A few changes

I wake to the hospital room thick with silence. My phone screen glows — four missed calls without voicemails and three text messages from Charlie. I opened up my text messages from him….the first two were asking if I was awake and he wanted to talk to me. The last one I paid more attention to.

Charlie: “Vic went to the airport earlier than needed and got on an earlier flight home.”

My chest tightens. I type a quick reply, fingers moving automatically:

Me: “Thanks for letting me know.”

Then another:

Me: “Now that Vic’s on his way home, Patrick’s dead and I’m safe, I should probably find another place to stay. Maybe a condo or something near the arena.”

I open the calendar app on my phone and scroll to the date of my last birth control injection. It was six weeks ago and I had six more weeks to go. Relief flickers through me, but it doesn’t settle the unease twisting in my stomach. I tell myself I’ll take a morning-after pill once I get out of bed, just to quiet the spinning in my head.

I lie back, eyes on the ceiling, hoping for a message from Vic that I knew  wouldn’t come. Since his phone didn’t work in New Zealand, it certainly won’t in the air. Still, I send him a text:

Me: “Thank you for the surprise visit. I really appreciate you taking time away from work — and your wife — to spend it with me.”

The words feel too restrained for what I really want to say. We care for each other more than we should. He’s married, and he isn’t leaving her but I’ve always known that. That fades when we’re together, the rest of the world blurs. What we have exists in stolen hours — real, impossible, doomed. Caring him feels like standing on the edge of something beautiful, knowing the fall is coming.

Eventually, I pull myself out of bed. The shower is too hot, stinging, waking my skin and mind. I brush my teeth, air-dry, find clothes for practice, and take the morning-after pill. I sling my tote bag — containing extra clothes, phones, chargers, IDs, money, hotel keycard, and water bottles into — over my shoulder and exited the hotel. I headed down the arena, thankful for the fresh air.

The players and coaches greet me, and the Jasons look shocked when I arrived without coffee.

“No coffee?” one says. “Are you even human today?”

“I have stuff on my mind,” I say, dropping my bag and pulling my phone out to place a pick-up order at the local café. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Charlie jogs to catch up as he saw me head through security. “How’s everything?”

“It’s fine. Since Vic’s gone, I don’t need the hotel room he booked anymore. It’s going to cost either the time or myself unnecessary spending. But I can focus on practice and my appointment later on,” I reply.

“When do you want to leave the hotel?” he asked. “Anything I can do to help find you a place? Are you seeing Dr. Hayes later?”

“No, I can manage.  Thanks though. I have Dr. Hayes and OB,” I say.

“Want to grab coffee while we walk to wherever you’re going?”

“I’m actually going to pick up my coffee order that I just placed,” I tell him, and we head to the local café.

At the café, the baristas greet me warmly: “Coach!”

Charlie orders black coffee and a few biscotti. and we both exclaim at the same time: “Son of a biscotti!” We laughed hard at our inside joke as I picked up the coffee that I had placed via the café’s mobile app.

We find a corner table to sit at.

“You seem close to Dr. Hayes,” Charlie says.

“We knew each other from the past, but we weren’t super close. His family was wealthy, mine middle class. When we dated briefly, his family rejected me,” I explain.

He sighs. “If he were single now, would you consider it?”

“Maybe. But the man I truly care for is heading home to his wife. Even though he cares for me, he won’t leave her.”

Charlie takes my hand. “It’s okay to care for someone meant for another person. Sometimes it’s easier to get over them by getting under someone else.”

 “Thanks, Charlie,” I said as I laughed. “I tend to give that advice often!”

“I learned it from you, my friend,” he smiled.

We finish our coffee, I placed another order of coffee and we headed back to the arena. I swipe us inside. Charlie heads to his office to handle logistics – and unknowingly to me, a condo for me - while I returned to practice.

The Jasons are happy to see me caffeinated.

“How can one forget to drink coffee?” Jason Holland asked.

“Are you’re more human now?” Jason Ryan added.

“I suppose so,” I answered with a smile

“I told you!” Holland said.

“Alright, boys,” I said. “We’re at practice

Practice began again as the players settled down after my return. The players have improved with Cathal’s suggestions — offense learning defense, defense learning offense, rarely siloing. During a water break, I ask about the mental health providers I brought in.

Joey grinned. “I’d love to take mine on a date.”

I smiled. “Too bad. Contract forbids involvement with current and former clients. Plus, your mental health team are lesbians in a happy marriage.”

They all chuckle. Joey sheepishly adds, “I was joking.”

“So was I. Anyone as questions can text me,” I say. “We’ll sort it there.”

The players took to the turf again after their water and snack break. I had slowly implemented that as energy takes calories and calories are needed for energy. The players also focused and listened better when having food.

I talked with the other coaches to see if they were interested, we have some fun during practice. They coaches asked what kind of fun that I was thinking about and I said 8 vs 8 – players vs coaches – until all the players had a turn. The coaches loved the idea. I blew my whistle to catch the attention of the players.

“Hey, ladies, gents and everyone in between!” I said. “We’re going 8 vs 8! The eight of us coaches and eight players until every player has practiced against us!”

There was cheering from the players and the coaches

“No elbows to faces, people!” I call. “And no taking it easy on me!”

They all laughed. “Got it, Coach!”

We played for a few hours. The players toned it down ever so slightly for me being the only woman on the turf and the smallest one there. A few times, I went flying in the air after getting hit, the ball was a little too high for me to catch and hit my eye as I was lifted in order to catch it, and enjoyed the scrum. At one point, I chuckled to myself thinking about seeing Ronan - Dr. Hayes - and the OB colleague later being covered in bruises.

Practice ended way past time that we usually ended. The players head to showers in their locker room as did the coaches. I take mine in the coaches’ office for more privacy. I stripped down, wash quickly, assessed the bruises — black eye from a missed ball — and dress again. I tossed my practice clothes into a plastic bag, threw it in my tote, and texted the coaches goodnight. They all wished me a good night and that they all hoped that I had my coffee with me in the morning.

As mentally and physically tired as I was, I ordered a car through a car share app. I waited a few minutes before they picked me up. When I got in the car, I received a text from Scott with the thumbs up emoji and a car emoji; clearly, I’d forgotten that he received notifications when I used this ride share app. A few minutes later, I was at the hospital. I thanked the driver and hopped out with my bag.

I headed inside the hospital through the ER doors and got lost heading to Ronan’s office. An employee asked who I was looking for and when I mentioned “Dr. Hayes” I was escorted to Ronan’s office. I thanked the employee and entered his office without knocking.  I dropped my bag in Ronan’s office floor.

“Did anyone lay a finger on you?” he asked as he took a good look at me.

“About fifty men,” I say.

“That’s not what I meant,” he frowns. “You knew that.:

“I know. No one hurt me in a negative way,” I said as I smiled.

He kissed my cheek as his OB colleague arrives.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Kim Yancy,” she said as we shook hands. “You’re the famous Deppgrl that Ronan won’t shut up about!”

“Kim, really?” he asked sheepishly as he looked at me.

“Dude’s in love with you and he’s too embarrassed to say so himself!” Kim said and winked. “Thank fuck the man has an exam table in his office or we wouldn’t be able to take care of this in here.”

“True,” I said as I stripped from the waist down and hopped up on the exam table.

“Do you need anything for pain?” she asked.

“No,” I say.

Kim quickly and expertly inserted the IUD, trimmed the string then turned away so I can get dressed. I redressed in my panties and leggings.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Deppgrl,” Kim said. “I’ll send in the other doctor.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you as well,” I replied. “Thanks.”

Dr. Chen, the optometrist, comes in next.

“Contacts in?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“If you could take them out, please.”

I comply.

“No damage. All clear,” he says. We shake hands.

As Ronan returns, I wash my hands so I can put my contacts back in. When I see him in the mirror, he looks at me and smiles like he used to.

“I keep tabs on you,” he says.

“I noticed,” I reply. “All the time?”

“Not constantly. Just enough to know you’re safe,” he says.

“I guess that makes sense,” I say.

“I wouldn’t interfere unless I had to. I just like knowing,” he says.

I nod, smiling. “Fair enough. I guess we’re both careful.”

He leans against his desk. “Dinner?”

“When’s your next night off?” I ask.

“Following night. I can cook at my place, order delivery, bring it to you wherever you’re staying, or take you out,” he offers.

“That would be greatly appreciated,” I say.

He cups my face gently and kisses me softly.

“Let me know where,” he says.

“I will,” I promise.

To clear things up before moving onto the next chapter

My 'All Blacks' Coaching Career Is Non-Existent

To remove all ambiguity and speculation, I am setting the record straight with three simple facts:

1. I have never left the country of my birth. I am not, and have never been, living or working in New Zealand. The closest I get to the Southern Hemisphere is watching the matches on TV.
2. I know no one in the organization. I have absolutely zero personal connection to the All Blacks. This includes every single player, every member of the actual coaching staff, and the team owners. Any "insider information" I share is based purely on watching the matches—just like you.
3. I am not a professional sports coach.
4. To clarify the fantasy further: the only people who are "real" and participate in this fictional NZ-based scenario are Vic (his real name), Vin (his real name), Matteo (close enough to his real name), and Mike (his real name), and myself, who operate under a pseudonym within the fictional narrative.

I am not in New Zealand, I have no secret job, and no one has offered me a position to handle elite sports strategy. My life is substantially more mundane, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thanks for indulging this strange bit of necessary clarification. Now, back to fantasy and adult rated blog!

 

Vic's morning departure

We took the elevator up to the secured wing of the hotel that we shared with diplomats, moving deliberately, letting each second stretch. The hum of the machinery was the only sound, but I could feel it in my chest, echoing the pulse of my anticipation. When the doors opened, Vic led the way, and I followed, savoring the quiet intimacy.

He pressed the heavy door closed behind us, the sharp click of the lock echoing through the room. The sound was final, thrilling, and the world shrank to just the two of us.

Without a word, we began shedding our clothes, slowly, deliberately, leaving them behind us like Hansel and Gretel. Each piece of clothing that fell marked a step closer, a surrender to the desire that had been simmering between us for too long.

We moved toward the bed, slow, deliberate, letting the tension build with every step. His hands found mine, our fingers tangling naturally. Our lips met soft at first, teasing, then harder, hungrier. The world outside didn’t exist — only the heat between us, the brush of skin on skin, the brush of breath, and the low hum of our hearts.

“Vic…” I whispered, my voice thick with longing.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against my lips. “How much I’ve wanted you this week.”

I laughed softly, breathless, and brushed my fingers along the line of his jaw. “Then don’t wait any longer. We’ve both had a week.”

“Agreed.”

“Feels like trouble,” I murmured, teasing as I stroked his hardening dick.

“Maybe,” he replied with a grin, pressing his forehead to mine and kissed me.

He slid his hard dick inside of my waiting pussy and began to ride me as if the world was ending. We climaxed hard within minutes and he filled me with his hot cum. Once his body was done shuddering, I flipped us over and began to ride him slowly. He began to moan my name. The more he moaned my name, I began to ride him faster. We climaxed again and I felt his hot cum fill my uterus again.

He flipped us over so I was on my back again and began to thrust his dick in and out of me again. I put my ankles on his shoulders so he could get his dick deeper inside of me and hit my g-spot. The second my ankles were on his shoulders, Vic was thrusting harder, faster and a bit rougher deep inside of me. We kept screaming each other’s names. We both climaxed again and he came in me but he couldn’t stop pumping his hips.

“God yesssssssssssssssss,” I screamed. “Don’t stop, Papa!”

“I love how tight your pussy is, amore,” he mumbled as he was suckling  one of my nipples. “I don’t plan on stopping!”

We climaxed again and after filling me for the third time, he pulled out. He carried me over to the desk and asked me to lean over it. I did as he asked and spread my legs. He mounted my pussy from behind, grabbed my hips and kept driving his dick into my now sore pussy. God, I loved how he took me like this. We couldn’t stop climaxing and he couldn’t stop filling me. He eventually pulled out and placed the head of his dick against my ass.

“Amore, I want your ass,” he grunted as he pushed his dick inside of my ass with some pushback.

“Yes, Papa,” I moaned.

He started slowly and once I relaxed, he thrust his dick in my ass fast and hard. We climaxed several times and each time, he came in my ass. We stayed like this until his dick stopped twitching. As he pulled out, he came in me again.

“Shower, amore?” he asked not so innocently.

“Of course!” I said.

As we showered, we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. Our hands and mouths wandered. I stroked Vic’s dick until he climaxed. His hot cum spilled into my hand and the shower floor. After washing my hands, he turned off the water. We dried off and got out of the shower.

Vic used the phone in the bathroom to call housekeeping to see if they could bring up fresh sheets and they said that they would. He thanked them and he quickly went around to pick up our clothes and clean up  his cum that was on the floor; still with the towel wrapped around his waist. He had a few minutes left before housekeeping arrived, he stripped the bedding off the bed and gathered everything into a ball. By the time he was done, Agent Rily knocked on the door. Vic opened the door to see Agent Rily and two members of housekeeping. He let the housekeeping team in to make the bed again. Since they were quick, they were in and out. As they were heading out the door, Vic handed them the used sheets. Since Agent Rily was the last visitor leaving, he promised Vic that the housekeeping team that was just in the room were the housekeepers that only work in this wing. Vic nodded.

He came back to the bathroom to let me know the coast was clear. After hanging up his towel, Vic picked me up and carried me to the bed.

“Ready for bed?” he asked as he gently placed me down on the bed.

“No,” I said. “If I sleep, I lose time with you, Papa.”

Vic stopped for a moment, brushing a hand across my cheek. “I don’t want to leave,” he murmured, his voice low.

I stepped closer, pressing my hand against his chest. “Then stay, Papa,” I whispered.

He smiled, though his eyes were conflicted. “God, I don’t want to leave your side.”

“Don’t leave me,” I said.

“My family needs me,” he said as he sighed.

“I need you, too,” I said as I got off the bed.

I went to the tiny dresser to grab an oversized shirt to put on.

“Take the bed for yourself, Vic,” I said. “You need all the sleep that you can get before your flight in a few hours. Flying for more than three hours can be exhausting.”

“Amore….” he started.

“Go to bed,” I said. “You’re going to need it.”

Vic climbed into bed and within minutes, he was asleep. I slid my slippers on, left Vic a note saying that I was sleeping in a room reserved for staff when the weather is bad and headed down to the reception desk, not caring my oversized shirt barely covered my ass and pussy.

“Coach….what’s going on?” Cosmos asked.

“Vic is restless in bed tonight due to his long flight tomorrow,” I explained. “I’m wondering if you guys have an employee room that I could use for a few hours?”

“Here’s a key to my room,” Cosmos said as he took an actual key off of his keychain. “There is a rather small guest room in my closet of a room. It has a door and a lock on it. The bedding is clean. I’ll be quiet if I need to pop in to grab something.”

“Thanks, my friend,” I said as I accepted his key. “Remind me in a few days to take you for drinks to thank you for this.”

“Sure thing, boss,” he smiled.

I always knew Cosmos was interested in me and he never crossed the line. I walked the three hundred feet down the hall to his room. His room was almost as big as the suite Vic and I were in but not nearly as nicely furnished. I found the little guest bedroom, slid in there and locked the door. I laid down and was asleep in minutes.

 I woke up three and a half hours later. When I entered the suite that Vic and I had been sharing, he and his things were gone. He left my burner phone and the hotel suite’s keycard behind. There was also no note. I brushed my teeth and headed back to bed. I wanted to be close to him again and the next best thing was bed….the sheets smelled like him and his body wash. 

Auckland's shadow

Departure from the suite was an exercise in severance. I shed the clothes of the therapy session not merely for comfort, but as a deliberate discarding of the emotional residue of all things Patrick. I appreciated Blake and his support but I needed a separation from my past to my future.

I grabbed two UV umbrellas. The afternoon sun in Auckland was insistent and given my recent struggles with dehydration, proper dealing with the heat of the sun was important. "Here’s a UV umbrella," I told Vic as I handed him one. “It isn’t pretty but it’ll help us stay cooler and another ER visit.”

Vic accepted the umbrella, the slight arch of his eyebrow acknowledging the necessary function over the aesthetic. "We look prepared for a diplomatic garden party,” he chuckled

I put my passports, phones, and wallet into my cross body purse. Vic grabbed the keycard, sliding it into his wallet then put his wallet back in his pocket.

I looked through the room one last time.

 "Contacts in, important stuff with us." I said as I patted my pockets. “Ready?”

“Always, ma’am,” he replied, the formality mixed with a quiet declaration of duty.

We departed discreetly via a side exit, utilizing the secure wing's peripheral route to head east. The agents were left behind as they didn’t see us sneak out.

We had been walking for nearly five minutes when the city's background noise receding in favor of the calmer acoustics of a residential stretch. Just as the familiar, rich scent of grilled onions and spices drifted over the air—the unmistakable signature of my favorite food truck—I turned to Vic, the corner of my mouth lifting in a small, charged smile.

"See that corner, about a block ahead? The food truck is just past that massive oak tree.”

I watched his eyes immediately begin a systematic scan of the intersecting streets, processing the established homes, the pavements, and the energy of the intersection. The awareness of the area solidified in my chest, prompting the need for immediate transparency.

“By the way, this is Scott’s immediate neighborhood,” I said quietly.

“Scott’s neighborhood,” Vic repeated, the words dropping with calculated, unnerving neutrality.

"It’s my favorite food truck," I explained, meeting his gaze. "We are grabbing lunch, Vic. I don’t tell food truck owners where to put their food trucks."

He held my gaze for a moment, his jaw flexing. "Duly noted." His response was his concession.

We crossed the street under the deep shadow of the oak, turning the final corner. The food truck, a vibrant splash of turquoise and chrome, dominated the intersection, its exhaust fans humming a rhythmic undercurrent. A small  line had formed. The air was thick with the high-quality grease and spices—an anchor of sensory normalcy. We stepped to the end of the line.

Vic surveyed the compact menu window. "What is the specialty of your favorite food truck?"

"The menu is eclectic," I replied, already executing my decision matrix. "Excellent fish and chips, amazing smoked meats, a variety of falafels and a killer mac & cheese. The pulled pork sandwich is to die for."

He leaned in, his voice barely audible above the sizzle from the grill. "What catches your eye?"

"Easy," I replied. "The pulled pork sandwich and a side of the mac & cheese. I’m going to order smoked meats to take back to the hotel for later. What are you thinking?"

He considered his options quickly. "The fish and chips. And a soda."

“Good choice,” I said. “As you know, I am not a fan of seafood but Aqeel makes a mean fish and chips. No one else’s can compare.”

“Any idea why Aqeel named his truck ‘Global Grub’?” Vic asked. “Other than the obvious of food from pretty much England, Egypt and American.”

“That’s probably the reason,” I said as I sighed. “I am not one to question a business person’s decision.”

The noise of nearby conversation and the sizzle of cooking provided a noisy, welcome distraction.

We placed our order with a fairly new employee. It was clear that he didn’t know who I was and I was more than happy with that.

We collected our bagged lunches and sodas and moved to a relatively quiet patch of curb under the shade of a small awning to eat. The food was everything I remembered: deeply flavorful, satisfyingly messy, and utterly grounding.

"This is phenomenal," Vic said as he took a bite of the fish.

"Told you," I murmured, halfway through the pulled pork. "Best food – including mac & cheese -  in New Zealand."

After we cleared our wrappers, a young woman from the truck handed me a heavy bag.

"The smoked meat order, Coach," she said, smiling. "Boss said to give you extra and we gave you extra."

"Thank you," I said, peeling off a couple of crisp bills for Aqeel. Knowing him, he lost money on providing extra smoked meat. “Please give the money to Aqeel; it should cover the cost of the meat, herbs and cook time plus purchase of more meat.”

“Will do!” she said. “Boss will be appreciative!”

I nodded before we left.

We began the walk back to the hotel. We were nearing the massive Kauri tree  when a familiar voice sliced through the street noise, tight with forced casualness.

"Deppgrl!"

Vic and I stopped simultaneously. His body instantly shifted, his weight redistributing to place his center of gravity low, his intent clear. I intervened with a flat, hard press of my hand onto his bicep, a clear signal that I would manage this interaction. He allowed his tension to hold but settled his stance, watching as I walked toward Scott.

Scott approached cautiously, holding a coffee cup like a shield.

"Scott," I said, my tone even. "What's going on?"

He fiddled with the cup. "I just wanted to apologize, in person. I know I was an asshole. I acted out of line. The way I talked to you and the things I said - I was wrong." He forced a breath. "My mental health team has really helped me see that. I finally understand why you had the players and the coaches seek assistance. It wasn't about fixing us; it was about providing us with tools. I get that now."

I offered a small, sincere nod. "I'm happy you've accepted that. It takes discipline to admit fault and more to do the required work. I hope you continue to work on yourself."

His expression brightened with premature hope. "When will I be able to return? I'm ready to be back."

His eagerness was understandable, but irrelevant. "We require demonstrable consistency, Scott. Your return is conditioned not on compliance in session, but on verified behavioral change outside of it. I need to review several weekly reports showing genuine engagement, and then I will talk with the owners."

The initial relief drained from his face.

"Scott," I said, my voice dropping, stepping closer to ensure the message was received without ambiguity. "We are looking for substantive improvement. That is evaluated not just in your sessions, but in how you conduct yourself when you are out and about. Your mental health team has connections across this area—local businesses, community groups. These connections are now reporting to both myself and them. As you know, I have connections too. This is oversight, not negotiation."

He looked stunned, the coffee forgotten. "Why is this happening?"

"This isn't just about you," I informed him. "It's about maintaining trust and professional conduct across the entire organization. We have protocols. For everyone consistently with the All Blacks."

"Oh," he said, swallowing hard. "Thank you for letting me know."

Before he could withdraw, I delivered the incentive. "If I see consistent, profound improvement, you may be able to return in several weeks."

“Several weeks?” he asked, in utter shock.

“Yes, several weeks,” I said. “What the mental health team and I have been hearing isn’t completely positive. I contemplate turning my phone off frequently due to the feedback that I am getting in regards of you and several players but that would mean more work for me. The owners and I want you to keep your job but it is on you to do the work in order to keep your job.”

He nodded, a renewed sense of purpose replacing the shock, then turned and walked away.

Vic and I resumed our walk to the hotel, the unexpected interaction leaving a strange, vibrating silence between us.

"That was efficiently handled," Vic murmured, his hand settling on the small of my back.

"It was necessary," I confirmed. "The boundaries needed to be explicit."

We reached the hotel, where Cosmos waited near the side entrance, a look of quiet, professional concern on his face.

"Welcome back, Deppgrl and Vic. I’m sorry for delaying you to your room but Dr. Hayes left an urgent message for you immediately after you guys left,” Cosmos said. "He asked for your return to the hospital when you can. He requires a follow-up consultation regarding Vic."

Cosmos handed me the hotel phone. I took the receiver and dialed Ronan's direct line from memory.

"Dr. Hayes's office," a receptionist answered.

"It's Deppgrl. Ronan called for an urgent return visit."

Ronan's voice came on the line a moment later. "Deppgrl, thank you for calling back. I just need to see Vic before he leaves in a few days. Nothing terribly critical, but I want the specialists to see how he’s doing and clear him to fly."

"Understood," I replied. "We'll be at the hospital as soon as we can. We need to drop off a few items first."

"I'll keep my eyes open for you guys," he said.

We hung up, and I returned the phone to Cosmos.

We headed up to the suite to drop off the bag of smoked meats. We both drank a large glass of water, feeling the lingering grime of the city, and we decided a quick shower was warranted. We changed into fresh, comfortable clothes and headed back out.

"Ready for the mandated Round Two?" Vic asked, securing his UV umbrella with a wry twist of his lips.

"Better be," I replied. "Thankfully, the hospital is only two blocks away. No need to worry about Scott's turf this time."

The walk back to the hospital was brief. In the main lobby, the nurse who had attended me when my nose was broken greeted us.

"Welcome back," she said, with a warm smile. "Dr. Hayes is expecting you. I'll take you to his private office."

We followed her. Ronan was waiting, standing by his desk, professional and reassuring in his lab coat.

"Thank you for coming in so quickly," Ronan said, shaking Vic's hand. "Have a seat."

He guided Vic to a high stool and began his examination. Ronan was satisfied with the bruising's progression and the significant reduction in swelling around the nose.

"Excellent, excellent," Ronan murmured. He picked up his desk phone. "Dr. Evans can you and Dr. Chen pop over to my office for a quick consultation?"

Moments later, the eye surgeon and plastic surgeon entered. They performed a quick, collaborative exam on Vic's eye and nose, expressing their satisfaction with the healing progress.

"Have you been strictly adhering to the prescribed regimen: the pain medication, the antibiotic eye drops, and the oral antibiotics?" the eye surgeon inquired.

"Yeah, I am," Vic confirmed. "I take the pain meds twice a day—morning and night—but I've been managing daytime discomfort with OTC pain relievers. The drops and oral meds are taken as prescribed."

Ronan nodded, picking up a prescription pad. "If that’s the case, I'm going to transition you to a lower-dose pain med. Also, you should integrate alternating ice and heat applications several times a day to assist in both pain management and promote healing."

Vic accepted the instructions. "Will do. Thank you."

The surgeons left. Vic, Ronan, and I talked briefly about the importance of continued rest before we left the office. As we headed out, Vic was relieved that he was cleared to fly but he didn’t want to leave me here, alone, in New Zealand with “the blond caveman” that Vic called Scott.

We headed to The Corner Well – the small, well-maintained pharmacy that operated efficiently near the hotel and the pharmacy I used frequently when in New Zealand.  We headed to the pharmacy counter where my favorite pharmacist was working

The pharmacist, Brenda, recognized me instantly. "Good afternoon, Coach Deppgrl," she greeted me, her accent distinctly Kiwi. "It’s been a while. How’s the team?”

"They’re doing well, Brenda," I confirmed, placing Vic's prescription before her. "This is for my friend Vic. Since he’s a not a resident, he doesn’t have insurance. Do you guys still use discount cards?”

Brenda took the offered prescription and addressed Vic. "Welcome to New Zealand, Vic," she said. "We do. Would you guys like to use it?"

Vic, standing nearby, offered a knowing look at the use of my nickname. "Coach Deppgrl," he commented, a brief smile touching his lips. He then addressed Brenda, shaking his head. "That would be great, thanks!"

Brenda processed the discount card details. "Got it. Just give me about ten to fifteen minutes to get it ready.”

“Sure thing,” I said. “We’re in no rush.”

We decided to walk around for a bit and about twelve minutes, Brenda called us over. She handed the prescription over "Here is your prescription, Vic. The total is $48 NZD.”

I used my credit card to make the payment and expressed my gratitude. Stepping back outside, Vic placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "That was quick and a far better experience than back home." The day’s light was beginning to fade as we proceeded directly back to the hotel.

Vic and I  spent the rest of my days off before returning to work establishing a disciplined routine that prioritized my mental health sessions and Vic's physical recovery. We took short, guarded trips around Auckland - anything to maintain a sense of freedom without incurring exhaustion. On the days we were too tired to go out for lunch or dinner, we ate the smoked meat from Aqeel’s food truck.

Charlie, the owners, the coaches, and the players all showed their support when I returned on Wednesday. Vic joined me at the arena from Wednesday through Saturday for practices. The team's relief at my return was palpable and gratifying. Our new routine was structured: morning practice, film review with suggestions from the coaches, and the players and coaches meeting with their individual mental health team. The players' commitment was impressive, and I felt myself fully reintegrating into the rhythm of the game.

When it was Vic's last full day in New Zealand, we remained in the suite, savoring the quiet intimacy. Charlie and the rest of the organization had arranged a private, semi-romantic picnic dinner for us at a local park as a gesture of quiet support.

We arrived at the designated spot, a secluded rise in a small park overlooking the Waitematā Harbour. It was a thoughtful gesture but I thought it was a bit much. The team had laid out a thick, woven blanket and scattered half a dozen flickering LED candles, creating an intimate, soft glow against the deep twilight. A wicker basket sat open between two comfortable pillows.

“This is an exceptionally generous act, amore,” Vic murmured, his voice heavy with appreciation as he took in the quiet view. The city skyline was beginning to illuminate behind us, but here, the focus was entirely on the water and the immediate, private scene.

We settled onto the blanket. The dinner was luxurious in its simplicity: a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, a curated board piled high with local cheeses, grapes, cured meats, and crusty bread, culminating in a delicate chocolate tart.

Vic poured the wine. “To a week of difficult healing,” he toasted, clinking his glass against mine. “And to your successful return to coaching.”

I smiled, the memory of the hospital fear feeling distant, attenuated by the present quiet. “Thank you for anchoring me. You’re the reason that I stayed relaxed this week.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said, reaching out to gently trace the fading bruise near his eye. “I don’t belong here after and you know it. However, seeing you back at work, exercising your purpose—that was the best recovery medicine I could ask for.”

We ate slowly, the conversation low and easy, filled with quiet reflection on the grounding moments we’d shared: the quiet markets, the greasy satisfaction of the food truck lunch, and the comfortable silence of our time in the arena. The tension of Scott’s confrontation and the clinical worry of the hospital check-up were fully contained by the security of this moment.

As the tart was finished and the city lights twinkled in earnest, Vic turned to me, his gaze serious, weighty.

“I leave at first light,” he stated, his thumb smoothing the skin of my hand. “I hate having to leave and you being alone in the this beautiful.”

“I won’t be alone,” I assured him, lifting my head to meet his eyes. “I have protection, and I have the work. And you will return.”

He nodded, the look in his eyes holding a fierce, silent promise of an immediate, non-negotiable return. He didn't promise soon; he simply said, “I'll be back.” He pulled me close, the kiss deep and long, carrying the taste of wine and the promise of his commitment. It was a kiss of farewell, but delivered with the force of an oath.

He finally pulled away, resting his forehead against mine. “Now, let’s get you back to the suite. You need your rest, and I need a few hours of quiet before I face a fifteen-hour flight.”

We gathered the items. Hand in hand, we walked back toward the city lights, the sense of quiet, charged completion settling over the close of the chapter.

When we returned back to the hotel, we returned the picnic basket and blanket to Lorraine. She said that housekeeping and the kitchen staff will take care of the blanket and the dishes we used. As we got back to the suit, I knew that Vic and I wouldn’t be sleeping at all that night.

An anchor for the mind

We slept through the night, a profound, restorative collapse into the deep comfort of the hotel bed. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, my mind achieved genuine, uninterrupted rest, sinking into the secure, familiar weight of Vic’s arms. The quiet exhaustion of the previous night’s intense intimacy had finally subdued the hyper-vigilance, locking the fear outside the bedroom door.

I woke first, gently disentangling myself from Vic's tight, protective hold. The room was washed in the soft, diffused light of an Auckland morning, quiet save for the slow, steady rhythm of Vic’s breathing. The silence felt heavy with the necessity of action. The confrontation with my psychological damage could no longer wait. I retrieved my phone and the contact for my therapist, Blake. I needed to act, not think. I sent a rapid series of texts, a furious, stream-of-consciousness summary of the last seventy-two hours—the terrifying recognition, the hospital chaos, and the diagnosis—needing to externalize the heavy truth. While Blake was fully aware of Patrick's history from previous discussions over the years, he wasn't aware of the recent events from the past few days until i told him. Charlie didn't think it was appropriate to tell him He responded instantly:

Blake: I am so sorry that you've been dealing with that. When are you available to meet? If need be, I can rearrange my morning appointments.

Me: I can meet you in an hour and a half. Want to meet you at your tiny office?

Blake: Yes, that works. I'll see you then.

With the appointment set, I headed to the bathroom, the cool tiles underfoot a welcome, grounding sensation. The shirts we had washed the night before were now completely dry, hanging crisp and neat over the shower curtain rod—a small, tangible victory of order over chaos. I took them down, folded them, closed the curtain, and stepped into a scalding shower. I let the water beat down, turning the cleansing into a ritual of preparation, allowing the heat to penetrate the deep muscle memory of the hospital gurney and the violent, uncontrollable shivering. Once dry, I took my time, brushing my teeth and putting in my contacts, layering the mundane acts as a necessary defense before facing the emotional exposure ahead.

I walked back into the bedroom and pulled on comfortable, functional clothes—layered cotton and soft denim—a deliberate choice to counter the vulnerability of the night before. I was standing at the desk, preparing to leave a note for Vic, when his low groan cut through the quiet. He rolled heavily onto his back, his eyes still heavy with sleep. “Where are you going, amore?” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and concern.

“I was able to get an in-person session with Blake—we usually just have virtual sessions. I'll be heading out shortly,” I said, placing the pen down.

Vic sat up immediately, his eyes focusing on me with a sudden, intense concentration that wiped away all residual sleep. He rubbed his jaw, his eyes fixed on mine. “A session? That’s good. I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes. I’ll wait in the waiting room at the office.”

I smiled faintly. “It’s not exactly an office, Vic. Blake just has a small space in a building—more like a utility closet, honestly. Most of our sessions are walks. It’s less claustrophobic that way for many of his clients, and it just looks like friends taking a walk.”

He frowned, then nodded, the security implications registering instantly. “A walk is better than sitting in some small box. If you’re walking, I’m walking too. Can I walk right behind you?”

I shook my head, walking over to the bedside and sitting next to him. “It’s better if you don’t invade the session that closely. I need the space. But listen, Agent Riley has a bike. I ask him to lend it to you. That way, you could still be nearby me but not actually invade the session itself.”

Vic considered this, a slow, determined grin spreading across his face. “A bike. I like the idea of moving. That sounds like a good idea. I agree. If it helps you get through this, I’m in.”

“You have to keep at least one hundred feet away from Blake and I during the session,” I stipulated, holding his gaze. “I need to feel like I’m truly having a session with him.”

“One hundred. Understood,” Vic confirmed, already climbing out of bed and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. The lingering stiffness from the gurney was still evident in his movements, but his focus was absolute. “Let’s get this done.”

As we headed downstairs after his shower, brushing his teeth and getting dressed, the security detail was already on alert, seamlessly anticipating our movements. I pulled Agent Riley aside. “Vic would like to borrow your bike to be near me while I have my session with Blake. Would you be able to lend it to him?”

Riley was already moving toward the back of the SUV, his movements economical and swift. “Consider it done. I need ninety seconds to load it onto the rack.” He made a quick dash to where the agents’ door was located, went inside and came right back out with his bike. the sharp click of the bike rack securing the mountain bike confirmed his efficiency.

Once the mountain bike was securely attached, Agent Riley drove us the twenty minutes across the city to the building where Blake’s “office” was located—a discreet, unassuming block nestled in a quieter area, designed specifically for anonymity.

We got out. Vic and I introduced him to Blake, who was waiting discreetly on the sidewalk, calm, wearing simple walking clothes, and professionally observant. I briefly explained to Blake that Vic would be riding a bike near us while respectfully maintaining distance during the session. With a genuine, understanding smile on his face, Blake immediately agreed. “Not a problem at all. My priority is her comfort and safety, and if having him nearby helps you open up, that’s what we’ll do.”

Blake and I headed down the street immediately. Vic followed us down a moment later after retrieving the bike from Riley and quickly checking the tire pressure.

Once Blake and I were moving, I set a rapid pace down the sidewalk. I needed the physical rhythm—the movement of my legs, the swing of my arms—to contain the deep, anxious energy that had returned with the daylight. The initial politeness vanished as I launched into the details of the Patrick fiasco. I spoke in a continuous, measured stream, forcing the ugly, terrifying history out into the daylight, needing to externalize the burden of the last few days. I told Blake how Patrick had walked right out of the facility, and no one had said a thing. I recounted the terrifying moment I recognized him at the club Vic and I had gone to, and how I had convinced myself I was hallucinating, choosing not to accept what my eyes were telling me. The next day, he was brazen enough to dress up as a taxi driver I had used years ago—a truly poor get-up, but effective enough to confirm my dread.

I recounted reporting the incident to Cathal, Patrick's subsequent arrest, and his placement in a high-security prison. The story culminated with the bleak finality: somehow, Patrick was able to commit suicide while incarcerated. I then described the immediate physical fallout—my hospitalization for exhaustion and dehydration, the discharge, and then the return twelve hours later. Finally, I summarized Ronan’s - Dr. Hayes' - intervention—the battery of tests he ran, how everything was considered normal, and how he ultimately suggested I was experiencing acute physical and emotional PTSD from the culmination of all these events.

Blake listened without interruption, his posture open and completely nonjudgmental. His steady presence was a necessary anchor. When I finally finished the harrowing recital, he paused only briefly, letting the silence settle. His initial response was an apology—not for himself, but for the sheer violation I had endured while attempting to do my professional duty for the All Blacks.

“Treating patients with PTSD is always inherently difficult,” Blake stated. “It is a profound psychological response to a situation no human should ever have to endure. What makes recovery complex is that not every patient is the same; the path forward requires an intensely personalized, individualized treatment approach.”

We continued to talk about how I felt about the entire situation and then shifted to discussing Vic's reaction. I admitted that I didn’t actually know how Vic felt about it, as he actively avoided talking about it, often just tightening his arm around me or trying to change the subject.

Blake suggested that Vic and I sit down and discuss it directly, stressing that while it would be hard, it was necessary to move forward as a couple and process the shared trauma. “You can’t navigate this alone, and he can’t navigate his worry alone. You have to open that conversation, no matter how difficult it feels.” He also suggested that I journal about the events, the emotions, and the physical symptoms, noting that the physical act of writing can help externalize and manage the trauma. “Get it out of your head and onto the page. You control the narrative there.”

I agreed with Blake about the necessity of talking it over with Vic, and I also agreed with him about starting a journal. We agreed to meet again in three days.

The session concluded naturally as we looped back toward the building. Blake and I shared a quick, firm embrace, a calculated move to reinforce the public perception of us as two friends parting ways—a useful pretense, even though most residents of this quiet area knew his profession. They adhered to a code of silent respect, giving both he and his patients a notably wide berth. I searched for Vic down the path, and my eyes locked onto his, a powerful sense of grounded security washing over me. He pedaled up to me, covering the distance swiftly on the bike. He then dismounted the bike in a single, fluid motion. He moved with the quiet, inherent authority of someone claiming his ground, his presence immediate and solid.

“How was it?” Vic asked, immediately taking the bike’s handlebars in one hand and reaching for my hand with the other, his gaze searching mine for residual distress.

“It was necessary,” I replied, squeezing his hand. “He said it’s going to be a different kind of treatment for recovery.”

Vic nodded, his eyes scanning the quiet street and the SUV parked nearby, a perpetual guardian. “Different is good. Did he give you homework? Did he need me to tackle anyone?”

I laughed softly, a genuine sound, releasing some of the tension I hadn’t known I was holding. “No tackles needed. And yes, homework. We need to talk, Vic. And I need to start writing things down.”

“The hard stuff?” he asked, his voice low and protective.

“The hard stuff, Papa. All of it.”

“Okay,” he said, meeting his eyes, a promise in the look. “We’ll do the hard stuff. Starting tonight.”

We exchanged silent acknowledgement of the work done, and together, we headed back to the waiting SUV, the completion of this first, critical step toward recovery settling deep in my bones.

The drive back to the hotel was quick and silent, a necessary calm settling over the SUV after the emotional intensity of the session. Vic’s hand never left mine, a quiet reassurance that the hard work had begun. Agent Riley pulled into the underground parking garage, and we were quickly escorted back up to the secure floor. The familiar faces of our agents were a silent wall of safety as we re-entered our room, the heavy door locking behind us with a solid, satisfying thud.

The immediate need was simple: food. The morning's activity had burned through our energy reserves. I picked up the phone to dial room service.

Cosmos answered on the first ring, his voice smooth and professional. “Good afternoon, Cosmos speaking. How may I assist you?”

“Hi, Cosmos, it’s Deppgrl. We’d like to order lunch, please.”

There was a slight, almost imperceptible hesitation on his end. “I sincerely apologize, but the kitchen is completely closed until dinner prep begins. We had an unexpected surge in demand this morning due to the hotel being booked to maximum capacity, and we ran into a temporary issue with insufficient inventory. Our delivery of fresh produce and meat will arrive just before dinner service, but we simply cannot fulfill any further lunch orders right now.”

I frowned, glancing at Vic, who was already pulling out his phone. “Oh, I understand. It happens. Not an issue, friend!”

“I insist on assisting you immediately,” Cosmos cut in, his tone warm. “Please, order whatever you like from an outside restaurant—anything at all—and have it delivered. We will arrange for an agent to collect it at the security checkpoint and bring it right up. Of course, the charge for your lunch will be placed directly on my account. Consider it a thank you for your patience.”

I smiled, warmed by the gesture, though accepting such a generous personal offer felt inappropriate. “That’s incredibly kind of you, Cosmos,” I replied. “Thank free order something simple on our own. We truly appreciate the thought.”

“My absolute pleasure. Enjoy your meal, and please do let me know if you require anything else,” he replied, before ending the call.

I placed the phone back in its cradle, the silence heavy with decision. “Food truck,” I said. “I need something that's quick and off the hotel property."

Vic instantly agreed, his eyes lighting up at the thought of leaving the hotel again. “I’m in.” After a moment of rapid discussion, we settled on a local food truck I knew well. It, unfortunately, was in Scott’s neighborhood only a few blocks away. That was something that I wasn’t going to tell Vic until we got there.

The real diagnosis

The hospital's blue polyester blanket offered little comfort, its thin fabric a poor substitute for the warmth of peace. Yet, the heavy, anchoring presence of Vic at my side compensated for the sterile chill of the private exam room. We occupied the narrow confines of the gurney together, its rubber wheels locked and silent within the privacy Ronan had secured for us. Vic was utterly spent, his sleep deep and restorative, his soft, rhythmic exhale brushing my collarbone. It was the only weight I welcomed, a reassuring counterpoint to the dread that cinched my lungs.

I felt a bizarre envy for his oblivion. My own body refused to capitulate to rest. The residual exhaustion from the last two days had morphed into an energy, fueled by the muted clamor seeping in beneath the closed door—the muted conversations, the distant coughs, staff screaming out for crash carts, nurses calling security to come to the ER, and the relentless thrum of the institution. My physical anchors were the thin bundle of wires taped to my chest and arm, connecting me to the trio of sticky monitor pads. The machine beside my head offered a quiet, measured beep… beep…

My eyes tracked the cracks in the ceiling, a meaningless pattern that did little to distract from the lingering ghost of the cold, hard surface of the PET and CT scanners. The PET and CT were complete. We had rendered the necessary images, injected the contrast, and now the truth existed, digitized and waiting. I found myself in a state of excruciating suspension, balanced on the verge of life-altering news. I gently shifted my hand, my fingers interlacing with Vic’s where they rested against my hip. He muttered something low and indistinct in his sleep. I stayed perfectly still, listening to the dual, necessary rhythms: his solid breathing, and the monitor’s sterile confirmation of my survival.

He hadn't left my side for nearly forty-eight hours nor had me out of his sight for long, surviving on vending machine rations and uncomfortable chairs. Thankfully, he had real food before we arrived here. Now, finally, he was claiming his deserved rest.

The silence was broken by the squeak of approaching footwear, and my heart hammered against my ribs, a sudden, frantic counter-rhythm to the machine's steady beep. Vic sensed the shift. Though his eyes remained closed, his arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer to the familiar scent of his shirt.

“We’re okay,” he mumbled, his voice a gravelly comfort ripped from sleep before falling back asleep.

A brief, polite knock preceded the door opening. Ronan and his nurse Pia arrived back. Ronan held the results on a slim tablet, his expression guarded but notably softer than before. Pia offered a small, sincere smile—a vital sign of hope.

Ronan looked straight at me. “We have the results back from the PET and CT scans. There’s nothing of concern within your organs and bones. However, I think due to your situation with Patrick, the exhaustion and dehydration got the best of you.”

The wave of relief that crashed over me was so immediate and overwhelming it threatened to undo me. It felt like a deep, calcified vice around my entire being had been shattered. My eyes blurred immediately. I buried my face into Vic’s shoulder, a single sharp sigh escaped. The sound jolted Vic fully awake.

“Negative?” Vic’s voice cracked, raw with terror and exhaustion.

“Negative,” Ronan confirmed. “Structurally, based on the imaging, you are clear. However, the symptoms—uncontrollable shivering and sleeping—were profoundly real. The physical cause isn't a structural problem to your bones but mental trauma.”

Ronan's expression became one of focused empathy, his gaze holding mine. “What you experienced wasn’t being cold. It was a severe, acute response to trauma. The terror of knowing Patrick was loose as he escaped and was in extreme proximity to you, coupled with the finality of his death, combined with the physical strain of dehydration while exploring Auckland, it overloaded your central nervous system. Your body staged a complete emotional shutdown, a kind of seizure in response to overwhelming anxiety.”

The explanation resonated, chilling and undeniable. The fear of an unseen physical illness was replaced by the hollow understanding that the psychological wounds ran deeper than I had permitted myself to acknowledge.

“I’m moving to discharge you,” Ronan stated. “Are you still seeing your therapist?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Then I strongly urge you to begin discussing everything that dealt with Patrick over the last two days as soon as you can. You’re physically clear, but your mind needs dedicated recovery.”

“I agree,” I said. Vic said nothing, only pulling me tighter as the tension of the last two days finally dissolving.

Pia stepped forward. “That is truly excellent news. I’ll prepare your discharge papers now.”

“Vic, you’re the unofficial but officially unofficial caretaker of Deppgrl when you get back to the hotel,” Ronan said.

Ronan reviewed the aftercare instructions: rest as needed, eat throughout the day, stay hydrated but only use two rehydration packets a day – one in the morning and one in the afternoon – and to relax as much as possible. Vic and I nodded

After Ronan and Pia left, Vic did not move. He didn't leave the gurney until I was officially discharged.  Pia returned to peel away the wires and sticky monitor pads. Vic helped me into my clothes, and we left the blanket and the commotion behind. Stepping out of the room and into the main corridor was like re-entering the world after a long, blinding immersion.

The hospital's air, though filtered and cooled, felt like a rush of freedom. Vic’s hand never left the small of my back as we navigated the final corridors, his touch grounding and protective.

We passed through the automatic glass doors, and the late afternoon light of Auckland washed over us, weak but real. The city sounds—the rush of traffic, the low, wet sigh of tires on pavement—were overwhelming in their normalcy.

Agent Riley's black SUV was waiting precisely where it should have been; at the ER entrance. Riley, a familiar face with an air of contained competence, offered a tight nod as he held the door open for me. I slid onto the cushioned seat, a profound luxury after the gurney's vinyl. Vic followed but from the other side, but his movement was visibly slow and stiff. He had to use the frame of the door to lever himself in, his joints protesting audibly.

“Tough climb, old man?” I murmured, reaching for his hand.

He settled in, letting his head rest against the window for a second before turning to me. “That gurney was built to punish the sleep-deprived. I’ll be stiff for a few days.” He gave my hand a tired squeeze. “But I’ll take stiff over scared any day.”

Riley pulled away silently. We drove in comfortable silence, Vic’s arm wrapped securely around my shoulders, his chin resting lightly on my head. I watched the city blur past feeling like a foreigner that I am working in a country I didn’t know nor understand.

Riley pulled up at our hotel by a discreet side curb. Riley helped me get out of the car as Vic was slowly getting out of the car. I am thankful we had Riley as he ensured I was steady on my feet.

“I’ll take it from here, Riley. Thanks,” Vic said, rubbing his lower back.

“Get some rest,” Riley replied, nodding to me. “We’re right here when you need us.”

We walked inside of the hotel, holding hands. We took the elevator up to the sixth floor, got out and headed to a private elevator where Cosmos and Lorraine were waiting for us. They let us in and Vic hit the button for our floor and suit.

When we got to our floor, we saw three armed agents outside of our door. Vic didn't waste time as he pulled out the electronic key card from his wallet, unlocked the door, and let me step into the sanctuary of our room first. He followed, closing the door firmly, then immediately engaging the series of complex locking mechanisms we had installed ourselves—the double deadbolts, the metal bar brace, the electronic tamper sensors. The clunk and snap of the locks were the final, satisfying signal of security.

The room smelled faintly of clean laundry and the distant aroma of the ocean.

“Shower. Now,” I stated, already unbuttoning my shirt.

Vic chuckled, undoing his own belt. “You read my mind. I feel like I’m wearing the hospital.”

We stripped and got in the shower, forgetting that the shirts were in there already. The rush of hot water was a luxurious physical balm, washing away the tension and the lingering smell of antiseptic. As we showered, we unplugged the drain so the water from our soaking shirts could drain as well as take the hospital scent with it. We rinsed the laundry detergent out of the shirts, kneading the fabric until the water ran clear. The shirts came out clean and the grease from the birria tacos were no longer there. We took our time in the hot shower, letting the steam and the heat seep into our muscles. I leaned against his chest, listening to the solid beat of his heart.

“Promise me you’ll call your therapist tomorrow,” Vic murmured against my hair.

“I promise,” I said as I washed my hair for the third time before applying conditioner. I scrubbed my body with soap as Vic used another bar of soap to wash his hair and body…I could tell he was exhausted. We rinsed off.

Finally, we turned off the tap. We dried off, and the shower curtain was left open so we could hang the shirts over the shower rod to dry overnight without a barrier. I walked to the counter, took out my brush, and began the familiar, calming ritual of brushing and braiding my hair, a habit that always settled my nerves. I hung up my towel, brushed my teeth, applied deodorant, and headed straight for the bed.

As I got to the bed, I saw it: a small, cream-colored envelope on my pillow.

“What’s this?” I asked, picking it up.

Vic, who was hanging his towel on the rack, looked over. “Looks like some kind of note.”

I opened it. Inside was a handwritten note from Cosmos and Lorraine: “Dear Deppgrl, We very sorry to hear that you had an emergency. We and the staff are so relieved to know you are back with us and hoping you’re doing well now. Please let us know if either you or Vic need anything. We hope you feel much better very soon. Warmly, Cosmos and Lorraine”

The gesture was kind, but the thought of a note handled by multiple people resting where I put my face instantly broke my peace.

“No,” I decided instantly, dropping the card into the waste bin with a decisive thump. I stripped the pillowcase off the pillow and tossed it onto the floor in the pile of the clothes we wore to the hospital. “I don’t like things that have passed through many hands placed on where I am going to sleep.”

Vic came over and watched me find a fresh, clean pillowcase from the closet. He didn't argue. He knew this level of detail was part of my coping mechanism.

“Good call,” he said.

I adjusted the fresh pillow, smoothing the cotton. We folded the bedding further down to the foot of the bed so we could climb into bed. Once comfortable, we pulled up just the sheet.

The stillness was thick, but not the same sterile dread as the hospital. This was a quiet charged with exhaustion. I lay on my back, watching the shadows deepen in the room.

Ten minutes later, I shifted, my voice a quiet intrusion. “I can’t sleep.”

Vic exhaled slowly, the sound rough. “I can’t either.” He rolled toward me, his face close, his eyes reflecting the soft ambient light filtering through the window. “I’m too keyed up.”

I reached for him, rolling fully to face him. I kissed him, a long, deep kiss that tasted like steam and relief. As the kiss ended, I stretched my hand down to his hardening dick.

He gasped, a deep, immediate sound of pleasure. He cupped the back of my neck, pulling me back to his mouth. “Wait,” he whispered, his voice thick, his eyes searching mine. “Tell me, amore. Are you really wanting me, or are you just trying to forget everything?”

I held his gaze, my hand gripping him. “I want you. More than anything,” I told him, the truth of it solid and immediate. “I need you to remind me I’m here. Now.”

He smiled then, a flash of pure, loving relief, and kissed me hard. I began to stroke his dick, pulling him toward me. When he was ready, he spread my legs, pushed his large dick into my pussy, and started thrusting deep in me, slowly and gently.

“God, that’s good,” he muttered, his forehead resting against mine, his breathing ragged.

He picked up his pace. The long, slow tension of the hospital was finally, forcefully released in a building storm of pressure and heat. In no time, we climaxed, and he shot his cum in me.

He caught his breath for a second, his body heavy and still on top of mine, before he lifted his head and started sucking and pinching my nipples. He let out a low groan, and then, without warning, he began to thrust his dick in and out of me again. I moaned, the pleasure almost too much after the intensity of the day. “Don’t stop, Vic. Please, don’t stop,” I begged him.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice raw, his movements becoming more animal and driven. “Not until I can’t cum anymore.” We came again, a massive, shuddering climax that stole the breath from both of us. He shot his cum in me, his body shaking with the force of it.

Driven by a frantic, urgent need to reaffirm life and presence, we spent the next few hours having passionate sex throughout the room. We left the bed for the leather couch, where I took control in Cowgirl position, rocking and grinding with desperate energy. The momentum drew us toward the large bay window; with the curtains wide open, he lifted me and pressed me against the glass in a tight Standing Missionary, driving into me hard and fast, indifferent to the dark world outside. We didn’t care if people on the street could see us nor people in the other sky rises nearby. Finally, seeking a different sensation, we moved to the hard, cool surface of the bathroom counter. I sat on the counter edge, pulling him into me as he was controlling the speed and the angle as he stood between my legs, driving into me until the echoes of the hospital were completely silenced by the sounds of skin and breath

We finally returned to the bed, collapsing onto the sheets. Vic moved over me, his powerful dick driving deep inside me for the last time this night. This final time was a quiet force, a powerful, steady rhythm that settled deep in my core, less frantic than the earlier passion and more profound. As the final climax broke over us, Vic's entire body seized. His groan was deep and primal as his long, shuddering orgasm began, filling me with a final, load of cum. The release was a deep, powerful draining torrent of cum, the culmination of all the tension we had carried; his muscles continued to contract and release, his whole frame trembling for several minutes as his dick twitched and pulsed inside me until he was completely empty of cum. He collapsed forward, his great weight sinking onto me, a final, comforting anchor.

He finally pulled out of me and laid down next to me as he pulled me into his arms, tucking me against his chest.

“Do you think you can sleep now, amore?” he asked, his voice rough but deeply content.

“Yes, Papa” I answered, the word a soft sigh.

He smiled, kissed the top of my head, and said, “Good. I can too, amore.”

He pulled me closer to him, pulled up the sheets to cover us, and we fell asleep.

Necessary goodbyes

The first thing I registered was the cold, sterile smell—a mix of disinfectant and dry air conditioning. Then came the steady, rhythmic beep... beep... beep... of a cardiac monitor next to my head. I tried to move, and a dull ache settled across my chest.

When I forced my eyes open, the bright fluorescent light above was blurred, but the four massive figures clustered around my bedside were unmistakable. Charlie was standing closest, his normally pristine suit slightly rumpled. Cheech was a hulking, silent presence near the foot of the bed, his arms crossed, the concern etched deep into his features. Cathal leaned against the wall, watchful and tense.

And then there was Vic. He was sitting beside me, his good eye fixed on my face. His black eye had deepened to an angry purple, and the skin around his nose was still swollen, the bridge covered in a small, taped splint. He looked exhausted, but relieved.

My throat was dry, scratchy. I swallowed hard and managed a weak whisper.

“What happened?”

The simple effort of speaking, of trying to grasp the reality of the last few hours, was too much. The sterile white ceiling swam, the faces of the four men tilted and merged, and the rhythmic beeping of the monitor faded into a deep, comforting silence.

A short time later—it felt like mere seconds, though it could have been minutes or hours—my eyes snapped open again. This time, the edges of the room were sharper. The four men were still there, leaning forward now, their faces closer, their anxiety palpable.

Vic immediately reached out and gently laid his hand over mine, avoiding the IV line running into the back of my hand.

“Hey, you’re back,” he murmured, his voice thick with relief. “Don't talk. Just look at me.”

Cheech let out a heavy sigh that sounded like a gust of wind. “Don’t ask what happened again, Deppgrl. Just breathe. We've been sweating bullets here.”

Before I could form a response, the heavy door clicked open. Two men entered the room, moving with the practiced efficiency of doctors. One was familiar: Bobby, the team doctor, looking tired but alert. The other was a distinguished-looking man in a crisp white coat with a name tag that read: Dr. Ronan Hayes, Head of Emergency Services.

I looked at Ronan, finding a hard time how I knew him. I strained to focus. “Bobby,” I rasped, ignoring the new face and trying to get a straight answer from someone familiar.

Bobby walked straight to my bedside, his eyes scanning the monitors. “Welcome back, Coach. Glad to see those eyes open. We're running on fumes here, too.”

Vic, still holding my hand, looked up at the doctors, his voice strained and raw. “How is she, Doc? Is this going to be long-term?”

Charlie stepped forward, running a hand over his hair in frustration. “She doesn't normally pass out like that, Doctor. We think it’s the stress, dehydration, and not sleeping for the last thirty-six hours that finally caught up with her. It was a hell of a day.”

Dr. Hayes looked at the screen, then at me, his tone firm. “We’ve stabilized her heart rate as her heart rate was a bit high and given her fluids. Bobby and I reviewed the situation. The cumulative stress is immense. It was an adrenaline crash, compounded by physical exhaustion and severe dehydration. She needs absolute quiet and rest.” He looked sternly at the four men. “Which means only one person stays, and the rest need to leave immediately. This is not a social hour.”

Vic tightened his grip on my hand, pulling my attention back to him. “I’m staying.”

“Vic, your face looks like a road map of a fight club,” Cathal noted dryly, stepping away from the wall. “You look worse than she does, man. Go get some actual sleep.”

“Not until she’s fully alert and we’ve talked,” Vic insisted, his gaze locked on me, challenging anyone to argue.

I managed a slight squeeze of his hand. It was the only signal I could offer.

“Vic stays,” I rasped, my voice sounding like sandpaper. “The rest of you, go. Thank you.” I looked at Cheech, who looked ready to argue. “Call Kay.”

Cheech nodded instantly, his eyes tightening with understanding. Charlie sighed, looking defeated but compliant, knowing an order was an order.

“We’ll be right outside, Coach. Literally,” Charlie promised, pulling Cathal and Cheech with him. “Don't move a muscle without telling me.”

As the door clicked shut, leaving only Vic, Bobby, and Dr. Hayes, I took a deep, shaky breath. Six hours of sleep and constant IV hydration had finally pulled me back from the edge, leaving me weak but present.

Dr. Hayes consulted a tablet clipped to the foot of the bed. “Through constant monitoring and testing through the night, the final results confirm your assessment, Coach. This was a severe case of stress, exhaustion, and dehydration. Her body simply shut down.”

“Dr. Hayes,” Bobby began, looking worried. “We need to discuss the specific treatment plan before we move forward. I have her medical history on file.”

Dr. Hayes held up a hand, cutting him off politely but firmly. “Bobby, I appreciate the excellent temporary care you’ve provided, but I’ll need to take over now. For patient privacy, and due to the sensitive nature of the information we'll discuss, I need to ask you to leave. As a longtime friend of the patient, you can’t maintain a dual relationship with you also being her primary care physician at the moment, especially given the situation.”

Bobby paused, then nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation and the unwritten rules. “Of course, Doctor. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything at all.” He gave me a brief, concerned look and left.

Dr. Hayes sighed softly as the door closed, before turning back to me, a genuine, warm smile finally breaking through his professional demeanor. Ronan, my old college friend, was still in there somewhere.

He walked over and sat down gently on the edge of the bed by my feet. “Listen, you idiot,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, affectionate register. “You scared the hell out of everyone. Vic wouldn't leave your side, Charlie looked like he was having a stroke, and Cheech nearly took the emergency room apart trying to find me. Don’t start me on Cathal…..I swear he’s your long lost twin. You owe me big for this one.”

“Sorry, Ronan,” I mumbled, feeling the old guilt surface. “I’ll pay whatever damages were done by Cheech. And thanks for hiding our friendship; I owe you for that too.”

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to your body. Look, you’re stable, but I want you to stay for a few more hours. We need to run some repeat tests to ensure you’re completely clear, medically safe, and that all your vitals are holding steady before I sign off on your release. You need to be better before I do so,” he said, squeezing my foot. “You’re welcome. I’m thankful that Cheech didn’t blow the secret but he was close! Now rest.”

I nodded slightly. “As long as I get to nap in between testing, I’m okay with it. Don’t try to talk to me when I’m sleeping, okay? I get cranky.”

Ronan chuckled softly. “Deal. Now, you sleep. I’ll be back in a bit to start the next round of blood work.” He squeezed my foot through the sheet, a gesture of old friendship, and rose quietly.

I was asleep before he left the room.

I slept through the next round of testing, only vaguely registering the cool pressure of the blood pressure cuff. I was eventually woken up by Ronan gently shaking my shoulder.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” he said, pulling back the curtain. “All done. All clear to go. You’re good to go.”

Vic immediately rushed in, followed by Charlie. Vic’s face showed the strain of the last 12 hours, but he looked completely relieved.

Ronan looked at Charlie. “She’s medically safe to leave but needs rest and to follow Ronan’s instructions to the letter. No working for at least 48 hours. Get her out of here, Charlie.”

Charlie stepped forward, rubbing his hands together. “Excellent news. I’ve already done some damage control. Vic, your flight home has been extended for another eight days. Your boss understood that this was a legitimate emergency, and once I sent your wife pictures of that face, she stopped arguing. She thinks you’re legitimately too hurt to fly and needs a few days to recover.”

I stretched, letting out a massive, audible yawn. “That’s fantastic. Thank you, Charlie. I really appreciate that.”

Charlie nodded. “We’re heading back to the first hotel, but you’ll be in a different room—a heavily secured suite on a secure wing for diplomats. We’ll have security throughout the hotel for the next few days until things settle down. Just for your peace of mind,” He leaned down and lowered his voice, winking conspiratorially. “Dr. Hayes told me your urine test came back pristine clean. No need to worry about that mandated test on Tuesday.”

I gave him a wide, genuine smile. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

Vic walked over and held up a small plastic bag for me to see. “These are instant ice packs, pain medication, and antibiotics—both oral tablets and eye drops—to make sure my eye doesn’t get infected. Ronan had an ER doctor and an ophthalmologist check me out as a precaution. They were impressed with Bobby's temporary splint and confirmed nothing was seriously damaged. Like I said, the antibiotics are a precaution.”

Just then, Cheech cleared his throat from the doorway. He looked anxious, his massive frame shifting nervously.

I knew this was the important part. I gave Charlie a look, and he nodded, immediately ushering Vic out.

“Give the Coach a minute, Vic. We need to talk to her about the logistics and new team schedule,” Charlie lied smoothly, guiding Vic toward the door.

Once the door was closed, Cheech stepped in and closed the door behind him. “Kay did the impossible. She got a certified copy of Patrick’s death certificate, signed by four separate medical doctors. They were the ones who confirmed his death was real. They also sent over a certified copy of the autopsy report. He is officially gone.”

I let out a shuddering sigh of relief that I hadn't realized I was holding. “Thank fuck. That’s good. That weight is finally gone.”

Cheech nodded, but his expression remained serious. “Look, Deppgrl. The underground is buzzing with rumors that Bunny and I helped you escape, and that’s enough for us. We need to disappear for a few years and Kay agrees. We need cosmetic surgery to alter our appearances and get new identities; Kay is helping us with everything. As her clients, she can’t break confidentiality. We hope to see you in a few years, but the possible connection between us has to be forgotten in the meantime due to those rumors. We're too well-known.” He leaned in, his voice thick with emotion. “Your brother Bob will be the only one who can contact us.”

Tears welled in my eyes. “Don’t say that. I can’t lose you guys. You’re family.”

“You won’t lose us,” Cheech insisted, stepping closer. “It's too dangerous right now. I’ll call Bob soon and fill him in on everything. Including that you’re okay, but that we’re gone. He’ll handle everything else. Be safe, Coach.” He reached out and gently squeezed my shoulder.

“I love you, Cheech. Be safe. Both of you.”

He nodded, a deep sadness in his eyes, and then he was gone.

Vic came back in a minute later, carrying a large tote bag with my clothes, phones, IDs, the licenses for the gun and taser, and my utility belt. Cathal followed, carrying the gun and taser himself, as Vic didn't have the necessary clearances or licensure for either weapon.

“Time to get dressed, Deppgrl,” Vic said gently, looking concerned. “Cathal’s driving us back. You ready to move?”

Vic and Cathal helped me out of the bed. My body felt heavy and brittle, a patchwork of aches and bruises from the fall. I let them help me into my clothes, and Bobby returned with a wheelchair, already waiting by the door.

We took the elevator down to the loading dock where Cathal’s sedan was parked. Charlie and Scott were waiting there. Scott came over and made sure I was safely transferred into the back seat. Charlie hovered nearby, looking pale and subdued. They would follow us back to the hotel to assist me in getting out, ensuring a smooth transition.

“Try to relax, Coach. Don’t even think about the team until Wednesday,” Charlie instructed. “We’ll be right behind you.”

Cathal took off, driving slowly and carefully, knowing I was in pain from the significant bruising and fall. We arrived at the second hotel room in the first hotel just ahead of Charlie and Scott.

I gathered myself and the tote bag, preparing for the unwanted help. As Cathal opened the car door, he intercepted Scott, who was eager to assist.

“Scott, wait. She’s covered in bruises, man. Be careful and e gentle with her,” Cathal warned in a low voice, positioning himself between Scott and the car door. “I’ll have your head if she’s in pain when you get her out of the car.”

Scott nodded, his expression softening slightly. He carefully helped me swing my legs out of the car. The second my feet were on the ground, I grabbed Vic’s arm, pulling him close and leaning heavily on him.

I whispered to Vic: “Make it look like I don’t need anyone else but you, Papa. Get Scott to back off so he leaves on his own. I need Charlie and Cathal gone once I’m settled.”

Vic immediately put his arm securely around my waist and gave Scott a polite but firm look. “I’ve got her, Scott. Thanks for help getting her and out of the car, man.”

Scott hesitated for a moment, then backed away, recognizing the dismissal. Charlie firmly told Scott to wait at the car as Charlie had some private team information to share with me and since Scott is currently suspended, he isn’t authorized to hear it. Scott turned and headed back to Cathal’s waiting car without a word.

Vic, Charlie and Cathal helped me into the hotel suite and onto a plush armchair.

“Alright, Coach, here’s the plan,” Charlie announced, pulling out his phone. “You are officially taking Monday and Tuesday off. No check-ins, no calls. You need to recover and sleep. Vic will look after you.”

“And who will be babysitting the team? I’m worried they’ll think I’m abandoning them,” I asked, rubbing my temples.

“Cathal and I will handle it. We already told the players the drill,” Charlie said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “They know Cathal isn’t as nice nor as beautiful as you are. They are now on three-a-day practices for the rest of the week. They'll be too tired to cause trouble when you return.”

Cathal added, “A morning practice focused entirely on team-building skills, then lunch and a quick, mandatory therapy session, followed by the afternoon practice dedicated to plays and scrimmages. Plus, both offense and defense players will learn the plays of the others. Offense will learn defense, and defense will learn offense. No more silos. You'll thank us later.”

I smiled, despite the pain. “I love that. It’ll help grow the team and open them up to trick plays and personnel changes during games. That’s brilliant. You two did a good job.”

Charlie laughed. “See? We can be smart sometimes. Get some rest, Deppgrl. We’ll see you Wednesday. Don't worry about a thing.”

“Thank you, both of you. You’ve been absolute lifesavers,” I said, feeling the exhaustion hit immediately.

Charlie and Cathal left, closing the door softly.

Vic came back from locking the door, and I was already fast asleep in the armchair. He left me there for an hour and a half, letting me catch up on the sleep I needed.

I woke with a gasp when Vic gently shook my shoulder.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Time to move,” he said softly. “Want a shower and something to eat? You need food, amore, not just IV fluid.”

“Yes, please,” I murmured, my stomach protesting immediately. “But I need help in the shower. I can’t risk falling and hurting myself worse.”

“I’d be happy to help, but slow and steady,” he said, his voice warm.

He helped me to my feet, steadying me as I swayed slightly. I let him undress me, then he quickly stripped off his own clothes. He carried me into the bathroom and set me gently on my feet, allowing me to lean against the marble sink while he tested the water temperature.

Once the water was perfect, he stepped in first, then helped me over the tub. I immediately grabbed the support bar mounted on the shower wall. He went to work, carefully washing and conditioning my hair.

“Do you need help with washing your body?” he asked, his hands moving gently over my curves, checking my bruising with a feather-light touch.

“No, I think I can manage that part,” I whispered, trying to reach the soap dish. As I tried to bend, a flash of pain hit my ribs, and I nearly slipped. He caught me instantly, his powerful arms locking around my waist.

“Nope. My job now,” he declared, his voice firm but tender. “You just hold on.”

He scrubbed my body, paying careful attention to my back and legs, then told me to hold on tight to the bar as he quickly washed his own body. After we rinsed off the last of the suds, he turned the water off, grabbed a fresh towel for me, then one for himself. We dried off, and he carried me, wrapped in the towel, straight to the bed.

Vic carefully placed me on the crisp hotel sheets and placed my robe around me. He looked down at me, a genuine, if exhausted, smile on his face.

“Okay, you’re clean and you need clothes. Sweats and fuzzy socks?” he asked. “Then, we eat. What are you craving? And don't even think about saying salad,” he warned, a playful edge in his voice.

I sighed happily, sinking into the soft mattress. “You know me too well. Yes, to the sweats and fuzzy socks. What I want most is you, Papa, but food wise, I’d love birria tacos—tons of them—with that incredible consume to dip them in. And the greasiest refried beans and the best rice you can find.”

Vic chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair. “If I had the ingredients and a full kitchen, I’d cook that entire meal for you myself, bruises and all. I figured that was exactly what you wanted. I called the Mexican place just after Charlie and Cathal were leaving to confirm that birria tacos were on the menu.”

Vic grabbed my clothes from the dressers and had picked the ugliest panties I own—so faded and the waist band so stretched out. I couldn’t help but laughed when I saw them. He placed them next to me and then remembered that he needed to order before the restaurant got busy.

“Do you want help to get dressed before I order? Or are we prioritizing food?” he asked, his eyes crinkling.

“I’ll wait as all I want is food right now. Don't keep me from my tacos,” I said.

“I’m going to place the order then. I’ll step out of the bedroom and into the kitchenette to make the call so you can rest if you want to.”

I nodded and watched this gorgeous man leave the bedroom. At times like this, I wish I was married to him because of how much he takes care of me but at the same time, I’m glad that we’re not married as we’d constantly cheat on each other. Thinking about this conundrum, I couldn’t fall asleep though my eyes were closed but grateful for the silence.

“Amore?” Vic said quietly as he entered the room. I opened my eyes so he knew that I was awake. “I just placed the order. Four orders of birria tacos—that’s twenty tacos total—two orders for you, two for me. There’s going to be so much rice and I asked for the greasiest refried beans that they could make. And they came with horchata, which I know you love.”

“You’re the best,” I whispered and smiled, feeling a genuine warmth spread through me. “Thank you for taking care of everything.”

“They said the order will be ready in ten minutes but delivered to the hotel in fifteen meets and delivered to the room by an agent. So, we need to get decent to open the door, even if it’s just for the agent.”

“I’m not sure how the agents would be able to handle your weapon, Papa,” I chuckled, a playful challenge in my eyes as I glanced at his briefs. “They’d definitely be envious.”

Vic laughed hard and loud at that then quickly pulled on a pair of briefs and a t-shirt. He then helped me out of the towel and robe and into some comfy clothes—soft sweatpants, my ugliest panties, an oversized t-shirt, and hotel slippers, leaving the socks and the sweatshirt to the side for now. Just as I was about to drift off, a sharp knock came at the door.

Vic glanced at the peephole. “Hold up. That’s not the guy who usually covers this floor. He's new.” He grabbed the burner phone. “I’m calling Cosmos.”

He waited a beat, then spoke into the phone. “Cosmos, it’s Vic in 1403. We have an agent at the door with our food, but I don’t recognize him. Tall guy, dark hair, looks like he’s trying too hard to blend in. Can you send up Agent Riley to confirm the agent before I open this?” He listened for a moment. “Got it. Thanks, man.”

After hanging up and a knock on the door a minute later, Vic looked through the peephole again and opened the door just enough for Agent Riley to confirm Agent Parker. Vic took the massive paper bag of food, thanked the agents and as he was closing the door, Agent Riley said that in the morning, he would get all the agents working in the hotel assigned to us as well as assigned to diplomats and have us meet them so we would know who they were.

“Would it be ok if I did a background check on them after we meet them all? For my peace of mind?” I asked, stepping up behind Vic.

“We already have, ma’am! Sorry….Coach,” Riley said, nodding respectfully. “You’re more than welcome to. We understand that you’ve had a few rough days and want to be extra cautious. I’ll bring a list of third party companies for you to use, if you'd like.”

“Thank you, Agent Riley,” I said. “I appreciate the list but the companies would be partial to you guys. I have contacts in companies I’ve used around the world. If you could just provide the roster in the morning.”

He nodded, a slight smile showing his appreciation for my cautious nature, then left. Vic carried the still piping hot food and the ice cold horchata to the table in front of the couch.

Once our butts were sat on the couch, Vic carefully arranging the containers on that tiny table as I turned on the tv and chose a movie. We ate both our orders in what felt like no time at all. Neither of us had realized how truly famished we were. We quickly finished the sweet, creamy horchata. We looked at our clothes and our hands then laughed. Our shirts and arms were covered in grease and consume from the birria tacos. We got up to wash our hands. In the bathroom, I grabbed a travel sized pouch of laundry detergent. “These shirts are done for if we don’t hit these stains now,” I squirted a small amount of detergent directly onto the grease spots on both shirts for pre-treatment. Vic plugged the tub and turned the water running. As the tub filled, I poured the rest of the pouch under the running water, creating suds. After a few minutes, he stopped the water, and I tossed our shirts into the soak.

We headed back into the living room area of the suite. Vic gathered the containers, wiping down the table with a napkin while I put on a different oversized shirt. I sat down and when he was done, he scooped me up off the couch. “Alright, back to bed, you. You look like you're about to fall over.”

He slid me under the covers. “I sleep better naked,” I mumbled, already halfway to sleep and reaching for my clothes.

“I know, amore. I sleep better when you’re naked too,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble as he gently pulled the blankets tightly around me. “But you’ve been shivering non-stop for the last forty-five minutes. I need you to just sleep for a little bit while I talk to Ronan about why you’ve been shivering. You're not cold, but your body thinks it is.”

I fell asleep before Vic left the room.

“Hey Ronan, I am so sorry to bother you again,” Vic said quietly into the phone from the kitchenette. “Deppgrl has been shivering for about forty-five minutes but she’s not cold. I know she had an IV of saline solution while she was in the hospital. She ate well, drank more water and is alert but still tired.”

Ronan’s voice was instantly concerned. “Is she more tired than usual or did she have a ton of those rehydration packets mixed with water? If she had a few of those packets since getting home, it would cause too much hydration, which can mimic hypothermia in rare cases. Is she sleeping right now?”

“Yeah she is,” Vic said, rubbing his temple. “Should I wake her and bring her in? I don’t like this, Doc.”

“I want eyes on her. I’ll feel better if we check her electrolytes again,” Ronan instructed. “I should be there in about ten minutes. When can we expect you there?”

“About fifteen minutes,” Vic sighed. “She hates being woken up and can be a bit of a bear, so give me a few minutes to get her moving and explain why we’re going back.”

They hung up then Vic reached out to Agent Riley to tell him that we need a ride back to the hospital and then came to wake me up.

“Amore? Mama…?” Vic said, shaking me gently. “Wake up. Ronan wants you back at the hospital, just for a quick check. He’s already on his way.”

“Ok,” I mumbled as I got out of the bed and made my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth, too tired to argue.

When I was done, I grabbed my glasses, my two passports, my phones and their chargers. I walked over to Vic. When we stepped out of the room, Agent Riley and a few others that we have seen before, escorted us to an SUV and we sped off to the ER.

Vic got out of the SUV, picked me up out of the SUV and carried me through the ER doors to a gurney that was waiting by the door for us. One of the nurses pushed the gurney and I to an exam room where Ronan just arrived to. Between Ronan and a few nurses, they took my vitals and took a few vials of blood. My blood pressure was a little lower than usual, my temperature was in range, and my oxygen levels were also fine. I slept as the blood work was being run.

I woke up for a few seconds to overhear Vic and Ronan compare a CT scan and PET scan for imaging. “I want to be absolutely certain we haven’t missed anything, Ronan. We need both,” Vic insisted, his voice low and firm. “No expense spared.” Ronan agreed. I vaguely remember being sent for both sets of imaging as all I was doing was sleeping.

By the time I got back to the exam room, I woke up and Ronan looked a bit relieved, flipping through a report on his tablet.

“Ok, trouble,” Ronan said, sitting down on the stool. “Good news is that your blood work is fine—your electrolytes are back in range, and the shivering should stop soon. The preliminary read on the PET and CT scans are a bit inconclusive, but we should get the final radiologist report soon. How you feeling? Any more shivering?”

“Exhausted and not so thirsty anymore,” I yawned, rubbing my eyes. “Honestly, I think I am just recovering from the whole ordeal with Patrick, the exhaustion, and the dehydration from checking out Auckland. All this moving around isn't helping, Ronan. Can I just go home?”

“Let’s hope that’s the end of it,” Ronan said, nodding to a nurse. “Pia Louise, one of my favorite nurses on staff, will set you up on a monitor while we wait on the imaging results. Just a temporary measure. We don't leave until we get the all-clear from Radiology.”

“Even if I don’t want to? I'm tired of monitors,” I asked.

“Yes, Deppgrl,” Ronan said with a tired grin. “You’re still, by far, the worst patient I have ever met in my entire working life as a physician. Now let Pia do her job.”

I threw him a look that made him laugh as Pia walked into the room to set me the monitor. Once set up to the machine, Pia took my temperature and blood pressure again and both were fine. Feeling frustrated that I was back in the hospital and feeling like I was caught up on sleep, I asked Vic if he wanted to join me on the gurney as he looked as tired as tired could be. He kicked his flipflops off and joined me on the gurney and once I was snug in is arms, he fell asleep almost instantly.