Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
I’m alone with Jaxson again. Just me, a tray of bloody gauze, and a man with hands built for destruction and eyes that make me want to break every rule in the book.
A small, choked sob from the little cubicle next door breaks the quiet. It’s the kind of sound a child makes when they’re trying very hard to be brave and failing miserably. I remember glancing at the chart. It’s a six-year-old who came in with a suspected broken wrist after falling off the top bunk of his bed. He’s been waiting for his X-rays, and the fear of the unknown is clearly starting to win.
Jaxson’s head turns toward the sound, his brow furrowing. The cocky, flirtatious glint in his eyes vanishes, replaced by something much softer. "Is that a kid?"
"Sounds like it," I whisper as I finish bandaging the wound. "Most kids are scared of the needles. And the doctors. And pretty much everything else in this building."
The sobbing escalates into a frantic, hiccupping gasp. "I want to go home! Mom, my arm is fine! Please!"
I see Jaxson shift, his body tensing as if he wants to get up, but he’s anchored to the table as I finish up. He looks at his hand, then at the curtain, his expression shifting into genuine, uncalculated empathy.
After I finish up the dressing, I release his hand. He stands up and walks over to peek around the curtain. He clears his throat, and when he speaks, his voice isn't the rumbling baritone he uses with me. It’s higher, lighter, flavored with a gentleness that feels completely foreign to the man I thought I knew.
"Hey there, buddy." Jaxson kneels next to the hospital bed and is still taller than the child sitting on it. "What happened to you?"
The crying stops abruptly. A small, watery voice sniffles. "Are you Jaxson Thorne?" The kid’s voice is so raw and stunned, it actually makes Jaxson smile. A real one. I’m not sure he knows how intensely gentle he looks kneeling next to the bed with that stitched, bandaged hand.
He smiles at the child. “That’s me, bud. What’s your name?”
“Leo, sir.” The little boy hiccups bravely. The mother, who’s been white-knuckling the rail of the bed, gives a little smile. The young boy is starstruck and totally forgets about his arm. “Did you get hurt in a game? Is that why you’re here?”
Jaxson winks. “Nah. Worse. I got in a fight with a chef’s knife, and the darn thing won. Nearly took my whole thumb off trying to slice onions.”
The boy giggles, a hiccupy little wheeze, pure relief. “That’s so dumb! You’re supposed to stop pucks, not cut your fingers off!”
“Yeah, well, maybe you and I both made some mistakes today,” Jaxson says, voice low and a little conspiratorial. “What happened to you? One of those crazy hockey fights?”
The boy shakes his head, eyes wide. “No, I was fighting with my sister, and then I fell off the top bunk. She said I was being annoying, so she pushed my pillow, and I fell.” I actually have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing at the look on the little guy’s face.
“Darn, that’s brutal.” Jaxson glances up at the mom, who looks half-wrecked and half-relieved by this whole exchange. “Sisters, man. You gotta watch out for ‘em.” The boy laughs for real this time, even as fat tears still hang on his lashes.
Something in my chest squeezes. I don’t know what gets to me more, the sight of Jaxson Thorne, who’s rumored to be the most emotionally constipated man in North America, crouching by a kid’s hospital bed like he belongs there, or the completely non-awkward way he makes this terrified little boy forget all about his fear.
There’s a particular kind of kindness that reveals itself when nobody is looking for it, and seeing this impenetrable athlete try to comfort a frightened child is doing something very dangerous to my resolve.
"My arm hurts a lot," Leo whispers.
"I bet it does. That just means you’re already a pro at being tough."
A small, wet giggle escapes from the other side. "Thanks."
Jaxson grabs a paper towel from the holder and glances over at me. “Do you have a pen I can borrow for a second?” I hand him my favorite pen without a second’s hesitation.
He quickly writes something down before handing the paper towel over to the mom. “Call this number tomorrow and tell them Jaxson Thorne has tickets reserved for you. They’ll email you tickets for our next home game.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Thorne,” she gasps.
“No problem.” He gives the little boy a pat on the shoulder. “I know you’re going to be feeling better real soon.”
Jaxson looks back at me, the softness lingering in the lines around his eyes. He’s still a celebrity, still my brother’s rival, and still a man who represents everything I promised myself I’d stay away from. But in this moment, under the harsh light of the emergency room, he’s just a man who knows how to make a little boy feel less scared. He’s human, and that realization is far more terrifying than his 'Ice Wall' persona ever was.