All You Need

  “How did you hear about this place?”

  “Verily. She said in that part of Canada they’d still have lots of snow and great skiing in late May. I know you miss skiing and can’t take a chance you’ll hurt yourself during the season.”

  “I am really looking forward to this. Thank you.” I was beyond touched by this thoughtful gift. Both of them really. She got me in ways no one else ever had. I nudged the flat box toward her. “Last one.”

  Annika took her time opening it, so my heart raced. Finally she popped the lid open. She gasped and her gaze flew to mine. “Axl. This is . . .”

  “Let me put it on you.” As I removed the necklace, she lifted her hair and half turned away from me. I looped the platinum chain around her neck and fastened it. Then I kissed the side of her neck. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it so much I’m finding it hard to speak. When in the world did you have this done?”

  I rubbed my thumb over the platinum charm, two A’s entwined. One side white diamonds, the other side black diamonds. “I had it designed for you by a jeweler in L.A. right after Thanksgiving. I know we can’t be together the way we both want right now, so this is a tangible reminder of us. We both have light and dark sides. There’s equal weight to the diamonds because we balance each other out.” I kissed her temple.

  “You’re going to make me cry. It’s the most perfect, personal, beautiful thing I’ve ever been given. Saying thank you doesn’t seem like it’s enough. I love it.” She turned her head and rubbed her cheek along my jaw. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Now I don’t want to give you your last present because it’ll seem lame in comparison to this.”

  I nipped her earlobe. “Gimme.”

  She reached for the smallest box and tossed it into my lap.

  I didn’t drag it out. Inside the box was a coin. I lifted it out. “What’s this?”

  “A coin.”

  “What kind of coin?”

  Annika plucked it out of my fingers. “It’s an EKG of my heartbeat. It’s on both sides of the coin. I know we can’t carry pictures of each other or anything super personal.” She fingered the charm on her necklace. “But no one will notice a coin in your pocket. So it’s like you’re secretly carrying a piece of me with you wherever you go.” She ducked her head. “I had this whole ‘you own my heart’ speech lined up . . .”

  I kissed her and retrieved my coin. Against her mouth I said, “Not a lame gift at all, Annika. I love it.”

  “Stop talking. More kissing.”

  I smiled. “But I have one more thing to give you.”

  “You promised you’d stop at three presents, Axl.”

  “It’s not really a present. It’s more good news.”

  “What?”

  “My test results came back. All negative.”

  “That is good news.”

  “So no more condoms.”

  “Nope.”

  “Merry Christmas to us.”

  Twenty-six

  ___

  ANNIKA

  The only thing I could think of after it happened was how much I hadn’t wanted to be there in the first place.

  The plane ride had been bumpy.

  The cabbie had driven like a maniac.

  The fans on the way into the stadium were dickheads.

  The box seating area was too small.

  I’d bitched because Soldier Field was the last place I wanted to be on a weekend that Axl was home. And it sucked because I couldn’t tell anyone that. Nor could I invite him along.

  Then to get to the game and find out that not only did the stupid skybox make me claustrophobic, but everyone else in my family had paired up—including Ash, which had shocked the crap out of me—making it clear that I truly was the odd woman out this time.

  The only benefit to my sour mood was it created a barrier around me so everyone left me alone. I sat in the front of the box, closest to the one exit. Sports magazines were scattered across the table and I thumbed through them. I found six ads featuring my sexy boyfriend. One ad in particular annoyed me today, an ad for compression athletic shorts that showed Axl shirtless. The ad itself didn’t bother me. It was the fact that I knew Axl was sitting on my couch in a pose exactly like that right now and I wasn’t there to enjoy the view. Or him.

  Nothing you can do about it. Just concentrate on the game.

  The Vikings were having another so-so season that some experts attributed to the suspension of their biggest franchise player. While others speculated that playing at the U of M football stadium and not having home field advantage had thrown them off. The Metrodome was history; it’d been torn down as soon as last season ended. The new stadium would be constructed in less than two years.

  But regardless of the team’s stats or personnel difficulties, or relocation issues, Jensen was having the best year of his career. He was killing it on the field. That was part of the reason I hadn’t wanted to come to the last regular season game in Chicago—the media demand for Jens postgame meant we didn’t get to spend any time with him until we returned to Minneapolis. So I really could’ve been watching the game at home, sitting on Axl’s lap, while I got to show off my sports knowledge to him for a change.

  I had been paying close attention to the game, but still the play happened so fast I almost missed it.

  Almost.

  A late hit.

  Jensen on the ground.

  Not moving.

  Then we couldn’t see anything because a swarm of medical personnel surrounded him on the field.

  They reran the instant replay a few times, but we couldn’t be sure if the angle of the camera was wrong.

  Or if the angle of his leg was wrong.

  When nothing happened for several long minutes, when no one did anything, I grabbed my coat and purse and took off to see what I could find out. I couldn’t just sit there in shock and do nothing.

  The security guard for our section stopped me.

  “I need to get to the locker and media rooms for the visiting team. Is it straight down and over where their tunnel exits?”

  “They’re not gonna let you in there.”

  “My brother was just”—mowed over by one of your cheating players—“hit on the field, and I need to find out what’s going on with him.”

  His eyes softened. “I saw the hit, child. By the time you get down there, he’ll be on his way to the hospital. Can’t you call an assistant coach or someone else for information on where they’ll be taking him?”

  “I . . .” I doubted Dad and Mom had that info. Jensen kept his professional life far removed from his family life. That was why it’d been such a huge deal when he took Mom’s advice and met with Peter.

  His agent.

  That was a way in. I dug out my phone and scrolled through my contacts. I texted him first because I guessed he was already on the phone.

  My phone rang a minute later.

  “Annika. I have a call in to the team physician. I talked to the assistant physical therapist and he knows Jensen’s family is there at the stadium and needs to be brought in for medical decisions.”

  “Thank you for that. How bad is it?”

  “I honestly don’t know what they’re treating him for.”

  “Are they taking him to a hospital?”

  “I would assume so—”

  “Can you clear it for me to be down there with him?”

  “I’ll try, but there’s no guarantee.”

  I closed my eyes. “I just don’t want him to be alone if he’s in pain.”

  “I understand.”

  “Let them know unless it’s an immediate matter of keeping Jens alive? No one makes any other medical decisions without consulting with the Lund family.” Money wasn’t an issue in getting Jensen the best doctors and treatments in the world.

  “I will make that clear to them. I’ll keep you updated.”

  “Thank you.” I hustled back into the box. My aunts sat hudd
led with my mom. Lennox and Trinity sat with Dallas. Walker, Brady, Ash, Nolan, my dad and both my uncles were on their phones. Since it appeared most of them were on hold, I said, “I talked to Peter, Jensen’s agent. He’s in touch with someone on the medical team, but they don’t know anything yet. He’ll keep us informed. Have any of you heard anything more?”

  “No,” Brady said. “Since I work with his trainer, I’ve got his number. I see he’s in the locker room and not on the field, but he’s not picking up.”

  “They’re still just tossing around theories on the network,” Walker said. “Nobody knows shit.”

  “The only sure thing is the fucker who made the late hit has been ejected from the game and escorted off the field,” Ash said.

  I looked over at my dad. His face was drawn tight. I walked over and hugged him hard, pressing my cheek to his chest.

  He tightened his arms around me and kissed the top of my head.

  My phone buzzed in my back pocket and I stepped back to answer it. “Peter. You have some news, I hope.”

  “Yes. They’re transporting him to University of Chicago Medical Center.” He paused. It was a hold on because the worst is yet to come kind of pause. “Annika. He hasn’t regained consciousness. They’re taking him to the brain trauma and spinal cord injury unit.”

  Hold your shit together. It means nothing yet. I had to keep reminding myself to remain calm.

  “Thank you so much, Peter. From all of us. And we will keep you apprised of the situation.”

  “If you need anything, call me.”

  I hung up.

  “Well?” my mother demanded.

  “They’re taking him to University of Chicago Medical Center. To the brain trauma and spinal cord injury unit because he hasn’t regained consciousness since the hit.”

  Complete silence all around me in the box.

  Below us the crowd roared because play had resumed on the field as if nothing had happened.

  Walker kicked a chair and Trinity twined herself around him.

  Lennox already had Brady’s face in her hands as she talked him out of a chair-kicking rage because he felt it just as much as Walker and I did.

  I was scared and mad and worst of all, I felt like a clear box had been dropped over me; I could see out, they could see in, but I was wholly separate from everyone. Part of the group, and yet alone.

  Don’t start to panic, because there’s not enough air in this imaginary box.

  My phone buzzed in my hand.

  I glanced down and saw his name pop up on the text message.

  AH: I am yours for whatever you need. Call me, my sweet, when you can. I love you.

  Don’t cry.

  But I wanted him here. He deserved to be here more than the one-offs that Nolan, Ash and Dallas had brought along.

  “Is that more news from Peter?” my mother asked.

  I glanced up. “No. But who’s calling the car service—”

  “Done,” my uncle Monte said. “You all go. We’ll catch up.”

  I rode to the hospital with Mom and Dad, but the drive itself was a blur.

  At the hospital Dad took charge. He secured us a private waiting room.

  Another two hours passed before we received the first visit from the medical team.

  Jensen was conscious.

  The concern now was paralysis.

  Not a word—condition—any of us could wrap our heads around.

  Then they’d left us to deal with that without any new information about how Jensen was feeling and what he knew about his medical condition.

  My parents’ frustration level was a painful thing to watch. Then my dad left without a word to any of us.

  Within half an hour of his return, a woman showed up and introduced herself as our personal hospital liaison. She explained everything to us, from the impact of the initial injury, to why the doctors were in this medical holding pattern with any treatment.

  Spinal cord contusion.

  Three words that strike fear into any tight end player’s family.

  Jensen had been unconscious for fifty minutes. They’d stabilized him with a neck collar, but they couldn’t ask about his range of motion until he’d regained consciousness. Hours later he couldn’t feel anything from the waist down.

  That was when my mother had lost it.

  The rest of us were in a state of shock.

  Then our liaison gave us the encouraging news that perhaps the paralysis was temporary, which was why the doctors were waiting it out. And he wasn’t on a respirator—another encouraging sign. But in addition to his neck injury, he’d dislocated his kneecap. If the paralysis did wear off, then he could feel what other injuries he might’ve sustained.

  It was all surreal and overwhelming.

  Peter started dealing with my father in recommending the top sports medicine doctors in case Jensen needed surgery.

  My aunts brought in food.

  The hospital found us on-site sleeping accommodations.

  Since we’d be here at least a few more days, my uncles and Ash and Nolan returned to Minneapolis to take care of business at LI. My aunts opted to stay for a day or two and help us out so we wouldn’t have to leave the hospital.

  Twelve hours after the accident happened, we finally got to see him. Two at a time, or in my case one at a time.

  Jensen looked pale and broken in that hospital bed. But he was alive and breathing on his own and that was the important thing. We’d deal with the rest one step at a time.

  But once I was in his small room, the claustrophobia kicked in. Panic seized my lungs—no air in, no air out. My heart rate quadrupled. Blood pounded in my head, amplifying my fear of being crushed in this small space. I slid to the floor and hugged my knees, eyes closed, trying to shrink inside myself.

  That was the last thing I remembered.

  A cool hand touched my face. “Annika.”

  My mom’s voice.

  I opened my eyes to see her and my dad looming over me. I almost screamed at them to stop crowding me, but I managed to maintain an even tone of voice. “Please give me some space and tell me what happened.”

  “You passed out.”

  “Maybe you should tell us why.” This came from my father.

  I noticed I was lying on a hospital bed in one of the rooms they’d given us for resting. “The stress must’ve hit me. I was tired and dehydrated.”

  Dad didn’t look like he believed me. But why would he? No one in my family knew I still suffered from claustrophobia—or why. The only person I’d ever told was Axl.