Kiss and Don’t Tell

I check myself in the mirror one more time, something I don’t do often, but when I know Pacey Lawes is just down the hall, I’m making sure not a hair is out of place. I’m not sure what today will bring, but I at least want to be comfortable while doing it. I chose a pair of navy-blue leggings and paired it with a white crop top. I kept my hair in a messy bun and dabbed on a little mascara.

Subtle, but cute. Doesn’t look as if I’m trying too hard, thank God.

I have to call the tow truck company this morning because it seems as though it didn’t rain last night, but it’s supposed to possibly rain tonight. I want to see if he’ll come up today, even though it rained yesterday. I hate knowing Minnie is stuck in a ditch, out in the woods by herself.

Unsure of how to greet Pacey, especially in front of the guys, I prepare for a smile and a wave while I get my coffee. Seems like the proper thing to do.

I head out of my bedroom, thankful the ache in my muscles has settled and I’m able to walk without looking as if I need a cane.

The chatter of the boys is the first thing I hear, and then when the main living space comes into view, I catch them all standing around the kitchen island, chatting it up with Stephan, who’s hard at work. Even Halsey has his head out of a book this morning. I rove my eyes over the handsome faces but quickly notice one face in particular is missing.

“Good morning,” Eli says, “want some coffee?” He’s wearing the hat I got him, which is endearing. I feel like a child who painted their mom a mug and she uses it despite it being the ugliest mug in the cabinet.

“Oh, I can get it,” I say, waving him off. I’m tempted to ask where Pacey is, but I don’t want to be that girl. Instead, I move to the coffeemaker, grab myself a mug, and pour some coffee. I add some milk and sugar and then turn around to find all the guys staring at me. “Uh, everything okay?” I ask.

“Everything is great,” Silas says as he scratches his chest. “Just wondering where your friend is.”

“Pacey?”

“Yeah, usually he’s up by now. Didn’t know if you tired him out.” Silas wiggles his brows, making my cheeks flame with embarrassment. I want to shout “we only kissed, that’s it. Just a kiss.”

“Dude, don’t ask her that shit,” Eli says while pushing Silas in the chest. “That’s none of your business.”

“That’s not very hostess-like,” Levi says with a nod toward Silas’s cup that I got him.

“I’m just curious. Pacey is always busting our balls at this hour,” Silas says.

“Even mine,” Stephan adds as he hovers over the stove, making what smells like some miracle French toast.

“He’s in bed,” Halsey says from the side.

“And you know this because . . .” Silas asks, humor in his voice. “Wait, did you spend the night with him?”

Finding no humor in the situation, Halsey says, “Stopped by his room this morning to see if he wanted to work out. He has a migraine again.”

The boys’ jovial faces turn serious and the mood in the room shifts as an eerie feeling soaks up all the energy.

Migraine?

Again?

What are they talking about?

A far distant memory from our day in Banff strikes me. Some fan asked if Pacey’s head was okay. Is that what they’re talking about?

“Did you take him anything?” Eli asks, going into dad mode.

Halsey nods. “Yeah, gave him four Ibuprofen and forced him to drink a protein shake, too.”

“Did he throw up this time?” Levi asks.

“Yeah, he admitted he threw up a few times this morning.”

Okay, fear starts to travel up the back of my neck as I listen in. Throwing up, too? Migraine? This is serious. I want to ask what’s going on, if he’s going to be okay, but I also know Pacey probably kept this information from me for a reason.

“Shit,” Silas says. “Should we call Doc?”

“I asked if he wanted me to call,” Halsey says. “He said no, that it would pass.”

“When was the last time you checked on him?” Eli asks.

“Five this morning,” Halsey answers.

Eli glances at the clock and says, “We should check on him again.”

“I can,” I say, stepping in. I might not know what’s going on, but I also don’t want to sit by the sidelines, feeling helpless.

“Okay,” Eli says. “Should we send her with some food?”

Halsey shakes his head. “You know he doesn’t do well with food. He’ll let you know when he’s hungry.”

“Do you have any electrolyte tablets?” I ask. “I can try to get him to drink one.”

“Good idea,” Eli says while going to a drawer near the coffeemaker. He fills up a glass of water and then drops a tablet inside. The tablet fizzes in the water and he hands it to me. “Let us know if he needs anything else.”

“Okay, yeah,” I say, feeling as if I probably shouldn’t have volunteered, since the guys are the ones that have been with Pacey through previous migraines and probably know exactly what he needs. But it’s too late now, so with water in hand, I head toward Pacey’s room, wishing I did more background research on him. I was so caught up by his interviews that I didn’t bother looking at anything else. But if I put the comment from a fan together with this recurring migraine, I’m going to assume something happened to him while he was on the ice.

Was he skating without a helmet and fell, slamming his head on the ice?

Did he get in a fight, take a punch to the head?

Possible scenarios stampede through my head until I reach his door. I swallow my nerves and carefully knock on his door, not wanting to make too much noise. When he doesn’t answer, I test the knob and when it’s unlocked, I let myself in.

The blackout curtains and blinds are drawn, making the room fall to an almost complete darkness. His room smells like his cologne, fresh with a hint of leather, and the eerie silence sets my nerves on fire as I take in the still lump on his bed.

Quietly, I walk over to the bed and set the water on his nightstand. Unsure of what to do, I whisper, “Pacey, it’s Winnie. How are you doing?”

“Winnie?” he asks in a groggy voice, and then at a snail’s pace, he turns in his bed to face me. He doesn’t have a shirt on and his hair is all mussed up from sleep and probably the pain he’s going through. Eyes closed, he reaches out, and I take his hand in mine. He sighs, as if this was all the comfort he needed.

I press my other hand against his back and trace small circles against his skin. “How are you doing?”

“Not great,” he mutters.

“I can see that.” I speak softly because I know the kind of pain a migraine can cause someone. I helped my mom through quite a few. I wonder if Pacey would let me help him. “I brought a Nuun tablet—it has caffeine in it too. Do you think you can drink a little bit of it for me?”

“Maybe,” he whispers and then attempts to sit up. I help him and arrange his pillow so he’s propped up more.

“Just take it slow.” I hold out the drink to him and his shaky hand reaches for it. “Let me help you.” I assist him in bringing the glass to his mouth and he takes short sips, a few at a time. “How’s your stomach?”

“That’s . . . that’s it,” he says, letting me take the drink.

“Okay, that’s fine for now.” I stand from the bed and say, “Let me help you lie back down.” I help him move his large body down the bed and then I bring the comforter up to his shoulder. I gently rub my hand over his head and say, “I’m going to get you a cold compress to help. I’ll be right back.”

He doesn’t say anything, but instead curls into a ball and keeps his eyes shut.

I move out of the room, trying not to let the light in, and then shut his door quietly.

That was—wow, that was way worse than I expected. Strong, protective Pacey was so feeble, weak, barely able to speak a sentence. I don’t like it. Frankly, it scares me.

I hurry down the hall to the main room, where the boys are now sitting at the dining room table eating breakfast.

“How is he?” Eli asks.

“Not great. He looks incredibly weak. Is that normal?”

The boys nod and Eli says, “Yeah, these migraines take every last ounce of energy from him.”

That’s exactly how he seemed, as if he were drained. Twisting my hands together, I ask, “Do you have any ice packs? A dish towel?”

“Yup,” Stephan says moving around the kitchen to get me what I need.

“It’s only been, what, three to four hours, but this sounds like a bad one,” Silas says, concern in his voice. “I think we should call the doc, at least let him know. Didn’t he suggest Pacey get in contact with him if he had another one postseason?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Halsey says. “He could barely walk when I helped him back to bed earlier after the vomiting. That was eerily similar to when he was first injured.”

“I’ll make the call,” Eli says, standing from the table with his phone and going outside, where I see him scrolling through his phone and then bringing it to his ear.

What on earth happened?

What kind of injury are we dealing with?

Concerned and curious, I ask, “Um . . . can I ask what happened?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Silas asks. “Figures. The man tries to act as though nothing bad ever happens to him, this injury especially.”

“Too proud,” Halsey says before taking a bite of his breakfast. “He doesn’t want to show weakness.”

“Yeah, well, pride isn’t helping him,” Silas says, and then he glances at me. “At the beginning of the season, Pacey was struck in the head by a ninety-four-mile-per-hour slap shot.”

My stomach plummets, that scenario never even having crossed my mind.

“Even though he was wearing a helmet, he was knocked out. Severe concussion, some short-term memory loss, and since then, he’s suffered from recurring migraines.”

What?

I nearly swallow my tongue as I think about the kind of head injury that could occur from taking such a hit to the head. And to mask it, as if nothing happened? That’s so dangerous, neglectful.

“He hasn’t been the same on the ice since,” Silas continues. “He flinches, second-guesses, and isn’t as strong in front of the net.”

“He’s still the best in the league,” Levi defends.

“He is,” Silas agrees. “But he’s lacking the intensity he used to carry, and it’s from the head injury. He missed several games because of migraines. The boy would never miss a game, even if his arm was dangling off.”

“Here you go,” Stephan says, handing me an ice pack and a thin dish towel.

“Thank you,” I say, my mouth feeling dry all of a sudden as worry builds in the pit of my stomach.

Eli comes into the dining room and pockets his phone. “Doc wants to see him.” He sits back down in his chair. “I told him that was going to be a monumental feat, to try to get him to leave here and go back to Vancouver. But Doc let it slip that right before we left, Pacey saw him with radiating pain in his head. Doc said he told him to keep an eye on it.”

Silas scratches his jaw. “There’s no way he’s going to leave here.”

“I can talk to him,” I say. My voice comes out scratchy, scared, because this all feels too familiar. Way too familiar.

The headaches.

The throwing up.

The pain.

That’s how it was when my mom first became sick.

The boys all look at each other and then shrug.

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Eli says. “Not sure how much pull you might have—”

“My mom died of a brain tumor.” The boys fall silent, sympathy evident in their eyes. “I’m not saying Pacey has a brain tumor, by any means, but it’s something that he should get checked, you know? Especially if he’s in this much pain.”

“I agree,” Silas says. “But I think we give him a second before we bombard him. He probably won’t like that Winnie knows . . . no offense,” he says to me. “And he loves being here for the off-season, so taking that away from him might be hard as well.”

“We don’t have to make any decisions now,” Eli says. “Let’s focus on getting him better, and then we can have a group talk, go over his options, see where his head is at.”

“Good idea,” Silas says and then he turns to me. “We can handle this, Winnie, if you don’t want to—”

“I want to,” I say quickly. “I want to help.” I need to help. I need to make sure he’s going to be okay.

“Just wanted to make sure you were, you know, emotionally okay. Not sure if this would bring up any difficult feelings for you.”

It’s the first time I’ve noticed Silas be sensitive toward my feelings. It’s new and surprising, but I appreciate it.

“I’m fine. I just want to make sure he’s okay. I’ve dealt with many migraines; I think I can help him.”

“Let us know if you need anything,” Eli says.

“I will.”

“Do you want any breakfast?” Stephan asks.

I shake my head. “I’m going to make sure Pacey is okay and maybe I’ll come eat something after, but don’t worry about me. Thank you.”

With that, I head toward Pacey’s room, my stomach churning with nausea as I try to process everything the boys told me.

Injury.

Missed games.

Migraines.

Memory loss . . .

When out of sight, I lean against the wall of the hallway and bring my phone into view. I quickly type Pacey Lawes puck to head into my browser and then click on the first video I see.

I clutch the ice pack as the video starts to play. Announcers call out the play in the background, but I don’t pay attention to their babbling nonsense; instead, I watch as the man with the puck—whatever you call him—brings his stick back and slaps the puck forward. In the blink of an eye, Pacey falls backward into the goal and his defenders gather the puck and push it up the ice. The referees blow their whistles and medical staff rush onto the ice to care for a seemingly lifeless Pacey.

Pacey . . . oh my God.

Bile rises to the top of my throat as I quickly exit out of the video, unable to watch the rest. I lift my eyes to his door and my entire body shakes, thinking about how he could be seriously hurt. How something really bad could’ve happened to him.

And in that moment, it hits me . . .

I care about him.

Honestly care about him.

I’m—God, I think I’m falling for him.

But how? I’ve only known him for a few days. How could I possibly care about someone that quickly? How could I fall for someone that quickly?

Love doesn’t have a timeline.

It should. Because this isn’t normal. Having these strong, all-consuming feelings about someone shouldn’t happen this fast. Don’t people scoff at that? You met this man a few days ago and now you’re not only invested in his well-being, but you have this overwhelming desire to be near him?

It doesn’t work like that.

It’s not supposed to work like that.

Isn’t that how it worked for my mom, though?

Didn’t it only take a few days for Mom and Dad to build a never-ending love? A love so strong that my mom never even considered another man after Dad died?

It’s possible.

But . . . no, not for me. I shake my head, clearing that thought away. I’m just invested. This encounter isn’t like my mom and dad, despite the bond I feel with Pacey. What they had was different, right?

I bite down on the side of my cheek and take a deep breath.

Wow, the emotions and thoughts that are taking over are far too heavy. It’s . . . startling, staggering, something I don’t want to think about right now.

I should be thinking about how I can help Pacey. How I can help him feel better.

Get it together, Winnie.

I move into his room again, quietly shut his door behind me, and then walk up to his bed. I gently place my hand on his arm. “It’s me,” I say softly. “I have a cold compress for your head. Are you open to trying that?”

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Can you roll onto your back for me? I know it’s not the ideal position, but it’ll help with the cold compress.”

As he starts to shift, I set the compress down and help him. I move the blankets with him and then make sure he’s situated before I do anything else.

“I’m going to put this under your neck, okay?”

“Yeah,” he says as his arms fall outside of the comforter, his strong, broad chest prominently displayed.

I place the cold compress under his neck and ask, “How’s that?”

“Good.”

“Think you can take a few more sips of your drink for me?”

“Sure,” he answers, using one-worded answers, and I know it’s because if he says much more, he’ll probably regret it.

I lift the glass to his lips and he swallows a few sips before I set it back down on the nightstand and ask, “That enough?”

“Mm-hmm,” he answers, his eyes closed.

“Okay, well, if you don’t need anything else, I’m going to let you get some rest.” I squeeze his hand. “I’ll check on you—”

“No,” he says. “Stay.” He takes a deep breath. “Lie with me.”

“Oh, I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Please.” He winces.

Don’t argue with him, Winnie. Just do what he says.

“Sure, of course.”

I move around to the other side of his bed and slowly he pushes the covers back so I can join him. I slip between the cool sheets and turn toward him as I lie on the pillow next to him.

“No,” he says. “Lie on my chest.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, questioning if I’m going to make this worse.

“Please, Winnie.” When he asks like that, pain lacing his every breath, his every word, I can’t deny him.

Slowly, so I don’t rock the mattress too much and disturb him, I close the space between us and then carefully rest my head on his warm chest. His arm pulls me in close, and when I place my hand on the space between his pecs, he lets out a deep, sated sigh.

“Thank you,” he says.

Those two little words pack such a heavy punch, and before I know it, my eyes fill with tears and a bout of emotions lift to the top of my throat, cinching it tight.

I’m scared.

For many reasons.

Scared because I know how serious head injuries are.

Scared because I don’t want anything bad to happen to Pacey.

Scared because these feelings I’m carrying for a man I just met shouldn’t be this strong.

But they are.

I care for him.

I want him to be okay.

And as I rest my head on his chest, his arm wrapped around me, I realize that this, right here, is the most I’ve cared about someone since my mom died. And this is the first time I’ve cared about a man this much, more than I ever cared for Josh.

And that’s probably the most terrifying revelation of them all.

A LIGHT, steady caress moves across my back, pulling me from my deep slumber.

“Hey.” Pacey’s voice wakes me up even further.

Oh shit, I fell asleep when I should’ve been making sure he was okay.

I sit up quickly and wipe at my eyes. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” I blink a few times and realize there’s some light in the room as well. How long was I out? I bring my hand to his cheek and ask, “How are you feeling?”

The smallest of smiles crosses his lips. “I have a dull thud in my head, but feeling much better.” His hand smooths over my arm. “Easily the quickest I’ve ever gotten over a migraine. I’m usually out for the entire day and night.”

“Really? Was it the cold compress?”

That smirk grows wider. “Pretty sure it was the beautiful girl clinging to me.”

My cheeks flame once again. I’m not sure that will ever stop when he compliments me. “We both know that’s not the truth.”

“Trust me, I think it is.” He shifts so he’s facing me a little more. His eyes are more alert, and even though he looks slightly wrecked, there’s so much more life in his movements, and that makes me breathe a sigh of relief. Not the feeble man he was hours ago. His strength is coming back.

“I’m just glad you’re feeling better.” I sit up even more so I have a better view. I want to be able to take in every inch of him.

“Come here,” he says, pulling on my hip. “Why are you trying to get away from me?”

“I’m not.” I chuckle. “Just trying to give you space since I was just wrapped around you like a koala.”

His hand lands on my thigh and his thumb caresses my leg. “I liked it. I want you near me.” His grateful eyes connect with mine. “Thank you for taking care of me. Seriously, it might seem stupid, but having you next to me really helped.”

“I don’t see how.” I try to laugh it off, but he grows serious.

“It was the comfort. That human connection. It helps, especially for someone who’s alone so often.”

I place my hand on his chest and move my fingers over the short-clipped hair. “I know the feeling . . . of feeling alone.”

Knock. Knock.

The door opens and Eli pokes his head through the crack. “You’re awake,” he says, moving into the room now with a tray of food for two and fresh waters. “How are you, man?”

He sets the tray on the nightstand, carefully moving the drink I brought earlier.

“Better,” Pacey says, keeping his hand possessively on my thigh. He looks at the tray and smiles. “You added a bud vase and flower?”

Eli glances at the tray and then back at us. “Stephan did that bullshit. You know that’s not my style.”

“Yeah, your style is more of a dildo centerpiece.” Pacey cracks a joke, offering a smile. He really is feeling better. That should put my chest at ease, but it still feels tight. Worried.

A laugh bubbles out of Eli. “Yeah, you’re right about that.” He scans Pacey and adds, “Just from that little joke, I can tell you’re feeling better. Maybe get some food in your system. I put some medicine on the tray. I’m sure you need more.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Sure. When you’re ready, Silas has the pool doors open and the breeze is really nice. Might be good to get some fresh air.”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

Eli gives us a smile, and then he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

“Well, I’ll let you eat and—”

Pacey’s hand clamps down on my leg. “It’s cute that you think you’re leaving,” Pacey says with humor in his voice. “Nah, you’re sticking by my side today.”

“I don’t want to be too . . . clingy.”

“I would appreciate it if you were clingier, actually.” He reaches for the tray but I lean over him and grab it before he can.

“Take it easy, big guy. We just got you talking again. Don’t need you pulling a shoulder muscle.” I place the tray on his lap.

“I doubt lifting a tray would pull a shoulder muscle, but I do like you leaning over me like that.”

I smile softly while I hand him a glass of water. “I see how it is. You start feeling better and now you’re flirtatious again?”

“Got to let you know I’m always interested.”

I meet his eyes. “Oh, I know, just from the way you clung to me this morning.”

He takes a sip of his water. “I think the feeling is mutual, since you passed out on me and I was the one who needed to wake you up.”

“Maybe stronger,” I admit, the words slipping off my tongue before I can stop them.

“Is that so?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Because you mean it.” He tips my chin up. “No shame in showing how you’re feeling.”

It is when the feelings absolutely terrify me.

“Why don’t we focus on replenishing you.” I busy myself with handing him a sandwich. “I do have to make a quick call to the tow company. I think the roads are ready and I don’t want Minnie thinking I forgot about her.”

“You do? It rained yesterday.”

“Yes, but it’s supposed to be sunny all day today. Worth a shot.”

“You’re going to have her towed here, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Good.” He takes a bite of his sandwich and I reach for my phone.

I slide off the bed and say, “Be right back.”

“You can make the phone call in here, you know,” he says before taking a bite of his sandwich.

“I know I can, but I don’t need you distracting me. This is important business.”

Before he can bounce back with a retort, I exit the room and head for mine. I shut the door behind me and take a deep breath.

My body is heated, my heart is racing, and confusion consumes my brain as I slide down against my door until my butt is on the floor. What just happened? It’s not a panic attack, I know that much. But it does feel a lot like when Mom came home from her first Gamma Knife surgery. That moment when I had no idea what just happened and how it would affect my future.

But in this situation with Pacey . . .

Why is my body heated?

Because of Pacey’s touches, which showed me I was wanted.

Why is my heart racing?

Because of Pacey’s words, which offered encouragement and thankfulness.

And why am I consumed with confusion?

Because I really like this guy and I have no idea what that means for the future.