Roman (Cold Fury Hockey #7)(78)

His eyes spark with challenge, but his tone is gently teasing when he says, “Not much, nag.”

I grin to myself as I realize that yeah, they’ve worked things out.

“Later,” Gray says, and then she’s gone.

Roman sets the ukulele case on the floor and walks up to the side of my bed. Nodding toward the instrument, I tell him, “Don’t think I’m going to be playing that for a while because of my shoulder.”

He ignores me, instead bending down and touching his lips to mine gently. When he pulls back, he puts his fingers featherlight against my cheekbone underneath the throbbing bruise and asks, “How much pain are you in?”

“Not much,” I lie, and he doesn’t need to know that I refused my medication this morning. While I’m not generally averse to such things, I knew that I wanted to be clear when I saw my family this morning, but more important, I wanted to be clear when Roman came in. Last night was such a blur to me, but I know he was worried and fretful when he was here. I wanted to make sure he was reassured that I’m going to be okay.

Roman pulls away from me and sits down in the chair that my dad had vacated earlier. He scoots it close to the bed and takes my hand. His eyes are so somber when he says, “You scared the shit out of me.”

“It was just bad luck,” I tell him softly.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I mean you scared the shit out of me when you left your birthday party last night. Told Gray and me not to contact you until we got our shit worked out.”

“Well, I meant—”

“I thought I lost you,” he says quietly, and I snap my mouth shut because his words sound so pained. “I went home, and was just…I don’t know…feeling so out of control. I didn’t know how to fix things.”

“You would have figured it out,” I reassure him.

“Only because you were in that accident,” he says bitterly. “I was so afraid you were going to die without me having the chance to fix it.”

“But I didn’t,” I point out rationally.

Roman smiles at me. “No, you didn’t, thank fuck. And when I got to the emergency room and saw how freaked out Gray was, I just realized…it was easy for us to put that shit aside because you were far more important than any of our pettiness that we had gotten so mired in.”

“I think you and Gray are kind of wonderful,” I murmur.

“She’s all right,” he says with a smirk. “I mean…she has potential.”

I laugh, and then wince because that causes my head to hurt.

“You’re in pain,” he accuses.

“A little headache is all.”

“Well, when you get sprung from here, you’re coming to my house and I’m going to take care of you,” he says firmly.

“You’re going to have to fight Dad, Gray, and Georgia,” I tell him with a grin. “They’ve all said the same thing.”

“It’s a fight they’ll lose,” he says menacingly.

“My money’s on you, baby,” I say sweetly, and Roman’s eyes warm with satisfaction.

“Okay, I’ve got something for you,” Roman says abruptly as he stands from the chair. I watch as he grabs the ukulele case and brings it back to the chair before sitting down again. He flips the latches and pulls it out, setting the case on the tiled floor and the ukulele in his lap.

I watch him carefully, because I get the distinct impression he doesn’t expect me to play, but I have no clue what he’s doing.

“So I’d been working on this for your birthday,” he says quietly and with a nervous quaver in his voice.

“Oh my God,” I blurt out in amazed realization. “You learned how to play?”

He nods, swallows hard, and admits, “For the past few weeks. I found someone who would give me lessons and did them usually after hockey practices.”

My hand grabs for the bed controller and I hit the button to raise my head, scooting my body so I’m sitting up. My nerves hum with excitement that he would do such a thing, and eager to listen to what he’s learned. “That’s unbelievable. And so damn sweet…and romantic…and I don’t even know what to say.”

“You might want to hold all those compliments until you hear me play,” he says dryly as he positions the ukulele in his hands. And oh my God, it looks ridiculous against his large frame and those long, strong fingers. “And a word of warning: I’m not the best singer.”

“I think you’ll be fabulous,” I tell him, already bursting with pride no matter how bad he is.

Roman gives me a grateful smile, then a little cough to clear his throat. His eyebrows furrow inward in concentration as he places his fingers on the strings to make the first chord, and gives a little strum. His eyes slide to me, so damn nervous, so adorably cute, and I nod in encouragement.

His strumming hand starts to move, his chord changes choppy, but when he sings the first few lyrics, tears immediately fill my eyes.

Wise men say,

Only fools rush in…

I blink, and the tears slide free, rolling down my face as Roman struggles with the chord changes. He’s not secure enough to look away from his fingers on the strings, but I can still see a world of emotion in his eyes as he pours the words of Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”