Page 190 of Almost Ours
Connor turned to him immediately, his face serious. “So, doc, you think I’ll be back on the ice this week?”
The doctor chuckled, glancing at us before answering. “Not quite, champ. It’s going to be a few weeks. You’ve got a minor concussion and some whiplash–nothing too serious, but your brain and muscles need time to heal.”
Connor’s face fell. “A few weeks?” he groaned.
“Connor,” Harper started, her tone firm, “you need to listen to the doctor–”
“But Mom–”
“No buts,” I cut in, my voice calm but firm. “Three weeks isn’t that long, and you want to be fully healed before you get back out there, right? No point rushing it and making things worse.”
Connor sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. “Fine. Three weeks. But that’s the absolute most.”
“Good,” I said, ruffling his hair. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Harper let out a slow breath, and for the first time in hours, the tension in her shoulders seemed to ease.
“You know,” she mused, glancing around the room, “at this rate, we should get a punch card for this place. Three visits in a year–one more, and we should get a free one.”
I snorted. “Yeah, not exactly the kind of rewards program I want to be part of.”
Connor perked up. “Wait–do I get anything free? Like, maybe some ice cream or something?”
Harper gave him a look, and I grinned. “Kid’s got a point.”
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the hint of a smile. Then her expression sobered. “No more hospital visits,” she said firmly, looking between Connor and me. “We’re done with this place.”
Connor held up three fingers like a scout taking an oath. “Agreed. No more.”
I met Harper’s gaze, something unspoken passing between us. A promise. A fresh start.
“No more,” I echoed.
She looked at me then, her expression softening in a way that sent warmth flooding through me. For the first time in months, there was no distance in her gaze, no walls. Just gratitude and something else I couldn’t quite name.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
I nodded, my chest tightening again, but this time it wasn’t from fear. It was something good. Something that made me want to hold onto this moment forever.
As I stood there, holding her gaze, a sudden wave of hesitation washed over me. I had wanted to talk to her in person, to finally have that conversation I’d been avoiding for so long. But this… this wasn’t the right moment.
The words pressed against my chest, begging to be spoken. But in the middle of a hospital room, with the echoes of a near disaster still hanging in the air? It wasn’t the time.
Instead, I tightened my hold on her hand, letting silence do the talking for me. Maybe tomorrow, maybe after everything settled.
I wasn’t ready to let go of this–of her, of the warmth between us. I knew there was more to say. Just… not right now. Right now, I’d just let her know that I was here, that I was still standing right beside her.
I’d been mindlesslypoking at a vending machine button when I first heard his voice–Ryan’s voice. Sharp. Angry. Cutting through the hum of the emergency department like a blade. My stomach clenched. I turned, snack forgotten, and searched for him amid the swirl of people.
He was at the check in desk, his fists planted on the counter, his words coming fast and hard. “That’s my fucking kid!” His voice cracked, raw with emotion, and the sounds made my breath hitch.
For a second, I froze. How had he even found out? Nina or Shane, probably. I wasn’t avoiding telling him on purpose. I just wasn’t thinking. My brain hadn’t been able to process anything beyond the sight of Connor crumpling against the boards, his small body folding like a rag doll. That image felt seared into the back of my eyelids–he’d just lain there, motionless. Ice. Bright lights. The sharp smell of the rink. It all came rushing back, and nausea bubbled in my chest.
I shook it off and focused on Ryan. He looked completely dishevelled, his dark hair sticking up at odd angles like he’d been yanking at it. His jaw was clenched so tight I was surprisedit hadn’t cracked. His flannel shirt was wrinkled, hanging loose over his jeans, and his boots scuffed the tile as he shifted his weight back and forth, restless.
The receptionist was speaking to him in that too-calm tone they used when someone is losing it, but Ryan wasn’t calming down. His hands flew up, and he stepped back, dragging them through his hair. His voice softened, and the break in it was somehow worse. “I just need to know that he’s okay.”
God.
