“Get in.” Hel gestured to the wheelchair. “I don’t want you eating shit as I can’t lift you. If you fall down, you’re staying on the floor.”
Frost glanced at her sharply. Was she referring to him carrying her? Did she think about it too? Her face gave nothing away, so he huffed and manoeuvred carefully into the chair. His pride wouldn’t admit it, but he was glad she had insisted. He wasn’t feeling fantastic and appreciated not having to walk to the car with his crutches.
Hel unceremoniously dumped his backpack onto his lap. “Carry this.”
He winced as the bottle of whisky hit him, and he flushed in embarrassment at his earlier behaviour. That wasn’t him. He prided himself on being a good example to his team, aware fans could be anywhere, and he didn’t want kids—that once he was just like—looking at him and thinking they could behave badly and get away with it.
He wouldn’t pretend he had never let loose, he certainly had when he was a young player. But now, he was always careful. Maintain your composure and maintain your image.
It was embarrassing to have drunk himself into oblivion because his leg was sore. Because he had been called a has-been by someone whose self-worth was directly linked to how many followers they had on Instagram. Because a woman he liked pulled a face.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Frost mumbled.
“Pardon. What did you say?” Hel began to push him along the corridor.
“I’m sorry,” he said a bit louder.
“Pardon?”
“I’m sorry.” Frost twisted his head to look at her, and she was grinning, clearly enjoying making him apologise.
“I didn’t quite catch that.” Hel started to giggle, her hazel eyes twinkling.
Frost couldn’t look away. She was so unguarded. There was no artifice, no wondering what she looked like as she laughed. He realised it was more attractive than any practised look he had ever seen Patricia give.
“I’M SORRRYYYYYY, HEL.” He played along, saying it louder and slower.
This made her laugh more, and he couldn’t help it, he laughed along with her.
“I forgive you. Although you seriously upset my ambos by acting like the Incredible Hulk.”
Hel pushed his shoulder gently, and Frost froze for a moment as he felt an electric spark under his skin.
Frost swallowed a couple of times and rolled his shoulder to get rid of the feeling before he said. “What’s an Ambo?”
“It’s an Australianism for the paramedics, although what do you guys call them? EMT, maybe?”
“I think that’s American. In Canada, I guess paramedic. I don’t really know. I try not to be carted away by ambulance too often.”
“So, no previous PFO for you?” Hel chortled.
Frost grumbled. “Oh man, What does that one mean?”
“Pissed and fell over. We use it as shorthand in Emergency.” Hel giggled, before she added. “I wrote it in your medical notes.” When she said that, she full-on started to laugh.
“You did not,” he denied.
“I totally did. We’re not meant to, but it seemed so apt, I couldn’t stop myself.” Her shoulder shook with how much she was laughing, and she let go of the wheelchair with one hand to wipe at a tear that had escaped.
“Wow. You’re ruthless!” Frost chuckled along with her.
“Yup!” Hel agreed, pushing him out the sliding doors of the hospital and over to the staff car park.
“Right, this is me.” Hel pulled the wheelchair up to a car, which looked like it had last been washed when she bought it.
Frost eyed the car for a moment and almost remarked on its grubby state, but then he checked himself and remembered his privilege. He had a service which came every week to clean his rental car, and not everyone could afford that.
Staring at her car, one driven by a normal, hardworking person, gave him another glimpse into the real world, a world he hadn’t lived in for a long time as he had been buffered by his success.
