“Thank you.” Cross nudged Rusty. “Go on, get out and I’ll meet you at the door.” He wasn’t very practiced at transferring from car to chair and didn’t need an audience.
Rusty scooped up his backpack and scrambled out the far door, but then trotted around the car to watch Arthur opening the chair, locking it, and pivoting the arm rest out of the way. Cross focused on bracing his hands, lifting his ass, and moving over carefully. Landing square on the seat was a relief, even though he had to sit there while Arthur knelt and put the footrests back down. God, hehatedhaving to be waited on, especially by a man a generation older than him. He plastered on a smile and said, “Thank you.”
Rusty followed Arthur to the trunk and took Cross’s bags and crutches from him. “I got this, dude. Thanks.”
“It’s my job—” Arthur began.
“Take the rest of the evening off,” Cross told him. “Rusty and I will be good from here.”
Arthur gave him a sideways look, and Cross wondered how much bodyguarding Marie had asked him to do. But Arthur inclined his head and closed the trunk before heading back to the driver’s side.
Cross grabbed his pushrims and maneuvered neatly away from the car toward the hotel doors. After a month in the chair, this part, at least, he was good at. Rusty strode alongside.
A young bellhop met them at the entrance, reaching for the biggest bag in Rusty’s hands. “Welcome to the Imperial— Rusty?”
Rusty flushed. “Hey, Ben, didn’t know you worked here.”
“Since graduation, yeah. Um, I mean, welcome, sir. Can I take that bag for you?”
“Jeez, no, I can carry it.” Rusty shifted the bag to his other hand.
Cross dug in his pocket for one of the folded twenties he had ready and held it up. “Here. Ben, was it? We’re going to go check in. If you could find me a bottle of water and bring it over to the desk, I’d really appreciate it. Keep the change.”
“Oh.” Ben took the bill. “Sure, of course. Check-in desk is inside to your right.” He hurried in through the automatic doors.
“What the fuck?” Rusty muttered at Cross’s side while he wheeled toward the doors in Ben’s wake.
“He gets a tip for carrying bags, and his base salary’s probably crap. But it’s embarrassing to be tipped for nothing so he can get me a three-dollar water and keep the rest.”
Rusty missed a step, then caught up. “Should I have let him carry the bags? I know nothing about this shit.”
“No, you’re fine. I don’t need him coming up in the elevator with us.”
“Sure. Well, if he’s getting twenty-buck tips, he’s probably making more money than I do.”
“Give it a couple of years. NHL minimum is almost eight-hundred K.” Cross was pleased to see Rusty suppress a smile.Yeah, you’re headed for the big leagues and I’m going to keep reminding you of that.
They checked in, received room cards, turned down offers of assistance, and only waited for Ben to deliver the bottled water before heading to the elevator.
“There’s probably a camera in the elevator,” Cross noted. “Just FYI.”
“I’ll try to keep myself from pouncing ahead of schedule.”
Rusty surely meant that as a joke, but Cross had to fake his smile.We need to talk, for sure.“I appreciate your discretion, sir.”
“Fancy talk for a fancy hotel.” Rusty nudged Cross’s shoulder with his elbow, so Cross decided he’d gotten away with the diversion.
He talked Rusty through using his card to access their floor in the security elevator. Their eyes met in the mirrored wall as they rode up.
“This is a pricey place, isn’t it? I mean, even the elevator’s freaking silent,” Rusty said.
“I guess, yeah. I wanted secure access and a true disability-friendly room. There’s not a lot of that combo in this neck of the woods.”
“Oh.” That reminder did make Rusty look less tense. “Of course. How long are you still in the chair for? Didn’t you have a recheck appointment this morning? You got these.” He hefted the elbow crutches.
Yes. And I got on a plane five hours after that appointment.“Two more weeks in the chair. The doc said the callus on my left leg bone isn’t solid enough yet to be my main support. I get to hobble a few steps but that’s all.” The disaster of his right ankle, with the doc humming and frowning with displeasure and booking him a CT on Monday wasn’t something Cross needed to mention in the damned elevator.
“Doesn’t sound like fun.”
