Page 40 of The Head Game

Unconscious then.

August released a shaky breath, then pulled in another.

The arena seemed unnaturally still and quiet for a few moments as the paramedics took the stretcher off the ice, heading straight down the tunnel.

There were always ambulances parked outside the nearest exit, ready to take injured players or fans to the nearest emergency room.

When Nico was out of sight, August turned to face his fellow officials, trying to focus on his job again. Shit, he’d dropped the ball tonight, hadn’t he?

But everyone else looked equally rattled.

“Fuck.” One of the linesmen let out a shaky sigh as he skated up. “That was …”

“Yeah,” August agreed. Because he didn’t have words for it either.

Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. But even that didn’t seem big enough for what they’d witnessed.

In his years as a referee, August had seen plenty of guys get injured. Broken bones. Sprains. Minor lacerations. Concussions.

He’d never seen anything like this though.

After reviewing the hit and holding a conference with his fellow officials about assigning penalties, they got the game going again.

The Fisher Cats were riled up, wanting retribution for their injured teammate, and August had to break up numerous scuffles.

A late game-tying goal brought the teams to 3-3 and a few minutes into overtime the Fisher Cats lost 4-3.

August wasn’t surprised when Matt Carlton broke his stick in a vicious swing against the boards, shattering it into several pieces as he vented his frustration.

August skated over to clean it up and left the ice without delivering a lecture to Carlson. Better than him knocking out Hawkins or Keller for the hits on Nico tonight.

After hurrying through his post-game routine, August had a video meeting with the Department of Player Safety and spoke with various people from both organizations, relaying what he’d seen.

Hoping it wasn’t too late to catch an update on Nico’s condition, August headed for the visitors’ locker room.

A security guard stood outside. Not Will. Someone August didn’t recognize.

“Any word on Arents?” August asked.

The guard shook his head. “No, but a few players are still inside, including Fowler. You could probably ask him when he comes out.”

“Okay.” August leaned against the wall to wait, then felt a strange sense of déjà vu as he thought about Nico waiting for him outside his locker room earlier tonight.

God, August wished he’d see Nico stroll through the doors with that shit-eating grin of his.

As frustrating as he could be, August wanted to see that a thousand times more than the images that kept replaying in his head of Nico’s body on the ice, jerking like someone had shot bolts of electricity through him.

When the Fisher Cats captain, Dustin Fowler, stepped through the doors, his mouth was set in a tight narrow line.

“How’s he doing?” August blurted out.

“Oh, hey, Manning.” Fowler’s expression was drawn. “I don’t know a whole lot but they took Nico straight to Niagara Medical Center’s ER.”

“Do they know what happened?”

“Not really. He had a seizure. They’re assuming it was caused by him hitting his head but they’re not sure. That’s about all they know at this point, though of course a brain bleed is definitely a strong possibility.”

“Shit,” August whispered. “I … I hope he’s okay.”

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