Page 173 of Stick It
She shivers, and that’s when I notice the goosebumps. “Get her a blanket,” I order Finn, who scrambles to obey as quickly as possible.
He’s back a second later with several large towels, which he drapes over her, tucking her in and murmuring to her all the while.
“Ambulance is on its way,” Griffin states, voice hollow yet calm now for the first time since he entered the room. “Security too.”
Lifting my head to meet his gaze, I find him staring unblinkingly at Dylan. Griffin is always shut down. He’s a blank slate. Emotionless. But right now, he’s bleeding out. He’s…ravaged. Just like the rest of us. The pain blazing in those cold eyes of his mirrors my own. Mirrors Finn’s. Ethan’s.
We may seem like a motley crew, having not much beyond hockey keeping us together, but in this, we are united. In loving Dylan, we are allied.Shemakes us brothers.
She makes us afamily.
Two arena security officers barrel into the room. I don’t know what Griffin said to them, but they take less than a second to survey the scene before moving straight toward where Coach and Ethan have Kyle pinned to the wall.
“He was trying to drown her when I found him,” Coach explains, voice deathly calm. He’s nearly always shouting at us, so to hear him so even-keeled is…scary as fuck.
“She’s a bitch,” Kyle spits, eyes wild as the officers manhandle him toward the door. “Stole everything. I had itallbefore she came!”
What. The. Fuck.
The guy has truly lost his ever-loving mind.
Security drags him out the door, his ranting echoing down the corridor, but none of us are listening to a word of it.
With him gone, all eyes fall on Dylan. Her eyelids have fallen shut, but her heavy breathing lets me know she’s still awake, or semi-conscious at least. Ethan’s at her side in a second. His finger skims her stark white cheek, and her eyelids flutter before she peels them open.
“Thorn.”
His voice is destroyed. Broken in ways I never thought our strong captain could be.
She looks up at him through slitted lids, and when he slides his hand into her limp one, she musters the strength to return his squeeze before he gently lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the backs of herfingers.
“I’ll go check on the ambulance,” Coach says, face pinched as he looks down at Dylan. “Make sure they know where to go.”
With that, he’s gone, leaving us alone in the suddenly deafeningly quiet room. No one speaks. We barely dare to breathe, the four of us sitting in a shrine around Dylan. Her head is in my lap while Ethan clutches her hand in his. Finn’s hand rests over her clavicle, like he needs the reassurance of her rising chest to know she’s alive, and Griffin has a death grip on her calf beneath the layers of towels.
We sit frozen in the aftermath, not yet ready to process what almost happened. The rage, the guilt, the terror—it’ll come later. For now, there’s just her breathing, and us, clinging to that breath like a lifeline.
53
DYLAN
It’sdark when I wake.
At first, all I register is the quiet hum of machines. The sterile scent of antiseptic. The soft hiss of air conditioning. Then the dull throb in my skull and the ache in my chest remind me I’m not in my own bed, and the memories…they come slowly. Disjointed. Like puzzle pieces I’m too afraid to put together.
My fingers twitch beneath the blanket, and I shift, wincing at the sharp twinge that slices through my side. My limbs are heavy, my throat scratchy. I blink up at the ceiling, a faded white with tiny specks, like someone forgot to finish painting.
Hospital.
The realization sinks in with a quiet dread.
I lift my head and glance around, sluggish, disoriented. A single reading light casts a soft glow over the room. There’s a vase of flowers on the windowsill—tulips, I think, but it’s too dark to be sure. Then my eyes catch on the figure slouched in the chair beside me.
Bear.
He’s hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands claspedlike he’s praying—or trying not to break something. His head lifts the second I stir, his eyes locking on mine. He doesn’t move for a beat. Just looks at me. Like he’s not sure I’m real.
Then he exhales, deep and shaky, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ, kid.”
