Chapter 32
TUCKER
I'm benched.
Not because I'm injured. Not because Coach is rotating lines. Because I'm playing like shit and everyone knows it.
“T-Stag, you're out," Coach Thompson barks during the second period. "Sit and think about whether you actually want to be here."
I skate to the bench without arguing. What am I supposed to say? I do want to be here, but my brain won't stop replaying Sloane's face the last time I saw her. The way she turned away from me, shut me out, made it clear she doesn't want me around.
The game continues without me. We're losing to Boston 3-1. My fault, mostly. I missed an assignment in the first period that led to a goal. Took a stupid penalty in the second that gave them a power play.
I'm a liability. Coach is right.
Around me, the bench is tense. Mayhem keeps shooting me concerned looks. Alder won't even make eye contact—he's too disappointed.
My phone is in my locker, but I can feel its absence like a phantom limb. Has Sloane texted? Called? Probably not. She's barely responded to anything I've sent in days.
I watch the clock tick down. Each second feels like proof that I'm failing at everything.
The buzzer sounds. End of the second period. We file into the locker room, and I head straight for my stall, sinking onto the bench.
My phone sits in my bag. I pull it out.
No messages from Sloane.
Three missed calls from a number I don't recognize.
Before I can check voicemail, my phone rings. The same unknown number.
I answer. "Hello?"
"Tucker? It's Mel."
My stomach drops. Sloane’s friend wouldn’t call me to shoot the shit. She would have had to work to get my number. "What's wrong?"
"Sloane's in the hospital." Her voice is careful, measured. "She had bleeding and cramping. They brought her in by ambulance."
The locker room disappears. The noise of my teammates fades to nothing.
"What hospital?"
"Magee Women's. Tucker, she—" Mel hesitates. "She knows you haven’t been playing, and she’s really hurt. She wouldn't let me call you. I waited as long as I could, but you need to know."
Hospital. Hurt. Sloane.
"Are the babies okay?"
"So far, yes. They're monitoring her. Preeclampsia, they think."
"I'm coming. I'm leaving right now."
"Tucker—"
I hang up. Stand. My hands are shaking.
Coach is across the locker room, talking to the assistant coaches. I walk over, my gear still on, skates still laced.
"Coach. I’m leaving.”
He turns. "What?"
"Sloane's in the hospital. The mother of my children. I have to go."
His face hardens. "We're in the middle of a game."
"I know. I'm sorry. But I have to leave. Now."
“She’s getting help at the hospital. Tucker, if you walk out of this arena, there will be consequences."
"I don't care." My voice is too loud. Other players are watching now. "My family is in the hospital and I'm going to them. Fire me if you want."
Coach's jaw works. He looks like he wants to argue, to threaten, to make me stay.
Then a voice behind me: "Let him go."
I turn. Grentley is standing there, his expression unreadable.
"Grentley—" Coach starts.
"Mayhem can step up. Turner can take his spot." Grentley looks at me, and for the first time since this whole mess started, there's no hostility in his eyes. Just understanding. "Go."
I stare at him. Josh Grentley, who has every reason to want me to fail, just vouched for me.
"Thanks," I manage.
He nods once. "Don't fuck it up."
I'm already moving, stripping off my gear as I go. Jersey, pads, skates. I'm down to my base layer in seconds, grabbing my phone and wallet.
"Tucker!" Alder catches my arm. "What do you need?"
"A way back to Pittsburgh. Fast."
"I'll call Brian. He'll get you a plane."
I'm pulling on jeans, a sweatshirt, shoes. Everything is happening in fast motion while my brain feels like it's moving through mud.
Sloane's in the hospital. The babies might be in danger. And she told the doctors I’m not allowed in.
My phone rings. My agent.
"I'm leaving the game," I say before he can speak. "I don't give a fuck about fines or consequences or—"
"Tucker, breathe." His voice is calm. "I heard. Where do you need to be?"
"Pittsburgh. Magee Women's Hospital."
"Give me ten minutes."
I'm dressed now, bag in hand. Alder is on his phone, speaking quickly to someone. Other teammates are gathering around—Mayhem, Spinner, even guys I barely talk to.
"Go," Mayhem says. "We got this."
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Alder hangs up. "Dad's going to meet you at the hospital. Odin's already on his way to the airport to pick you up."
My family. Mobilizing in seconds, no questions asked.
"Thank you."
"Go." Alder pulls me into a quick hug.
Brian has me taking a helicopter to Logan Airport, and on any other day, I’d be freaking out about how fucking cool this is.
A private jet waits to take my vibrating, anxious carcass the rest of the way to Pittsburgh, and we’re in the air before I can fully process what's happening.
Sloane's in the hospital. My babies might be in danger. I'm thirty thousand feet up and completely helpless.
I try calling her. It goes to voicemail.
I try texting.
I'm on my way. Please be okay.
No response.
I call my mom.
"Tucker, we heard, baby,” she says. "Your father and I are heading to the hospital now."
"Is she okay? Are the babies okay?"
"We don't know yet." Mom's voice is gentle. "She's going to be okay, honey."
"She won't let me see her."
Silence on the other end. Then: "What?"
"Mel said Sloane told the doctors I'd be 'out of the picture.' She didn't want me to know she was hospitalized."
"Tucker—"
"I fucked it up, Mom. I fucked everything up and now she won't even let me near her."
"You didn't fuck anything up. You're in a plane right now, leaving a game, risking your career to be with her. That's not fucking up."
"She doesn't want me there."
“But you’ll be there anyway,” Mom's voice is firm. "You'll sit outside her room if you have to. You'll wait as long as it takes. That's what love is, Tucker. Showing up even when it's hard."
After we hang up, I sit in the dark cabin, watching clouds pass below.
The flight attendant stops to relay a message from my Uncle Tim, who says the players’ association is still not budging on their emergency family leave protocols. I should have been paying more attention to that struggle. Should have had Brian on the horn, following up, getting public.
I shouldn’t have to be threatened with getting fired in front of the whole fucking team when there’s a life-threatening baby emergency.
The league thinks it’s me being soft.
Right now, I don't care.
Right now, all I care about is getting to Sloane.
I should have known something was wrong. Should have pushed harder when she pulled away. Should have stayed in Pittsburgh instead of going on this goddamn road trip.
I should have chosen her sooner.
Odin is waiting at the private aviation terminal when we land.
"How is she?" I ask as soon as I see him.
"I don't know, man. I just got the call from Dad twenty minutes ago." He grabs my bag. "Let's get you there."
The drive to the hospital in Odin’s SUV takes fifteen minutes but feels like fifteen hours. My big brother doesn't try to make conversation, just drives fast and gets me there.
He pulls up to the main entrance. "You want me to come in?"
"Yeah." I don't want to be alone when I find out how bad this is. He doesn’t say a word, but hops out and tosses his keys to the valet.
We walk through automatic doors into a bright, sterile lobby. The information desk is straight ahead—a tired-looking woman in scrubs behind a computer.
"I'm looking for Sloane Campbell," I say. "She was admitted earlier today."
The woman types. "Are you family?"
"I'm the father. Of her babies."
More typing. Her expression doesn't change. "I'm sorry, sir. She's on a restricted visitor list. I can't give you any information."
The words don't make sense at first. "What?"
"The patient has restricted her visitor list. You're not on it."
"Those are my babies. "
"I understand, but without the patient's permission—"
"Can you just tell me if she's okay? If the babies are okay?"
"I'm sorry. I can't release any information."
Beside me, Odin puts a hand on my shoulder. "Tucker—"
I step back from the desk before I say something I'll regret. Hospital security is already watching us.
She's in this hospital, possibly losing our babies, and she made sure I couldn't get to her.
My legs give out. I sink to the floor right there in the lobby, back against the wall, head in my hands.
This is it. This is what losing everything looks like.
Odin slides down beside me. We sit there on the hospital floor like a couple of idiots, and I can't bring myself to care.
"She's scared," Odin says quietly. "That's different from not wanting you."
"She literally put me on a list of people who can't see her."
"She's probably terrified. Fear makes people do stupid things."
"What am I supposed to do? I can't force my way in."
"No. But you can wait."
"For how long?"
"As long as it takes."
I lean my head back against the wall. Around us, the hospital moves on. People checking in, people leaving. Life and death happening while I sit on the floor.
"You're really okay with potentially losing your job over this?" Odin asks.
I close my eyes. “What kind of question is that? I'm okay with it. Because what's the point of having a career if I lose my family?"
He puts his arm around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder, wondering where everything went so wrong.
We sit in silence. Minutes pass. Then more minutes.
My phone rings and I bark out, “Yeah?" Without waiting to see who it is.
Uncle Tim’s voice comes through, gruff and staticky like he’s on the move. “Tucker, I know you and Mel Ortega got off to a rough start, but—”
“Uncle Tim, I really can’t talk about parking right now.”
He chuckles. Who can laugh right now? “Tucker, I was going to say … she’s a force of nature. She just got the league to eat their own words.”
I look at my brother and back at the floor. “What are you saying? Is this about me leaving the game tonight?”
Tim’s voice is firm but light. “She and my firstborn just won your case with the players’ association, kiddo. I’ll call you tomorrow with more details, but just know that you do not have to worry about your career while you take care of your family right now.”
“My family?”
“Yes,” he soothes. “Your family. You’re doing what matters.”
"What I'm doing is sitting on a hospital floor because the mother of my children won't let me see her."
"You're showing up. You're being there even when it's hard. That matters too." Tim pauses. “I’ve been in your shoes, son. I’m here to talk when you’re ready.”
"Thanks."
More time passes, and my brother just sits by my side, a quiet, giant presence. Hospital staff walk by, some giving us curious looks. Security keeps an eye on us but doesn't make us leave.
The PA system announces that visiting hours are ending in thirty minutes.
"You planning to stay all night?" Odin asks.
"If that's what it takes."
"They'll kick you out eventually."
"Then I'll sit in the parking lot. I don't care. I'm not leaving."
The automatic door to the lobby opens. My dad steps through, spots us immediately, and crosses the space as people murmur his name.
"Boys."
We stand. Dad looks at me, taking in the situation without asking questions. Then he sits down on the floor, back against the wall.
Odin and I exchange a look, then join him.
The three of us sit on the hospital floor, silent, but their presence gives me a tiny bit of strength. I can figure this out. They’ll help.
"Your mom wanted to come," Dad says. "I told her to wait. Too many of us might overwhelm Sloane."
"She won't see me anyway."
"She will. When she's ready."
"What if she's never ready?"
Dad doesn't answer that. We just sit.