Chapter 36
Chapter
Vivian
I screamed the moment I noticed the player bearing down on Lennon—about a half second before the unethical piece of shit slammed into my man from the back . Lola sat in front of me, and she’d jumped up as I did. We’d both run down the stairs at breakneck speed, even before some fans began booing.
My heart pumped too fast and my vision swam as I’d gripped and released the handrail to keep me steady. After what had seemed like hours, but was probably under a minute, I was at the boards—held back by security.
“Get out of my way,” I yelled.
“No can do, ma’am,” the guard said, puffing up his chest.
Lola got in his face, which brought more security to our location.
“Lennon! Lennon!” I screamed. “Let me out there. Let me out there. I’m a nurse. I’m his fiancée. Lennon!”
I felt a hand at the back of my neck, and I whirled, ready to do some serious moves if these people thought they could restrain me.
“I’ll take Ms. Lee out to see Lennon,” Gunnar Evaldson said.
“But, but it’s still regulation,” the guard sputtered.
“And we’re going to be on an extended commercial break until we can ascertain the health of my player. Now, I suggest you move,” Gunnar added, his voice harder than a diamond and twice as sharp as a blade.
The moment the man stepped aside, I flung open the door and ran onto the ice—where I would have totally bit it if Gunnar hadn’t steadied me.
“I got you,” he said. “And Lennon’s okay. Silas gave me the thumbs up. I mean, I don’t think he’s great because he’s still on the ground, but he’s talking.”
A sob broke past my lips. I swallowed another as I gingerly made my way to Lennon. He was no longer sprawled out prone on the ice. He’d gotten to his side and faced me, his gaze tracking my approach.
“I’m okay, Vivi. I’m okay.” His breathing was labored, and his lips had a faint blue tinge. There was a whistling rasp to his breath. “It’s not my head. I love you.”
“Punctured lung,” I gasped.
“Yeah, it’ll heal.”
“Uhhhhh…” Naese gawped, wide-eyed, staring behind us. The paramedics were on the ice now, too. One slipped a mask over Lennon’s nose and mouth while another stabilized his neck.
“What?” I asked.
“Lola’s giving Medvedev a stern reprimand,” Coach said, his voice filled with humor.
Within a moment, the entire stadium was yelling the same word Lola kept shouting at the now cowering player, “Cabron! Cabron! Cabron!”
“My mother’s cussing?” Lennon chuckled, winced, and hissed into his mask.
“She’s pissed ,” Stolly said. “And spicy.”
“Come on,” Cormac said to his teammates. “Now that we know Cruz is okay, we should save Meddie from Lola.”
“Ah, let her get it out,” Coach said, his tone mild. “It’s going to be all over the sports channels, and I daresay the world’s going to be pretty impressed with your mother, Lennon.”
“She spits the fire,” Maxim said.
“Finish the game strong,” Lennon wheezed.
“Considering there’s less than a minute left, and I think Meddie just pissed himself, we should be okay,” Cormac said. His eyes twinkled. “But we aren’t going to let these shitbags steal your victory.”
“We’ll come to the hospital to celebrate,” Stol promised. “Millie will get it all cleared for us.”
Stol’s wife, Millie, was one of the nicest people I’d met in Houston. If she hadn’t told me the story herself, I never would have known she was a reluctant billionaire who’d been donating tons of money to the city’s hospitals, along with a youth charity Ida Jane had suggested and many of the Wildcatters’ preferred nonprofits. Hana said every time Millie got excited to “only” be a millionaire, some of her stocks would go up, and she would grit her teeth as she looked for another worthy cause. But there were many of those—probably too many—so Millie was making progress.
Lennon was on the stretcher now, and the EMTs started to roll him away. I still clutched his hand. Cormac took Maxim over to deal with Lola Cruz’s wagging finger and shouted commentary. The entire stadium was on its feet, clapping and cheering for Lennon.
This wasn’t the exit he’d wanted—but I had to admit, this was one of the best farewells I’d ever witnessed and definitely had to be the most loving one in Wildcatters’ history.
Lennon would always be one of their legends. He’d never said that was what he wanted; he wouldn’t admit it because he really was rather down to earth and humble. But I understood enough about the sport now to know Gretzky was a god among these players and the fandom. To be mentioned in the same breath as him—which Lennon now would be—was the greatest of honors.