CHAPTER 26
DEVON
LEILA'S DRIVING LIKE she wants to lose her license, and I'm the panicking passenger who forgot how to breathe.
"Can you go faster?" I ask, gripping the door handle so hard I might rip it off.
"I'm already going twenty over the speed limit."
"Make it thirty."
"Devon—"
"Please."
She presses harder on the gas, and I love her for it.
The sound of a phone buzzing breaks from her pocket. She fishes it out, glances at the screen, and passes it to me. "Put him on speaker."
It takes me three tries to hit accept, my fingers shaking so much.
"Talk to me," Leila directs the second the line connects, while I all but shout, "Is he okay?" at the same time.
"He's awake," Washington says, and I can breathe again. Sort of. "They took him to Northwestern Memorial. We're all heading there now."
"But what happened?" I demand. "He was fine. He scored three goals. He was fine!"
There's a pause on the other end, voices in the background, and then Washington says, "Most likely a concussion."
The words don't make sense. "A what?"
"Concussion. From the hit. He played through it."
My brain stutters to a halt. "He played—he played half the game with a concussion?"
"Apparently."
"That's—that's insane! That's—" I'm spiraling now, hands shaking, nausea rolling through me in waves. "Is he going to be okay? Like, permanently okay? Brain damage is permanent, right? Oh my God, does he have brain damage? Can he still—"
"Devon." Washington's voice is firm, cutting through my panic. "He's going to be fine. He's getting checked out. The doctors know what they're doing."
"But—"
"We'll be there in ten minutes," Leila chimes in. "Just breathe, Devon."
"Copy," Washington says and ends the call. I stare at the screen like it's betrayed me.
"He's going to be fine," Leila says, weaving through traffic like a professional stunt driver.
"You don't know that."
"I do know that. My husband wouldn't lie."
"He might. To make me feel better."
"Devon."
"What if he's not fine? What if—"
"Stop." She glances at me, just for a second, before her eyes are back on the road. "He's awake. He's talking. Those are good signs."
I'm trying to believe her, but all I can see is Ace collapsing on the ice, his body limp, and the image is burned into my brain like a brand.
My stomach rolls, and I press my hand over my mouth. "I think I'm going to puke."
"Do not puke in my car."
"I can't promise that."
"Devon, I swear to God—"
"I won't! Probably. Maybe."
She takes a turn so fast I'm thrown against the door, but I barely notice because we're pulling into the hospital parking lot, and she's barely stopped the car before I'm out, running toward the entrance.
The automatic doors are too slow. I nearly crash into them before they fully open, and then I'm inside, looking around wildly for signs, for directions, for anything that will tell me where to go.
Leila catches up, grabbing my arm. "Emergency room. This way."
We run through the halls, and I'm vaguely aware that I'm causing a scene, that people are staring, that there's probably a "no running" policy I'm violating, but I don't care.
We round a corner, and I nearly crash into Jinx.
"Where is he?" I gasp.
He points down the hallway. "Room 3. But Devon—"
I'm already moving, not waiting for whatever he was going to say.
The door to Room 3 is partially open, and I shove it the rest of the way, not bothering to knock.
And there he is.
Ace.
Sitting up in a hospital bed, very much alive, very much awake, surrounded by what appears to be the entire Wolves roster crammed into a space designed for maybe three people maximum.
Relief hits me so hard I nearly collapse. "Oh, thank God." The words come out breathless, shaky. "You're okay. You're—"
"Devon?" Ace blinks at me, surprised. "What are you—"
"I thought you were dead!" I'm aware I'm being dramatic. I don't care. "You collapsed! On the ice! You just—" I make a helpless gesture. "—went down, and you weren't moving, and I thought—"
"I'm fine," he says, and he's smiling now, soft and warm, like I'm not currently having a breakdown in front of his entire team. "Just mild a concussion. I'm okay."
"A concussion isn't fine! A concussion is a brain injury! Your brain was injured!"
"Technically correct," Wall says from somewhere in the corner.
I spin around, suddenly remembering we have an audience. The entire team is staring at me—Becker with his arms crossed, Groover leaning against the wall, Petrov grinning like he knows something, Washington and Leila near the door.
Too many people. Way too many people.
I need to be alone with Ace. I need to see him up close, inspect him, make sure he's really okay.
"Everyone out," I announce.
Silence.
Becker raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"Out. Now. All of you. Leave."
"We were here first," Groover points out.
"I don't care. I need—" My brain scrambles for a believable excuse, anything that doesn't involve admitting that I'm having a full-scale emotional crisis and need to verify that Ace's brain is intact because I just feel so fucking much.
"I need to discuss something private with Ace.
About the charity game. Very important charity game business.
Life or death. The shelter's future hangs in the balance. "
It's the worst lie I've ever told.
Wall looks skeptical. "The charity game."
"Yes. Very urgent charity game matters."
"Can't it wait?" Groover asks.
"No! It can't wait! Time-sensitive information! The fate of homeless animals depends on this conversation!"
I know I sound insane and that everyone can see right through me. But I'm committed now, and there's no backing down.
Becker opens his mouth, probably to call me out on my bullshit, but Ace interrupts.
"Guys, there’s no emergency."
I spin back to face him. "Yes, there is! The thing with the—"
"Devon." He's still smiling, and there's something in his eyes. Something warm and certain. "Come here."
I move closer, drawn like a magnet, until I'm standing next to his bed.
He reaches up, cups the back of my neck with his hand, and pulls me down.
And kisses me.
In front of his entire team.
My brain malfunctions. Thoughts refuse to form. Time stops existing.
His lips are warm against mine, gentle but sure, and he's kissing me like we're alone. Like there aren't a dozen people watching. Like he doesn't care who sees.
When he pulls back, I'm pretty sure I've forgotten my own name.
The room is dead silent for a moment.
Then—
"HA!" Becker's voice explodes through the quiet. "I KNEW IT!"
And suddenly everyone's talking at once.
"Wait, what?" Groover sounds confused.
"Called it!" Jinx yells. "I called it weeks ago!"
"No, you didn't!" Snooze argues.
"I did! I said there was something going on!"
Wall's grinning. "About damn time."
Petrov's nodding. "He is dick appointment."
Ace chokes on air. "What?"
"Dick appointment," Petrov repeats, like it's obvious. "You're the dick appointment. Mystery solved."
"Oh my God." I bury my face in my hands.
"This is amazing," Becker says, and he sounds delighted. "This is the best thing that's happened all season."
"Better than winning?" Wall asks.
"Second best thing that’s happened all season."
Washington's trying to maintain order, but he's smiling too. "Alright, alright. Give them some space."
"Space? We want details!" Groover protests.
"How long has this been going on?" Jinx demands.
"Is it serious?" someone else asks.
"Are you moving in together?"
"Can we be in the wedding?"
"Guys!" Ace's voice cuts through the noise, and everyone shuts up. "Out. Now. I'm serious."
"But—" Becker starts.
"Out."
There's some grumbling, but they start filing toward the door. Becker pauses to point at both of us. "We're talking about this later. Extensive debriefing. I want details."
"No details," Ace says firmly.
"So many details," Becker counters, and then Petrov is dragging him out by his collar.
Washington's the last to leave. He looks at Ace, then at me, then back at Ace. "Happy for you, man."
"Thanks, Cap."
"But we are talking about the concussion thing. You played half a game concussed. That's not okay."
Ace winces. "I know."
"We'll discuss it tomorrow." He nods at me. "Take care of him."
"I will."
The door closes behind him, and suddenly we're alone.
I let out a breath. "So. That happened."
"Yeah." Ace is still smiling, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "That happened."
"You just..."
"I did."
"That's... that's a pretty dramatic coming out."
"Seemed appropriate." He tugs me closer, and I sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him. "Besides, I was tired of hiding. And you were spiraling."
"I was not spiraling."
"You told them the fate of homeless animals depended on our conversation."
"Okay, I was spiraling a little."
He laughs, then winces, pressing his hand to his head.
"Don't laugh!" I grab his shoulders, steadying him. "Your brain is broken!"
"My brain is not broken. It's just... rattled."
"That's the same thing!"
"Devon." He takes my hand, threading our fingers together. "I'm okay. I promise."
I take a moment to look at him. His eyes are clear, focused. His smile is real. He's here, he's awake, he's fine.
The adrenaline drains out of me all at once, and I slump forward, resting my forehead against his shoulder.
"You scared the shit out of me," I mumble into his hospital gown.
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Don't do it again."
"I'll try not to."
We sit like that for a long moment, just being, and slowly my heart rate returns to something resembling normal.
"For the record," Ace says quietly, "that was a really good kiss."
I lift my head to look at him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He grins. "Worth coming out for."
And despite everything—despite the hospital, the concussion, the terror of the last hour—I find myself smiling too. "Damn right it was."