Spinning

The game is well over by the time the boys have all split up, catching cabs to the bars or heading back to the team hotel. Patrick opted to take me downtown, too, wanting to show me all that Vancouver had to offer. I guess he knew the city fairly well from the Olympics a few years ago because he seems to be able to point out a memory from almost every street we drive by.

"I can't believe you!" I say, throwing my head back in laughter in response to one of his
stories, "you're--"

"CARLY!"

My head smashes against something very solid and I can hear the screeching of tires outside on the snow-covered pavement. Patrick's yells are the last thing I hear.

"Carly, baby, can you hear me? Carly, girl, open your eyes. Baby, open your eyes. Please, open your eyes. Just look at me. Please, baby. Please look at me."

I hear him, my Patrick, begging me for some reassurance. I can't, though. I try but a heavy burst of pain sends me back into the fogginess that surrounds me so thickly.

"Carly, I need you, baby. Please don't go. Please--don't go."

I open my eyes slowly, confused at first as I look over the unfamiliar surroundings. A heart monitor is the only sound in the quiet hospital room. It's dark, from what I can see outside of the large window that shows the extensive city lights.

I furrow my brow, letting my eyes scan the items in the room with a very slow pace. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to think.

Suddenly, my hand tingles and I turn, very slowly, to see Patrick seated at my side with his hands wrapped around mine and his lips pressed softly to my pale skin.

"Pat--" my voice is hoarse and barley a whisper at that but his ears immediately perk up as his eyes meet mine in less than a second.

I've never seen him react like this. At first, he looks like he's going to smile but all of a sudden, his face drops and his eyes fill with heavy tears as he bursts into audible sobs as his lips kiss mine with a delicacy that suggests I'll fall apart at his touch.

I'm too scared to speak at his reaction, though, and so I sit in my quiet confusion as he whispers frightening apologies over and over again until his throat fills with such heavy tears that he can't seem to form any more words.

Several nurses and a doctor have entered the room in the time that I have woken. They stand on either side of the bed now, talking to one another as Patrick moves to the side of the bed, still keeping my hand in his.

"Hi, Miss Hughes. My name is Dr. Scolaric"

It takes a few seconds for the words to make sense but when they do, I manage a small smile for the doctor beside me, "hi."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital," I say after a few moment in my quiet whisper.

"That's right. Do you know why?"

I look to Patrick. His eyes are staring hard into mine, red and puffy and filled with fresh tears, "no," I say softly, "I don't."

The doctor seems unfazed.

"Miss Hughes, about 36 hours ago you were involved in a very serious car accident. Patrick and you were in the back seat of a Vancouver taxi and you were hit by an oncoming vehicle. Do you remember any of that?"

I close my eyes because the question seems like it's too much for me to handle. A car accident? I was in a car accident?

The sounds suddenly stream back into my mind like a dam breaking in a fast-flowing river.

"CARLY!"

My eyes shoot open, wide and filled with fear. I remember. A gasp leaves my throat and I'm thankful that Patrick is beside me now because, otherwise, I may have cried.

"You can go," he tells the nurses beside him before taking a seat beside my bed, putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder and giving me what I think is a comforting smile, "you're going to be alright, Miss Hughes. You've suffered a broken collar bone, which is why you are finding it hard to breathe, as well three broken ribs and some head injuries. You're very lucky, though, I can tell you that. It could have been much, much worse than it was."

I turn to Patrick and feel his lips still pressed against my skin as he looks up at me from that position beside my bed.

"Are you okay?" I whisper to him, scanning his face and his neck for any sort of injury.

He nods. I have a feeling he can't find his voice right now.

"You promise?"

He nods again and I tilt my head in the slightest towards him where he kisses my lips very quickly, and very softly, still as if I am breakable china.

"Carly, I'm going to need to run some tests on you later to make sure everything is working as it should be at this stage but for now, I want you to rest, alright?"

"Okay," I say because nodding is suddenly a painful task.

"It's late, so I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well now, the both of you."

The doctor leaves and I turn to Patrick as much as I can before wincing in pain.

"Don't--" he says in a very tearful voice, keeping his hands round mine.

I look down at him. His hair is unusually curly and unkempt, like he'd just finished a game. Those bright eyes are an even brighter blue as they often are when he cries. His cheeks are red, flushed, almost. His lips are chapped and his nails are well bitten down to the point of bleeding. And that's only the surface. On the inside, just by looking at him, I can see how terrified he is. The way his voice trembles, and the way his eyes don't leave mine, are just small indicators that he's not steady.

"I'm okay," I whisper slowly, keeping my eyes locked with his, "see? I'm right here," I press my hand against his and his lip shakes as he abruptly drops his head onto my hand and bursts into sobs, clutching at my skin as his tears fall.

"I'm so sorry, Carly," he cries, trying to compose himself but failing, "I'm so--so sorry!"

I place my hand on his head and run my fingers over his hair, closing my eyes and finding the usual calmness from his touch, "it's not your fault, Patrick."

He breathes out shakily, still keeping his head buried in my side, "I thought I lost you. I thought you were gone," his voice breaks and he sits up, pressing his lips to mine, "you have no idea how terrifying it is, Car. I--I thought--"

My hand has found his cheek and his eyes immediately close, "I know, baby. I'm right here, okay?"

He's clutched my hand with his as he nods.

"Lay with me?"

He nods, very carefully positioning himself beside me, "I'm so sorry," he says again.

"Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I--I took you out. We should have just gone home, Carly. I took you driving downtown. I made you come."

I frown, pressing my lips to his and staring into his eyes, "it's not your fault there was an accident, okay? Whenever we get into a vehicle, there's a risk. That doesn't mean we're not going to get into our car and that especially doesn't mean that it's your fault.

He tries to object but I press my lips to his and let him kiss me back until I close my eyes and fall asleep with his body protecting mine.

I sleep through the night, and through the day, and finally wake up again around dinner time.

"I'm starving," I tell Pat after he kisses me for a good five minutes just to make sure I'm still here.

"What do you want to eat, baby girl? I'll get it for you."

I smile, "no, don't leave. I want you to stay with me."

He nuzzles his lips against my cheek and then kisses my jaw, "then I'll stay. How are you feeling?"

"Sore. Everywhere. And my head hurts."

He frowns, "should I get the doctor?"

"Not yet," I whisper and hold his cheek in my hand, "I just want to talk to you for a minute."
Patrick nods, leaning forwards and pressing his lips to mine, "of course."

"Are you okay?"

He nods.

"Because before, you were blaming yourself and crying and--oh, Pat, you were so upset! I've never seen you like that before," I whisper, clutching his shirt as he presses his lips to my forehead.

"I could have gotten you killed, Carly. Of course I was upset! Of course--fuck, Carly..." he stops, breathing hard and smoothing his thumb over my cheek, "I thought I lost you."

"What happened exactly?" I ask softly.

"Car accident," he replies gruffly, sitting back in his chair beside my bed.

"No, Pat, I mean what happened. Who hit us? And were you okay? And, oh gosh, how much have you missed? Where's the team right now?"

He smiles weakly, "they're in Edmonton today, and I missed the game last night in Calgary but Car,"

I interrupt him, "I made you miss two games?!"

"Carly! This is a little more important than hockey."

"But--"

He puts a finger over my lips and shakes his head, "really, Carly. You're more important than a couple hockey games and that should be obvious."

I sigh, "okay, besides hockey, who exactly hit us?"

His face immediately hardens, "an idiot."

"Is he okay?"

"Who the fuck cares?"

I raise my eyebrows and he nods, closing his eyes, "he was okay."

"Was?"

Patrick looks up at me and I furrow my brow with his response, "I got upset. I punched him out before he could stop apologizing to us. So, he's probably sore but he was fine."

"You...you knocked him out?"

He takes a moment before nodding, "I was mad. And I could smell the alcohol on his breath when he walked over..."

"So you punched him?"

"Carly..."

I run my fingers through his hair, "you shouldn't have hit him."

"Well, he hit you without any fucking--."

I frown, but lean in and hold his kiss, "okay, change of topic. When's the last time you showered?"

He raises his eyebrows and I smile, kissing his lips and then sitting up in my bed, "you're a little...well, post-hockey game right now."

"That bad?"

I laugh and he grins and for the next little while, I spend my time with the doctor who completes several different tests with me, making sure that I'm not bleeding anywhere and that I'm aware of the restrictions I need to take.

"Otherwise, Miss Hughes, you seem to be okay considering the circumstances. You won't be lifting anything with that arm for at least a couple months, I can assure you that. The ribs will heal in a few weeks, though."

I nod, looking down at the bandages around my torso, "how long do I have to stay here for?"
The doctor smiles, "well, I just have to sign the papers to release you and fortunately, I'm able to do that right now. You just have to make sure that you follow my instructions and monitor any headaches you may have. Those stitches in your forehead will be able to come out in a week, as well."

I lift my fingers to my hairline with a slight shock, having not even realized I had a cut, "right. Thanks for everything."

"Of course. Is there anything else you'd like to ask, or anything else you might need?"

I look at Patrick and shake my head, "no, I think we're going to be alright. Thanks again."

"My pleasure. I hope you have a quick recovery and you, Mr. Kane, a good season."

I smile and Patrick takes my hand as the door closes behind the doctor.

"Well," I say pressing my lips to his hand and exhaling softly, "what's the plan?"

He frowns, "well, we can spend the night at a hotel or something, and then head home in the morning."

"That sounds good. I need to try walking first, though. I'm stiff."

He leans in, brushing my hair from my face and carefully pressing his lips to mine, "I'm so sorry, baby," he whispers.

"Don't be. You didn't cause anything. Now, can you help me sit up?"

Carefully, he puts his hand on my upper back and I take his hand with my good one, slowly rising from the bed.

"Are you okay?"

I nod, but my eyes are tightly closed in pain.

"Carly--"

"I'm fine," I say and then open my eyes to see him very close to me, "see, babe?" I press my lips to his, "I'm alright."

He keeps his own lips tight and takes my hand before forcing a stiff nod and then standing, "I'm going to get you a wheelchair."

I chew my lower lip, "I don't have anything to wear--"

He holds up a bag suddenly from under the bed, "Jon brought you some things."

"Jon was here? When?"

Pat's eyes harden slightly, but he quickly relaxes, "last night. He---"

His voice trails off and I take his hand, not really wanting to discuss any of the craziness that's between the three of us, "want to help me change?"

It takes a while for me to pull on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, but I manage and with extra help from Patrick, we make it to a hotel near the airport before midnight.

"You're comfortable?"

I open my heavy eyes, looking up at him from the hotel bed, "yes."

"Do you want a painkiller? Or some water? Anything?"

I take his hand and squeeze it tightly, "I just want you. Just you."

He swallows hard and nods, turning from me abruptly and putting his fingers in the corners of his eyes to ward off the threatening tears, "...I'll just turn off the lights," he mutters, flicking the switch and then standing with his back to me in the small hallway.

"Patrick..."

He doesn't move for a long moment, until I say his name once more and try to sit up. A sound of pain escapes my lips and he turns to me, rushing to my side with a look of anguish on his face, "are you okay?"

I nod over and over again as my lower lip trembles, "I'm fine, Patrick."

He's shaking his head, though, bowing it so that his forehead rests on my closed fists, "I'm sorry, Carly. I--I--" he breathes out but fails to stiffen his cries which fall from his lips and make my heart ache.

"I'm fine, Patrick. I'm just sore, baby."

He's silent, clutching hard onto my hands.

"You did nothing wrong, Patrick. There's no reason to apologize. I'm right here, okay? I'm safe."

His tears slip over my skin and I wish I had the strength to hold him tightly in my arms.
"Patrick, baby, what is it? What's wrong?"

He shakes his head slowly, keeping his face buried in our hands. Slowly, I coax him into looking up at me and with those red, tear-stained eyes, I ask him, "what's wrong, baby?"

"I'm terrified, absolutely terrified, of losing you."

I kiss him softly, "no, baby. You won't lose me. You didn't lose me..."

He presses his lips to mine, "I almost did. I almost--"

"But I'm still here. With you. We're still together."

"I could have--" his choked sobs break off his speech and I use my good arm to hold his face to mine.

"Could have what?"

"If you di--died--Car---I--I--cou--couldn't--"

"Pat!" I grip his hair and hold him to me, "Patty, baby."

"I can't live without you."

"No, baby," I whisper softly, "I can't live without you either."

We land in Chicago by eleven the next morning. He carries all the bags while still managing to half-carry me through the airport. Sometimes, I forget how strong he is.
As he puts down the luggage, helping me into the taxi, I have a few seconds to recall the night before. He wasn't okay. Not at all. The way he wouldn't stop crying, not even after I managed to pull him into the bed beside me and wrap myself around him. He was a disaster, full of fear and a painful sort of love. He was at a point of being inconsolable and I had no idea what to tell him to make it okay.

"Carly, are you ready to go?"

I lift my eyes to meet his and smile. His black coat looks sharp in contrast with those baby blue eyes, "I'm ready."

He crawls in the backseat beside me, taking my hand instantly and then telling the driver our address.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good," I say, kissing his lips, "and you?"

"Alright," he places his hand on my cheek, then runs his finger over the bandage on my forehead, "I'm sorry."

I carefully remove my hand from his grip, lifting it to where his fingers are on my forehead, and pull his hand back down to my lap, "you didn't do anything. So stop apologizing."

When we get back to the apartment, I can barley keep my eyes open as Patrick helps me into our home with a strong arm. The pain killers are making me dizzy as I slip onto the sofa and close my eyes, laying down on the comfortable fabric.

"Do you want anything to drink? Eat?"

"No," I whisper softly, extending my hand which he grabs, "can you just kiss me once more?"

He leans in, pressing his lips to mine in a delicate fashion, "I love you."

I think I mumbled those three words back before disappearing into a deep sleep, but I'm not sure. Nonetheless, when I wake up, there's a thick blanket covering me and a table covered with cards, treats and a tall glass of water.

I sit up very slowly, blinking softly and picking up one of the cards on the table, reading the 'get well' message inside.

There's a little message from everyone on the team, and all of the wives and girlfriends. I nearly start crying at the simple but sweet words.

"Patrick?" I say aloud, rubbing my eyes and still not fully awake. I'm thirsty, starving, and on the verge of tears. Bad combination.

"Yeah, baby, I'm right here."

I turn quickly as his hand settles on my shoulder and he slumps down beside me on the couch, kissing my lips and smoothing his hands over my skin.

"How'd you sleep?" he whispers and I close my eyes, falling into his shoulder and letting out a soft sound.

"Good. Did you go to the rink, baby?"

He shakes his head, kissing my hair, "no, some of them stopped by when you were sleeping. They wanted to say hi, but you were pretty knocked out."

I breathe in, finding comfort in his scent, "that was nice of them."

"Yeah."

"Baby?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm starving."

He laughs gently as I lean out of his arms, yawning, "what do you want me to make you?"

"Anything."

His fingers linger in mine until my stomach growls audibly and he releases his grip, "okay, I'll be right back."

I wait, falling in and out of consciousness until I feel his arm around me once more.

"Here, baby," he whispers, placing down some soup and a sandwich in front of me.

When I finish eating, Patrick helps me to the bedroom and I lay down on the even more comfortable bed. He carefully removes my socks then slips my sweatpants off of me setting them off to the side of the bed.

"Oh," I whisper as I see my legs for the first time. Several bruises lay across them like I've been beaten, "I didn't realize..."

Patrick holds my hand but refrains from muttering the apologize I refuse to hear, "they're on your stomach, too, honey."

He unzips my sweater, taking extra care to avoid moving my collarbone. I'm not wearing a bra, or an undershirt, and as the sweater drops to the floor beside us, I find myself wishing I wasn't so sore at the moment.

"Can we--"

"No," Patrick says firmly as he reluctantly pulls his eyes from me, opening the closet and pulling out a pair of silk pajama bottoms, "I'll help you put these on."

He slips off my underwear and I let out a soft moan as his fingers graze over my thighs and hips.

"Patrick..." I whisper with a slight desperation in my tone.

"No, Carly, you're--"

I take his hand and place it where my underwear was just a moment ago. I hear him swallow before he more than willingly moves those fingers in a skilled fashion.

Every movement is more than a little tender, though, and a cry of both pain and pleasure makes him pull back, concern heavy in his eyes.

"I'm done," he says, placing the pajamas beside me as he slips out of his own clothes.

"No," I say but his glare forces my lips tightly closed.

"You're...Carly, you've got broken ribs. Look at your stomach, baby. There's no way."

I look down, slightly restricted by my collarbone, to see heavy black bruises on both sides of my abdomen below my breasts, "it's been, like, three days."

He smiles slightly, "you're worse than I am."

"I need another painkiller then."

He grins, "fine. I'll be right back."

I lean back in the bed as he slips from the room and into the kitchen. My whole body aches, both physically and sexually. But at the moment, my bruised rib cage and broken collarbone seem to be overpowering the need for sex.

"Here, baby."

A little embarrassing to admit, my eyes linger over the slightly hard spot in his black boxers, "thanks," I say, still staring at it with a longing stare.

"Carly, you're not making this any easier on me."

"Maybe..."

"Carly!" he says sternly, crawling into the bed and passing me the pills and a glass of water. I roll my eyes and swallow the pill before giving him back the glass and leaning back into the thick pillows.

"Well, if you won't have sex with me, will you at least kiss me?"

I turn my head towards him to see his eyes already staring into mine, "of course I'll fucking kiss you."

"Then kiss me."

He grins and his lips find mine as his hands wander carefully while his torso seems to move in a way that would suggest otherwise.

If it wasn't for the strength of the painkillers knocking me out, I would have had my way with him.