Page 11 of Broken Love (Love 2)
"Shouldn't we have heard something by now?"
"It's only been about an hour, Palmer."
"Really? It seems like it's been forever." She yawns.
"Come sit down." I get her situated on a couch next to me, wrap my arm around her, and let her rest her head on my shoulder.
"I'm going to fall asleep if I lean on you like this."
"That's okay. I'll wake you when the doctor comes out."
Hours later, we're both woken by a nurse.
"He's doing fine and is in recovery. The doctor will be out to see you shortly."
Another hour later, we're taken into a small room to meet with the surgeon.
"How is he?" Palmer asks, tightly squeezing my hand.
"He tolerated surgery well." He puts an X-ray up onto a lighted board. "You can see here that the fibula protruded through the skin." He points to another area. "The tibia is fractured, here. The ankle dislocated. The talus, which is this here at the top of the foot, is cracked." He puts another X-ray up next to it. "This is after surgery. We inserted nineteen pins and screws and repaired the soft tissue."
"How long will he be in the hospital?" I ask.
"I expect we'll discharge him later today or tomorrow. He'll be in a wheelchair, as we won't want any weight on it for quite a while. I know he sold his home in L.A. when he moved to Tampa. Does he have somewhere he can recuperate locally, or would you like me to recommend a rehabilitation facility?"
"He can stay at my house. It's one level and has wide doorways."
"Perfect." He gives us a room number. "You're welcome to go there now and wait for him. He should be coming out of recovery shortly."
I escort Palmer to the assigned room.
"The surgeon didn't tell us much about his recovery time," she says.
"He'll talk to Pike about that." I take her hand in mine. "Look, I don't think I should be here when Pike gets to the room. I wouldn't want to upset him. I'll stay in the waiting room."
"Oh, Cade. You've done enough. You can go now. Really, I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, he's out of surgery and doing well. I just want to be here when he wakes up."
"You call me if you need anything, okay? Even if it's just for a non-fat peppermint mocha with whip."
She puts her palm across her chest. "You remember that?"
"I remember everything, Palmer. Goodnight."
October 29th Palmer
Pike is wheeled into his hospital room and situated on the bed.
"Hey," I say, running my hand across his forehead. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired," he says, floating off to sleep.
I sink into the recliner next to the bed and close my eyes.
I'm awakened by my phone ringing.
I quickly hit mute, not wanting to wake Pike, and go out into the hall to answer it.
"Palmer! Oh my gosh! Your mother just called me freaking out. How is Pike? How are you? Where are you? What do you need?"
"Slow down, Tory," I say. "Pike is fine."
"Why didn't you call me last night when it happened? You shouldn't have been alone."
"I wasn't alone. Carter Crawford was in the same skybox as I was. He drove me to the hospital. Cade met us here and stayed with me all through the surgery."
"Oh, he did, did he?"
"Don't even start. He was just being nice."
"So what can I do?"
"Pike will need to recuperate at my house. So get the guest room ready and order in a bunch of food. Guy food. He usually eats pretty healthy, but with him sitting around, he'll want snacks--the not so healthy kind. And clear my schedule for a few days. I want to be there with him. I'll call my mother right now."
"I'm on it," she says and hangs up.
I walk back into the room to find Pike sitting up, awake.
"How are you doing? I was just about to call Mom. I totally forgot to call her last night."
"She probably fell asleep watching the game. She would have called you otherwise. And I'm starving."
"Hit the button beside your bed and page the nurse. I'll call Mom."
I dial her number.
"Hey, Mom."
"Palmer Alexis Montlake, I can't believe you didn't call me last night! I shouldn't have to find out about my son's injury from ESPN."
"Things were a little hectic last night, and I didn't want to wake you. I'm giving you to Pike, now," I say, handing him the phone.
"Hey, Mom. I know. I know. Yeah, I'm going to be fine. Just a broken ankle. No, you don't need to come." He hands me the phone back. "She wants to talk to you."
I take the phone and give my mom every single detail she demands before she'll let me go.
"Where's Bethany?" Pike asks me after I hang up.
"She went back to the hotel while you were in surgery last night--said she needed a drink. I texted her when you were out of surgery and let her know your room number. I'm sure she'll be here this morning."
"I can't even believe this happened. I come back better than ever from shoulder surgery, make it through the playoffs, and am in the first game of the World Series."
"I'm sorry, Pike. It sucks."
"Yeah, it does."
"I was worried about you," I admit. "It was a bad break."
"I saw it. Passed out. Don't remember a whole lot until I was in the ambulance."
"It's probably better that way."
He grins at me. "Is there a video of it?"
Pike
I send my sister home to get some sleep, telling her I don't want her to come back until later tonight. She looks exhausted.
I'm tired too, but don't get much rest.
Most of my teammates and coaches stop by to see me, as does the opposing team's player who feels horrible that he stepped on my ankle.
Bethany doesn't show up until late in the afternoon, bringing me just the pants portion of the sweat-suit I asked for. She's dressed to kill, but I can tell she's hung over, based on the recovery drink she's carefully sipping on. She asks a million questions about when I'll be able to play again and about her attending the rest of the games and events.
Not once does she really ask about me.
She stays for a very short time then tells me she needs to get to the game to represent me, gives me a kiss, and leaves.
A delivery service drops off the personal effects from my locker, and for the first time since last night, I'm able to check my phone. There are so many social media notifications from fans everywhere that I have to turn them all off. There are hundreds of texts from my teammates, my former teammates, news reporters, and friends. I quic
kly scroll through them, not responding, until one catches my eye.
Cameron: I know it's been a while since we've talked, but I wanted you to know I'm thinking of you. If you need anything. Anything at all. You call me. I mean it, Pike. Just because we aren't together, doesn't mean I don't still care for you.
A reporter asked me early in my career if I had a celebrity crush. I answered truthfully that it was Cameron Barella. I had just seen the movie where she played an FBI agent who infiltrated a group of surfers who were robbing banks, and she was the first actress who'd popped into my head. Not surprising, though. She was in a bikini for most of the movie. She's an exotic beauty, with a curvy figure, long dark hair, lush lips, and gorgeous, almond-shaped eyes.
A few months later, I was visiting a children's hospital with a few other celebrities, one of whom was Cameron. When I passed her in the hall, she said, I hear you're hot for me, bat boy.
You got that right, I had replied, cocky as ever. Drinks after?
She shrugged. Sure, why not?
It was the start of something beautiful, and we quickly fell in love. But the realities of our careers and crazy schedules meant we were apart more than we were together. But when we were together, things were magical. Incredible sex. A lot of laughter. Cameron was the girl I wanted to settle down with, but she didn't want to settle down. She loved her career as much as I loved mine. Our time apart took its toll, and we broke up. We've tried numerous times over the last ten years to make it work. It just never does.
Me: That means a lot, Cam. Thank you. Palmer said she had lunch with you in Milan. You still there?
Cameron: No, I just finished a location shoot in Morocco. I'm in London for a few weeks then headed back home.
Me: Drinks after?
Cameron: Oh my gosh, Pike. You were such a cocky shit back then. Of course, I want drinks after, Pike. I always have.
