say anything, but I just…I want you to know that I’m sorry. I should have done more, pushed harder to get you the right support.”
Ollie’s brow furrows, and he shakes his head slightly—a movement that clearly costs him. “Not your fault,” he whispers. “You did what you could.”
The words should comfort me, but they don’t. If anything, they make the guilt worse.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he continues, each word seeming to require monumental effort. “I was just…tired. Distracted. Driving to the arena and then…” He trails off, his eyes going unfocused as he relives the moment. “Boom. Woke up here.” He pauses to draw a ragged breath. “Just glad…no one else was hurt.”