Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers #1)(61)

Well, it was until I went off-script last night with Willa. If I know her at all, there’ll be aftershock from my latest move, and now with this surgery, I’ll be in no shape to brace for impact.

The old Ryder would have never done this. He would have reasoned this was not a practical moment to up the ante between Willa and him. He would have instead sent Willa an empathic text about her loss and then gone right back to haranguing her the next time he saw her. This new, insane Ryder knew the timing was terrible and simply could not stand to leave her alone. Watching that game’s outcome, knowing how heartbroken Willa would be, he couldn’t even consider not seeing her.

I knew she’d be alone. With her mother sick in the hospital, unable to comfort her late at night, I knew Willa was going to go home with Rooney who would be just as dejected as her. She’d have no one else, as she felt all those awful feelings and thought those terrible things you think when you put a ton of pressure on yourself and your team falls short.

I only made it to summer training before our freshman season started at UCLA. I never got to compete here, but I competed plenty in high school. I lost state championships. I blamed myself. But I always had a handful of family members hugging me, distracting me with affectionate teasing, badgering me into playing a game, serving my favorite homecooked meal.

Willa has none of that. And I might know better than anyone what pushes Willa Sutter’s buttons, but I also know that she doesn’t handle her feelings well. I knew a lumberjack hug, plus a little chocolate and whiskey never hurt.

Platonic hugs and comfort foods turned into something much more substantial. I touched her, teased that silky skin, felt her clench like a vise around my fingers. I was rock hard, pressure building in my jeans, kissing her, watching her come apart under my touch.

The morning after Willa’s, I couldn’t shake the memory of when she came. Her body shook softly, her sweet breath burst across my lips. She was so beautiful, and all I wanted to do was make her come a hundred times more. When I woke up, I almost went off the deep end and texted her that, but it was god-awful early when I had to head to the hospital. I listened to the surgeon walk me through the procedure one last time, heard the countback for anesthesia, the promise I’d be out and alert in a few hours.

That’s the last thing I remember.

I wake up to a concerned, pinched expression on my parents’ faces as they lean over me. I have a hunch not all went according to plan. When I groan, it doesn’t sound any different than it has the past few years, but that’s to be expected. I have to recover before the auditory processor gets fitted and linked to the implants.

“?lskling.” Darling. Mom’s voice is close, and my damaged ear still hears her Swedish endearment and knows what it means.

I lick my lips, taking inventory of my body. Dad pats my hand and squeezes, drawing my attention so I’ll watch his lips. “You did fine, Ryder. You were very distraught after the anesthesia, though, so they gave you a sedative. It knocked you out like a horse tranquilizer. Seems they didn’t catch the note in your chart that a children’s dose of Benadryl would have sufficed. You always were a sedative lightweight.”

I lift my hand in a thumbs-up, then thumbs-down gesture.

Dad lifts his thumb. “It took just fine. Doctor’s very pleased.”

A sigh of relief gusts out of me, but it’s quickly replaced with worry.

Willa.

Panic hits me. They gave me a sedative, meaning I’ve been out of it longer than I expected. I planned to check in with Willa right after the procedure, to make sure I hadn’t freaked her out.

Pointing to my wrist, where my watch usually is, I look at my Dad.

His brow furrows. “How long have you been out?”

I give him another thumbs-up. Mom’s hand slips soothingly through the back of my hair, avoiding the front of my head which is bandaged.

“Almost twenty-four hours,” Dad says.

I slam my hand on the mattress. Shit. Fuck. Fuckety shit. Willa’s going to take this all wrong, I know it already. She woke up yesterday morning, probably wondering if what we did was some kind of weird post-game delusion, then when she decided it wasn’t, she had to expect I’d reach out. It’s a fair assumption. She knows me. Typically, I would.

And I’ve been radio silent for a day.

Phone, I mouth, miming the action, too.

“Easy, Ryder.” Dad pats my hand again. “You need rest, still.”

I shake my head and immediately regret it, lifting my hands to touch the swelling behind my ears.

Please, I mouth, then sign.

Mom caves, because she’s got a soft spot for me. “Alex, let him have his phone. It’s how he talks. You’re silencing him.”

I sigh in relief as Dad grumbles and unearths my phone from his pocket. Spinning it my way, I squint. Not a single message from Willa. I don’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

“S?tnos?” Sweetheart, Mom asks. “Everything all right?”

I type, Can I go home now? My place.

Mom frowns. “I wanted you to come to our home so I can take care of you.”

“It’s not the worst idea to let him rest at his apartment for a few days, Elin. Beckett said he’d be there to keep an eye on him, and we’re bringing Joy to the house tomorrow. It’ll be noisy and a little chaotic while we get everything set up.”