52. Hunter
Inever thought I’d say it, but I was desperate for that game to end. It was supposed to be my last game with Tyler and once upon a time I wanted it to last... but he wasn’t looking good. He was pushing himself beyond his limits—and Merrimack was determined to take him down.
But give my man his credit; he took no one’s shit. In those last few minutes, he grappled for the puck, pulling off plays I could only ever dream of. Merrimack was on him like he was a number one draft pick in his first year of the league. He wasn’t a defenseman, but he damn sure acted like it. With just five minutes left, there was a risk of overtime if the game continued.
Tyler and Jarman hit the ice running on the shift change, with Jarman working his ass off to keep players off Tyler. As Jarman struggled for the puck against the boards, Tyler shoved his way behind him, ready for the pass. The Merrimack defenseman cross-checked Jarman—causing him to grab the back of his head, blood stained his fingers as he pulled his hand away. Mayhem ensued before the refs got involved. Jarman skated to the bench holding the back of his neck, and the penalty was called in the last few minutes of the game. Coach tapped me on the shoulder, showing me a play I didn’t expect. I nodded and took to the ice.
That game felt like the longest in my life—but that two minute power play was over before I could blink. It was a seamless tape to tape between Colton and Tyler, and the defenseman was doing everything in his power to disrupt our rhythm. The clock was ticking, and the final seconds were closing in. Though Tyler didn’t look at me, I could sense the buzzing energy as he showcased that fancy footwork he was known for, skillfully maneuvering the puck away from the relentless defenseman.
All eyes were on Tyler as he dazzled with occasional glances at Colton, who anticipated the puck. In those last few crucial seconds, I spotted the defenseman closing in on Tyler. Colton vociferously called for the puck. With a swift flick of the wrist, the puck met my stick, and I took the shot.
The whoosh of the puck through the air was followed by a thunderous crash. A cheer erupted, only to fall to an eerie silence.
I turned, ready to celebrate the win with my man.
Only to freeze. On the screen, the playback unfolded: the puck reached me and the impactful hit from Zane. Tyler, with one skate on the ice, lost his footing in a collision that resembled a stampeding horse meeting a rickety lawn chair. His helmet went flying upon impact and he slid, crashing into the boards with a sickening crack.
Blinking back to the present, I heard the murmurs of the crowd as Tyler remained motionless on the ice. The rush of medics and our teammates beat me to him, and the atmosphere shifted from victory to concern in a flash.
I sprang into action, shoving my way past the men. My gaze dropped, and there was Baxter kneeling next to my man. He laid flat on his stomach while Baxter tried to rouse him. Blood stained the ice, and I struggled to push the stubborn ref out of the way so I could reach Tyler. Arms surrounded me—I wasn’t sure who they belonged to. “Get off me! Tyler!” I shouted, hoping my voice would be the one to make those pretty eyes open. “Get up! Get up!” The call for a stretcher came and took my breath away.
“Hey, let the medics help him, man,”
I shook my head and shrugged the hand away. “No, I need to be with him. I need to be with him.” I scrambled, feeling myself being dragged backward. Medics rushed in, hushed tones filling the space as they maneuvered him onto the board.
Helmet off, gloves tossed aside, I pulled at my hair as I watched the scene unfold. The team of medics began to carry him off the ice—I was quick to follow.
“Tyler, I am right here. I am not going anywhere.“ The words left my mouth like a mantra, hoping he could hear me past the chaos of people seeking a response from him. I didn’t move to brush away the tears streaming down my cheeks, instead licking the salty flavor from my lips.
I shot toward Baxter. “I need to be with him. Please, he has no family here. Let me go with him.”
Baxter looked at me with sad eyes; I could see he felt partly to blame—we all were. I knew he wasn’t feeling his best. “Get your skates off; they’re taking him to the hospital.”
I’d never moved so fast in my life. Mouse, Amon, and Jarmon assisted, taking off my skates and passing me sneakers, which I hastily put on. Soon, I found myself in the back of an ambulance in my full hockey kit.
“Baby?” I took his hand, my heart breaking when he didn’t grip mine in return. I glanced up at the paramedic, who looked far too sympathetic for my liking. “Is he going to be okay?”
“His vitals are okay…”
But I knew that tone.
I suddenly understood how Tyler felt when I was in the hospital. If he felt half as scared as I was, I knew I had a lifetime of making it up to him. The blood crusted in his auburn hair made me feel sick as I leaned into his ear. “Baby, please be okay. You need to come out of this; Jamie needs his brother. I need you. I love you. I love you so much, and I know this is way too late to be saying this. Please, please just wake up and let me say it to your face, okay?” My voice turned into more of a rasp than a coherent sound as my throat constricted.
From the moment we arrived at the hospital, it was a whirlwind. They wheeled him away and sent me to a waiting room where I paced back and forth in full hockey gear for what felt like hours.
I felt a tap on my shoulder, and when I turned around, half the team stood behind me. Preston handed over my kit bag and led me to a nearby restroom to change and freshen up. I spared only a brief glance in the mirror, confirming that I looked as pathetic as I felt. Stepping out of the bathroom, I headed towards the crowd forming for the man who seemed oblivious to how much he mattered.
A cluster of hockey players challenged the limited space but despite the nurses’ growing agitation, we stayed. Even Coach joined us, tapping his phone against his palm with a frown etched on his features.
Cal approached me, his hand resting on my shoulder. “I spoke to Jamie. Their Auntie has called the hospital and listed you as his emergency contact, so they’ll be updating you.” Thoughts of Tyler’s brother, alone in Australia, intensified the ache in my heart.
An hour later, the team was officially asked to leave. Though I was grateful for the relative silence, my phone and keys rattled in my pocket with the nervous jiggle of my leg. Eventually, a nurse emerged with a tablet. Lips moved, presumably uttering my name, but the sound failed to register as panic tightened its grip on my chest.
“Hunter Graves?” I nodded, rendered speechless.
“Tyler is currently under observation; he’s still unconscious. Our main concern was the concussion and the stitches he needed on the back of his head. Other than game-related bruises, he’s okay, and his vitals are stable. We anticipate he’ll regain consciousness once his body is ready, but we’re closely monitoring him in case of any changes.”
“When do you think he’ll wake up?”
The subtle change in her expression wasn’t lost on me. “That’s hard to say, Mr. Graves; head injuries are unpredictable. It could be a few hours or even days. We’re vigilant in case any developments require further intervention, but, for now, it’s a waiting game.”
“So, what? I just have to play the role of the worried partner while my boyfriend is unconscious, like some tragic movie?” I snapped, overwhelmed by the clichéd scenario unfolding. It felt like a combination of every tragic rom-com I’d ever seen.
“I can’t guarantee the outcome, Mr. Graves, but his vitals are promising. With time, we hope he’ll wake up on his own.”
I suppressed an eye roll and refrained from expressing my frustration. She then asked if I wanted to see him, and my incredulous look conveyed the absurdity of the question.
I followed her down a seemingly endless hallway before she gestured to a closed door and left me alone. As I stepped inside, my heart stuttered at the sight of Tyler—paler under the harsh fluorescent lights, the monitors beeping steadily, and an absence of his usual vibrancy. His long eyelashes, which normally fluttered, were still against his cheeks. Sitting there, holding his hand, I hoped that last night wouldn’t be our last.
Twenty-four hours of hell was the only way to describe the day that followed. Exhaustion clung to me, yet sleep remained elusive. I rested my head on his torso, attempting to catch his familiar scent through the overpowering smell of antiseptic.
“Baby, please,” I surrendered. The floodgates opened, releasing all the emotions I’d tried so hard to keep bottled up. Tears streamed down, and I couldn’t remember the last time I cried so much. Drifting in and out of sleep, I dreamt of Tyler’s fingers gently threading through my hair, the sound of his voice, and the comforting sight of his blue-green eyes. I’d taken too long to tell that man I loved him, and my mind and body craved his presence. His voice echoed through the darkness of my dreams, as a sweet torment.
“Boston, time to wake up.”
My eyes fluttered open, the symphony of sounds reminding me of where I was. Glancing at Tyler, I feared encountering the vacant expression that often accompanied consciousness after an ordeal like that. Instead, I was met with his bleary eyes, and impulsively our lips met in a kiss. He responded with a groan and as I pulled back, his pain-laden smile tugged at my heartstrings.
“God, I’m torn between being ecstatic that you’re awake and ready to rip you a new one for scaring the shit out of me, baby.”
His lip quirked. “You still owe me a last time, remember? So, if it’s ripping a new one, I know how I’d prefer you do it.”
Laughter bubbled up, and I planted a light kiss on his lips. “I love you.” The words spilled out, and Tyler’s eyes glossed over. My gut twisted with anticipation, but before I could reassure him that he didn’t need to reciprocate just yet, his hand found my hoodie and clung on.
“I love you too, Boston. Have for some time now.” Despite myself, I closed my eyes, wanting to capture this moment.
As I leaned in for another kiss, the commotion from the hallway reached us, and I pulled back just in time before Cal and Jarman barged through the door.
“Oh, thank sweet baby Jesus, you’re okay!” Cal’s voice reached new heights as he rushed across the room. Tyler endured Cal’s exuberance—with a grimace—and I shot warning daggers in his direction. “Sorry, sorry, subtle was never my middle name.” Cal kissed the top of Tyler’s head and settled down. Jarman chuckled. “You know, Aus, I’m going to have to teach you not to take a hit with your head.”
I sought my guy’s reaction, finding only that heart-stopping smirk on his face. “Think you might, aye.”