Page 189 of Almost Ours
She shook her head against my chest, her breathing hitching. “You’re here now,” she murmured.
I held her tighter, my fingers pressing into the fabric of her hoodie, as if holding on could somehow take away the fear, the guilt, the helplessness that had been gnawing at me for the last four hours. But most of all, I held her because Ineededto–because this woman and that kid had become my whole damn world.
By the time we reached Connor’s room, my chest was tight with anxiety. Harper’s hand still gripping mine, like she needed the connection just as much as I did. She wasn’t the type to lean on people–not like this. So if she needed me, I’d be there. For her. For Connor. For both of them.
The faint sound of Connor’s voice echoed down the hallway, growing louder with every word. My heart lurched as I caught bits of his animated chatter. He was talking. He was okay enough to talk.
“You should’ve seen the play! I bet I could’ve made that shot with my eyes closed! Maybe even with my skates off! But–wait,no–if I had my skates off, I’d probably slip and fall. You get it, though, right?”
A small chuckle followed, and I could hear the patience in the nurse’s voice as she nodded along, trying to keep up.
Then the wheelchair rounded the corner.
And my stomach dropped.
Connor sat in the wheelchair, his legs swinging lightly, but seeing him like that sent a fresh wave of panic through me. He looked small–too small–his face still pale under the bright hospital lights.
But it wasn’t just that.
It was the flash of memory–so sharp, so sudden–that hit me like a slap to the face.
Kyle.
The way his body had slammed into the boards, the sickening crack of his helmet against the glass. The way he’drolledaround the hospital in a wheelchair afterward, never getting out of it.
I blinked hard, shaking the image away.
No.
Connor wasn’t Kyle. This wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be the same.
Then Connor saw me.
“Ryan!”
Heleaptout of the wheelchair like it was nothing, running straight into my arms.
I caught him without thinking, my arms wrapping around him in a fierce hug. The second he was in my arms, every ounce of fear, tension, and panic I’d been holding onto dissolved.
“Connor,” I whispered, my voice thick, burying my face in his messy hair. “You scared the hell out of me, kid.”
“Ryan,” he said, his voice muffled against my chest, his hands patting me awkwardly. “You’re kind of suffocating me.”
I let out a strangled laugh, immediately loosening my grip and setting him back down. “Sorry, buddy,” I said, brushing a hand over his hair. “Are you okay? Really?”
Connor beamed up at me. “I’m fine. Just a little sore, that’s all.”
The nurse, who’d been standing quietly behind him, spoke up. “The doctor will be in shortly to go over everything with you.”
“Thank you,” Harper said, her voice steady but soft. As the nurse left, she turned to me, her green eyes filled with something I hadn’t seen in a long time: trust. “He’s okay,” she said, squeezing my hand again.
I nodded, but my chest was still tight. I couldn’t stop looking at Connor, like I needed to confirm every second that he was really, truly fine.
“Wanna know what happened?” Connor asked, his eyes lighting up with excitement.
Harper and I both sat down, and he launched into a dramatic retelling of the hit, complete with hand gestures and sound effects. Harper winced at parts, but I couldn’t help smiling at his enthusiasm. He was a tough kid, no doubt about it.
Just as Connor was reenacting the moment he hit the boards, the door opened, and the doctor walked in.
