Page 157 of Off The Ice

Where is he?

They wouldn’t take him out of the game. He was the star player. He’d been on fire tonight. He was going to secure their win.

“Can I turn this up?” I looked to the nurse for confirmation.

“Of course,” they confirmed, nodding toward a remote on the bedside table.

I clicked it a few notches up, just enough to hear faint murmurs of the announcer’s frenzied voice.

“There’s never been a game like this in all my years,” one said with an almost manic energy. “The Harbor Wolves are still holding it together and coming out ahead even after the departure of center Liam Brynn.”

“What?” I asked out loud.

The nurse looked over and huffed a laugh.

“Crazy, right?” he responded. “They said he had a family emergency or something. Hell of a game to have to walk out of, though.” The nurse shook his head sadly.

Family emergency?

It couldn’t be Maggie. I’d been with her just an hour ago. She was fine. Was his mom fine? Was it the stress of seeing his dad?

I stood up, walking out of the room with urgency, needing to find out what was going on. I could call Maggie. She would know—

Phone in hand, I started dialing the number when I heard him.

“Cassie Dwyer, she’s here for her mom,” his voice said, demanding. “Please, just tell me what room she’s in.”

There, just a few feet away at the nurses’ station, stood Liam Brynn. Still in his jersey and hair matted down with sweat, he looked every bit the fantastic hockey player featured on posters across the city.

The nurses looked a bit starstruck, staring up at him. I couldn’t blame them. I was feeling the same way myself.

“Liam,” I said, barely loud enough to be heard.

But somehow, he did.

He spun, facing me, looking me up and down before closing his eyes shut in what looked like relief.

“Cassie,” he breathed.

“You’re here,” I said, frozen in place.

He took a few wary steps closer, the same tension lingering in the air from all the unsaid words between us. But still, he was here. He’d shown up despite it all.

“I’m wherever you are,” he said.

And I threw myself at him.

“You shouldn’t have come,” I said, even though I was clutching him so hard he probably couldn’t get away if he tried. “You’re supposed to be at the game.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He held me back, smelling like the ice rink and Old Spice Gentleman’s Blend deodorant I knew he wore because of the time I peeked inside his medicine cabinet. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”

“I’m sorry I left,” I blurted out, staring up at him as if I could convey the depth of my regret with just a look. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Cassie, it’s just a game. It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“No,” I shook my head, “Not the game. Your apartment. The other night. I was scared, and I ran and—”

“It’s okay.” He shushed me when I started to get worked up again. “It’s not important right now.”

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