23. Breck
23
Breck
The cold bites through my layers as I huddle in the stands, my breath fogging in front of me. But I barely notice the chill. My eyes are glued to the graceful figure gliding across the ice in front of me.
Del moves like poetry in motion, each spin and jump executed with flawless precision. Her blonde ponytail whips through the air as she launches into a salchow, sticking the landing with effortless grace.
God, she's beautiful.
I can't help the dopey grin that spreads across my face or the warmth spreading through my chest as I watch her practice.
Del transitions into her step sequence, her blades carving intricate patterns into the ice. Her face is a mask of intense concentration, green eyes laser-focused. That familiar crease appears between her brows—the one that shows up whenever she's frustrated with herself. My smile fades slightly.
"You're pushing too hard, baby," I mutter under my breath.
As if hearing my thoughts, Del stumbles slightly on her next jump, barely catching herself before she falls. She immediately launches back into the routine, but I can see the tension in her shoulders.
I want to run down there and wrap her in my arms, to tell her she doesn't need to be perfect. But I know better. Del would probably whack me with her skate if I tried to coddle her.
Still, worry gnaws at my gut as I watch her push herself relentlessly. They’ve been at this for hours already, and show no signs of slowing down.
"Hey superstar!" I call out, my voice echoing in the empty rink. "How about a water break?"
Del doesn't even spare me a glance. "I'm fine, Breck. We need to nail this sequence."
I sigh, running the back of my knuckles across my jaw. "You've already nailed it about a hundred times. Come on, even Olympians need to hydrate."
She finally looks up at me, rolling her eyes. But I catch the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Fine. Two minutes."
As she skates to the edge of the rink, I bound down the steps to meet her. My heart races a little faster with each step closer to her.
Get it together, Monroe. You're just bringing her water, not proposing marriage.
I hand her the water bottle, our fingers brushing. Even that small contact sends a jolt through me.
"Thanks," Del says softly, taking a long drink.
"I didn't drug it, promise," I say with a smile. She snorts in response.
I study her face, noting the fatigue in her eyes that she's trying so hard to hide. "You know, it's okay to take a real break sometimes. The ice will still be here tomorrow."
She fixes me with that trademark Del glare. "I can't afford to take breaks. The championship is coming up fast."
"I know, I know," I say, holding up my hands in surrender. "Just...don't burn yourself out before you even get there, okay?"
Del's expression softens slightly. She reaches out and squeezes my hand briefly. "I appreciate the concern. But I've got this."
As she skates back onto the ice, I can't help but marvel at her determination. It's one of the things I admire most about her. But as I watch her launch back into her routine with renewed intensity, I can't shake the nagging feeling that she's pushing herself too close to the edge.
I watch as they go through their program. Again. I know it by heart at this point. I’m mentally checking off each element as they prepare for their throw jump. The moment Lachlan's hands leave her waist, I know it's wrong. Del's body twists at an awkward angle, her usual perfect form fractured. Time slows as she plummets toward the unforgiving ice.
"Del!" I hear myself shout, my voice echoing through the empty rink.
She hits the ice hard, her body crumpling into a heap that slides across the surface. My heart stops.
Without thinking, I'm vaulting down the bleachers, my feet hitting the slick ice. I slip and stumble, my hockey skills useless as I careen toward her prone form. Panic claws at my chest, threatening to overwhelm me.
I know Lachlan and Natalie are right behind me, but I don’t care. I need to get to her. Now.
I drop to my knees beside her, hands hovering uncertainly. "Del? Del, can you hear me? Are you okay?" The words tumble out in a frantic rush. "Does your head hurt? Where's the pain? Can you move?"
Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first. "Breck?" she mumbles, confusion evident in her voice.
"I'm here," I say, relief flooding through me even as worry gnaws at my gut. "Don't try to move yet. We need to make sure you're not seriously hurt."
As I scan her body for visible injuries, my mind races. What if she's concussed? What if she's broken something? How could I have let this happen? I should have insisted she take a break earlier.
"I'm fine," Del insists, already trying to push herself up. "Just got the wind knocked out of me."
"Like hell you are," I mutter, gently but firmly keeping her still. "You could have a concussion or—"
"Breck," she interrupts, her green eyes finally focusing on mine. "I appreciate the concern, but I know my body. I've taken falls before."
I swallow hard, torn between my instinct to protect her and my respect for her independence. "At least let me help you up?" I offer, extending my hand.
"Stop being such a caveman," Del grumbles, trying to shake off my grip as I help her to her feet. "I don't need to be carried off like some damsel in distress."
I can't help but chuckle, even as worry churns in my gut. "Trust me, you're about as far from a damsel as they come. But that doesn't mean you're invincible."
She wobbles slightly as she puts weight on her right ankle, and I instinctively tighten my hold. "Hospital. Now," I insist, my voice brooking no argument.
"Absolutely not," Del fires back, her jaw set in that stubborn line I've come to know so well. "It's just a twisted ankle, Breck. Nothing some ice and rest won't fix."
I'm about to argue when Natalie interjects. "It’s your ankle?" she asks, eyeing Del critically.
"It's fine, Coach," Del starts, but I cut her off.
"She needs to get checked out," I say firmly. "That fall looked nasty. It’s not just her ankle. She hit her head."
“I’m not going to the damn hospital!”
Natalie nods, her expression grim. "You are. Del, I know you're tough, but we can't risk a concussion or worse. Breck, can you help her to my car? I'll drive you both to the ER."
I feel Del stiffen beside me, clearly unhappy with this turn of events. But as she opens her mouth to protest, I gently squeeze her hand. "Please," I murmur, letting my worry show plainly on my face. "For me?"
She hesitates, and I can see the internal struggle playing out in her eyes. Finally, she sighs. "Fine. But I'm walking off this ice myself."
As we make our way slowly across the rink, Del leaning heavily on me despite her protests, I can't shake the image of her sprawled on the ice.
The panic doesn’t ebb as we drive to the hospital. It certainly isn’t eased as my girl’s brought back to an exam room. Without me.
The stark white walls of the ER waiting room seem to close in on me as I pace back and forth, my sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor. Every time the door opens, I whip my head around, hoping to see Del. My hands are shaking, and I shove them deep into my pockets.
"Mr. Monroe?" A nurse calls, and I nearly trip over my own feet rushing towards her. "You can come back now."
I follow her down the hallway, my heart pounding. When we reach Del's room, I pause in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her. She's perched on the edge of the exam table, her blonde hair disheveled and her eyes narrowed in annoyance.
"Hey, caveman," she greets me, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Come to drag me back to your cave?"
I can't help the relieved chuckle that escapes me. "Only if the doctor says it's okay," I tease, moving to stand beside her. My hand finds hers, and I'm surprised when she doesn't pull away.
The doctor enters then, clipboard in hand. "Good news, Ms. Quinn. No signs of a concussion." I feel the tension drain from my shoulders. "However, that ankle needs rest. I'm recommending at least 48 hours off the ice, with regular icing and elevation."
Del's face falls, and I can practically see the practice schedules being rewritten in her head. "But—" she starts to protest.
"No buts," I interrupt, squeezing her hand. "Doctor's orders, Del. I'll make sure she follows them," I add, turning to the doctor.
As we leave the hospital, Del hobbling alongside me, I can't stop my mind from racing. "Okay, so we'll need to pick up some more ice packs, and maybe one of those ankle wrap things. Oh, and I should probably grab some groceries—I can make you that spinach lasagna you like. And—"
"Breck," Del cuts me off, her voice soft but firm. "Breathe."
I pause, realizing I've been rambling. "Sorry," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. "I just... I want to take care of you."
Her green eyes soften slightly. "I know. But I'm not made of glass, remember?"
I nod, trying to relax. "Right. So, your place or mine?"
Del hesitates for a moment. "Yours," she decides. "But only because your couch is more comfortable."
Natalie takes us back to my place. My car is over at the Glissade, but we can worry about that later.
I fumble with my keys, nearly dropping them in my haste to unlock the door. "Welcome to Casa de Hockey," I announce, sweeping my arm dramatically as we enter. "Your five-star recovery suite awaits, m'lady."
Del rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Just point me to the couch, Nurse Ratched."
I help her settle onto the worn sofa, propping her ankle up on a pillow. "Comfy?" I ask, hovering nearby.
"I'd be more comfortable if you'd stop looming over me like an overgrown mother hen," she quips, but there's no real bite to her words.
I chuckle, backing away with my hands raised in surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll go grab that ice pack."
As I rummage through the freezer, I hear Del shifting on the couch. "Hey, Breck?" she calls out. "Can you pass me my phone? I need to message Lachlan about rescheduling our practice."
I freeze, ice pack in hand. "Whoa, hold up. Practice? You heard the doc, Del. You need to rest that ankle for a couple days."
She huffs, frustration evident in her voice. "I can't just sit around doing nothing. We have competitions coming up, and—"
"And you won't be any good to your team if you push yourself too hard and make it worse," I counter, returning to the living room.
Del's eyes narrow, that familiar stubborn set to her jaw that I find equally infuriating and adorable. "I know my limits, Breck. I've been doing this my whole life."
"I know you have," I say softly, kneeling beside her to gently place the ice pack on her ankle. "But sometimes... sometimes we need someone else to remind us to slow down."
She doesn't respond, but I can practically hear the gears turning in her head. I want to wrap her in my arms, to protect her from everything—including herself. But as I look at her, determination blazing in those green eyes, I realize something profound.
She doesn’t need me—not to save her, not to fix her. She's strong enough to save herself. And damn, if that doesn't make me fall for her even harder. I don’t want to be her anchor; I want to be the guy who sails alongside her. But, it doesn’t mean I’m going to worry any less.
"How about this," I suggest, an idea forming. "We can go over your routine mentally. Visualization techniques and all that fancy sports psychology stuff. That way, you're still working, but giving your body the rest it needs."
Del considers this for a moment, then nods slowly. "Okay," she concedes. "But only if you promise to let me get back on the ice as soon as the doctor clears me."
I grin, offering my pinky. "Deal."