Chapter 34
WYATT CHASE
We won our first game in the Blizzard Cup by a whisker. Cool as hell that it was against Michigan, too. The host team is already out, and tomorrow, they’ll get to vie for third place–or last–in the consolation game.
The players had ten days to rest up and enjoy the holidays with their families, and now we’re back in action. The team seems pumped. There was a lot of great energy leading into today’s game, and it paid off.
Coop, with a beautiful assist from Carter, slammed a gorgeous shot into the net with less than a minute to go, which put us up by the crucial goal to secure the berth into the finals. Even without Asher and West, they’re playing the most cohesive hockey that I’ve seen this season.
And we’ll need it. Tomorrow, the guys will suit up against Minnesota, who are arguably the best team in the league this year.
So even if the tournament is only for bragging rights, it still feels damn good to make it to the finals after our lackluster season so far.
Everyone is cheering and whooping as we head back into the locker room. For a lot of the guys, the stadium in Detroit is the largest venue that they’ll ever play in. I hope that they’re soaking it in and enjoying the moment.
I’m doing everything I can not to stare too hard at Asher whenever he comes into my slightly limited view.
God, I’ve missed him.
A couple of days ago, he told me that he came out to his brothers, and I’ve never wanted to crawl through the phone so badly. He’s staying with the team at the hotel tonight, ahead of tomorrow’s game, but we haven’t gotten to spend any one-on-one time together yet.
I plan to rectify that as soon as possible.
I’m trying to find a reason to talk to him when I notice Carter is slow to get undressed.
Usually, it’s the first thing that guys do once they hit the safety of the locker room.
An hour of gametime, thousands of fans, and bright lights mean that they’re basically cooking in their own soup by the time they come off the ice.
But Carter’s sitting next to his away locker, a far off look in his eyes. And unfortunately, it’s one that I know all too well.
I walk over quickly and put my hand in front of his eyeline. “Hey, Carter. Can you focus on me for a second?”
“Sure thing, boss,” he says with a smile, his eyes still vacant.
Like I was worried about, I can see that his brain is trying to obey my instructions, only his eyes can’t make it happen.
I think back to the last few seconds of the game, when he had the incredible assist to Coop.
He did get knocked pretty hard after he got the pass off, but he stood up quickly, seemingly no worse for the wear.
Except it’s clear that the impact was more intense than I’d thought. I shift into focus, all of my attention on Carter and his head injury.
“Zane,” I call across the room. He gives me an unfriendly look, but at least he meets my stare. Good. I don’t need him to be happy, I just need him to listen to me. “Get me my bag.”
The last two weeks of the regular season, he seemed to obey my instructions to keep me informed regarding all player issues. That was primarily through sending emails, but the medium wasn’t important. And honestly, it’s not like I wanted to have daily sit-downs with the guy, either.
West did have a small tear in his shoulder, but luckily it didn’t require surgery. Still, he’s out until the second half of the season.
No one expected us to win tonight, and that’s making it all the sweeter. I just wish that it didn’t come at the expense of Carter’s health.
While Zane is grabbing the bag that I left near the door, I turn back toward Carter. “Do you have a headache or any vision loss?”
He leans back against his locker and squints. “It’s bright in here.”
“How about you follow my finger?” I ask, moving my index finger in front of his eyes. Carter definitely has a concussion, though I’m still hoping it’s a mild one.
After what feels like forever, even though I make sure to outwardly maintain my calm, Zane appears next to me with my medical bag. “What’s going on?” he asks curiously, dropping the bag near my feet.
Carter’s become a standout player this season, and though Kellan O’Reilly is a hell of a hard forward to replace, he’s been stepping into the position and making it his own.
“Looks like Carter has a concussion,” I finally answer quietly, once my preliminary assessment is done. “I’m going to take him to the closest emergency room to get him properly evaluated.”
Usually, Zane is only half-listening whenever I speak, so I’m a little surprised that all of his attention is on me. “A concussion. Are you sure? That means he won’t be able to play in the finals tomorrow.”
I nod. It sucks for Carter. This is his first college hockey tournament, and he was instrumental in getting us through to the championships. But with the proper rest and recovery, he’ll definitely have others.
“Can you watch him while I go talk to Coach and explain the situation?” I ask Zane. I hate that it feels like a favor even though it’s a part of his job, but I’d do anything to make sure that the players are taken care of.
“Hmm?” he says, looking up from his phone. I can see when he realizes that I asked him a question, and he processes my words. “Yeah, sure. I’ll sit with him.”
With a quick nod, I go to find Coach and Jake to update them on the situation.
I don’t have time to think about Zane’s agreeableness.
And I definitely don’t let myself think about how much it sucks that instead of being cuddled up against Asher’s big body, I’m going to be sitting in an emergency with fluorescent lighting for god knows how long.
A group of guys decided to come to the emergency room, in spite of my protests that I’d update everyone when we had more information.
I have a slinking suspicion that Asher led the charge, so now I’m sitting in a room that’s just as bright as I imagined with Asher, Coop, West, Dane, and Logan.
“You guys really don’t–”
“Need to be here,” they all respond in unison. West, with his good arm, throws an empty cup at me, too.
Once the nurses realized that we weren’t leaving, they shuffled us all into a small family room after Carter was taken back for his diagnostics. They did confirm the concussion diagnosis, and they’re running him through the battery of tests to assess its severity.
At minimum, he’s out for tomorrow.
We’ve been sitting here for the last two hours, but at least Logan brought a deck of cards which has been helping pass the time.
The good news is that I’m not worried for Carter.
Concussions happen, and while we need to treat it seriously, he didn’t lose consciousness, doesn’t have blurred vision or slurred speech, and to the best of my knowledge, he hasn’t thrown up.
He’s going to need rest, to stay away from screens, and to limit all physical activity until we can safely get him through the concussion protocol. And yeah, I get that’s an eighteen-year-old’s worst nightmare, but he’s really lucky.
And not to make this about me, but it’s basically been torture sitting across from Asher and not being able to touch him or stare at him like he’s the most beautiful person that I’ve ever seen.
He has this lightness to him, maybe from coming out to his brothers, and it’s made his already commanding presence even more magnetic.
If I have to look at him for one more second, I’m going to do something stupid in front of all the players, which I can’t afford to do.
I stand up and run my hands down my pants. “I’m going to grab a coffee. Does anyone want anything?”
Everyone except Asher shakes their head, and he stands up, too. “I could use a coffee.”
I resist the urge to grab onto him as soon as we’re alone in the hallway, though I do pull a couple of times at the lapels of the jacket he’s wearing. “Is this new?”
He laughs, and my whole body lights up from the inside at the incredible sound. “I’d forgotten it at home when I was packing for the semester.”
I’m sneaking furtive glances at him while trying not to run into any of the gurneys or medical equipment littering the hallway when I say, “It looks good on you.”
The reality is that Asher looks great in anything. He could have shown up tonight in a ratty gym t-shirt covered in stains and I’d have thought he looked like the sexiest man alive.
I also don’t miss the way his hand splays across my lower back, guiding me gently. It’s only when he pulls me out of the way that I realize I was about to hit the edge of a workstation on wheels that I couldn’t see.
I’ve missed his hands on me, and I feel the little thrill in my stomach when he keeps his hands on me until we reach the coffee machine. It’s tucked away in a corner, and we haven’t passed a single other person on our journey here.
Before I can get my wallet out, he swipes his credit card.
“Your version of buying me a drink?” I say, charmed more than I want to admit.
His lips twitch, and it takes all the willpower I have not to lean forward and kiss him.
Everything about him is begging me to move closer.
His blue eyes, searching mine after too many days apart.
His slightly crooked smile, like he’s just as happy to see me, too, but trying to keep a lid on it.
And even though his frame is imposing, all I want to do is push him back against the wall and feel the press of our bodies.
Preferably with less clothing.
I look down the hallway and then crane my neck to see if I hear any footsteps. I don’t, which is how I rationalize that it’s okay for me to slide my hands into his jacket and run my fingertips along his torso.
The reality is that I think I’m going to break into a million jagged pieces if I don’t put my hands on him right now.