Page 158 of Off The Ice

“Itisimportant,” I assured him. “You’reimportant, Liam.”The most important.“I—”

Oh God, was I going to admit it?

I had to. I couldn’t let myself be scared anymore. Not of my feelings, not of rejection, not of being left.

Because if I ran from those things, I’d end up alone anyway. And Liam deserved to hear just how much I felt for him.

“Liam,” I started again, staring into his eyes. “I lo—”

“Cassie Dwyer?” a doctor spoke from down the hallway. My mother’s room.

I spun my head, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“Yes?” I croaked out, but he couldn’t hear me. My voice was barely a whisper.

“We’re here,” Liam called out, an arm securely around my shoulder while the other was waving to get the doctor’s attention.

The doctor made his way toward us, eyes widening in surprise when they landed on Liam, but he smoothed his features after a moment, maintaining an impressive air of professionalism despite Boston’s runaway hockey player being right in front of his eyes.

“Your mother is—”

“Dead?” I blurted out, covering my mouth.

“Waking up,” he offered with a soft smile. “If you want to go see her.”

I looked at Liam, scared to leave and have him vanish in the meantime. He gave my hand a squeeze and nodded at me.

“Go,” he said, “I’ll be here.”

So I did, nodding at the doctor to lead me to her.

“She’s going to be groggy for a while,” he explained, walking beside me. “The sedation is still wearing off, so she might fall back to sleep soon, but you might get a few minutes to talk to her.”

“So, what does this mean? That she’s waking up?”

“She’s stable for the most part, but there are things we’re keeping an eye on,” he said, causing hope to bloom in my chest. “She’ll still be here for a while, but if all goes well, she might be moved out of the ICU soon.”

And then we walked in, and I saw my Mom sitting up, blinking at her surroundings as if she wasn’t quite sure how she got there.

“Mom,” I said, a million pounds lighter at the sight of her blue eyes open once more.

“Cassie?” she asked, stretching her body away from the wires and cords that connected her to the machines.

Her voice was dry and brittle from disuse, but it washer.

I ran beside her bed, holding her hand as a few tears of relief escaped my eyes.

“I’m so happy to see you,” I told her.

“I was dreaming about you,” she said, disoriented. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Mom.”

And I did. Not her physically, but mentally.

I missed having a lucid moment with her, where I knew she was in the right frame of mind to remember what we were talking about. I missed all the moments we’d lost to her drinking.

But maybe, maybe, that was all over now.

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