Page 168 of Stick It
“Ribs.” She winces. “Back. Pretty much everywhere. Feels like I got taken out by a Mack truck.”
“Considering the size of that fucker, it would probably have hurt less if you had,” Jax grumbles, eyes blazing fury despite the gentle way he touches Dylan.
“Can you move?” I ask her.
“I think so.” She moves to sit up, but she winces, her breath catching.
“What?” The demand is a near-feral snarl as it rips from my lips.
“My shoulder.” She reaches up to tentatively touch it,grimacing at the light touch. “It hurts to move.” Her face falls, any color remaining draining away.
“It’s probably just bruised. You took a hard hit,” I assure her.
She nods, but I can tell she doesn’t fully believe me.
“Hurricane.” Griffin practically shoves me out of the way as he skids to a halt at her side, his goalie pads plush with the ice and his mask already discarded. He doesn’t hesitate as he hauls her into his arms.
“Careful,” Finn chides.
“Back up. Back up.” The medic cuts through the group gathered around us—mostly team members. “Give her some space.”
I nudge Jax, signaling for us to move aside, but careful to keep Dylan in my line of sight, easily within reaching distance should she need me.
We all hover while the medic does a quick assessment. She’s awake, talking, and that should settle me, but flashes of the hit she took, the sound she made when she hit the ground…they play on repeat in my head, freezing me in place, making it impossible to move forward. Tobreathe.
Her dad died in a freak accident in the middle of a game.
Shecould have died tonight. If she’d hit the ice differently. If she’d twisted when she’d fallen…
How the fuck does she find the strength to get on the ice knowing that?
A stretcher is brought out to get her safely off the ice. Her helmet was removed at some point, and her gloves have been pulled off. Coach is over now, his jaw tight and face pale beneath the bright lights of the arena. He’s talking to her. She’s arguing. I hear the odd words.Fineandstill play. She’s doing what any one of us would do—fighting to stay in the game—but the thought of her out there, at risk of another hit, one that couldhave more lasting repercussions, makes me want to keel over and vomit.
“You need to get checked out,” I tell her firmly. “Your shoulder needs looking at. If you continue to play with it as is, you could do more damage. Tear your rotator cuff or something, and instead of missing the last twenty minutes of a game, you could be out for the next several weeks.”
Ineedher off the ice. Not just for her sake, but for my sanity.
Her lips part in an argument, but I lean in, cupping the back of her neck and bringing my forehead to hers. “Please.” It’s a plea. A prayer. A…I don’t even know what. I haveneverbeen this concerned about a player. This unfocused on a game. For the first time in my life, I don’t give a shit about the scoreboard. About the fact that we’re losing this game.Sheis all I can think about. All I see. All I care for. “Let them check you out,” I beg of her.
Whether it’s the catch in my voice, the fear in my eyes, or the tight grip I have on her neck, she agrees, and the medics begin to move her off the ice.
“She’s in good hands,” Coach says, voice tighter than normal as he puts a hand on my shoulder.
“I should go with her?—”
“You’ve got a job to do.” His voice is firm, much like the tone I used on Dylan earlier.
“But—”
How can I possibly finish out the rest of the game? How can he expect me to run through a play, and have my head in the game when the woman I’ve fallen in love with is injured? I said she was fine, but I have no fucking clue. What if she tore a muscle or ripped a ligament? What if she needs surgery? Rehab? What if this affects her whole damn future? Hockey isitfor her.
I can feel myself spiraling until a hard squeeze of my shoulder draws me back. I meet Coach’s hard gaze. I can see the worry in his brown depths, but unlike me, it’s not getting the better of him. “I know you’re worried. I am too, but she’s in good hands. She’d want you focused on the game. Living up to your role as captain.” He jabs me in the chest. “So get the team focused and prove to her that you’re the captain—theplayer—she believes you to be. ’Cause you know damn well as soon as you go back there, she’ll be wanting to know we did everything we could to win.”
Fuck. He’s right.
I fucking hate that he’s right.
I nod, not daring to take my eyes off Dylan until she disappears from view down the tunnel. I can feel the others at my side, all of us watching our girl be taken off the ice. My chest tightens, pulse thrumming with fear and fury. When I finally manage to tear my gaze away, it collides with another—across the ice, right at the glass.
