Chapter 65
HAILEE
The second Hayden’s name lights up my screen, I swipe to answer and sink deeper into the couch, more than ready to listen to him talk for a few minutes.
I hated being in the same place for most of the day but being unable to see him. I’d hoped to sneak down to get a little Hayden fix before they left, but it wasn’t to be.
So I’m going to soak up every second of this pregame chat.
“Hey, baby. How’s it—”
“Coach is putting me in the starting lineup.”
I sit bolt upright.
“What?” I shriek. Of course, I suspected.
But I didn’t say anything, because while I might work for the franchise, I’m hardly a coach.
I swear, every week I learn a new rule or slang term—I’m certainly not qualified to be making assumptions where players and lineups are concerned. “Oh my god, Hayden. That’s huge.”
“Y-yeah,” he stutters, not sounding half as excited as I am.
“What’s wrong?”
He hesitates for a few seconds, and I grip my cell tighter.
Fuck. I wish I were there.
“What if…what if I can’t do it?” His anxiety bleeds through the line. “What if I let everyone down?”
“Hayden, that’s not possible. You’re going to smash it. I’m so proud of you,” I tell him, hoping it’ll help. “Oh, and your parents are there. Your mom is so gonna cry, hearing your name announ—”
“She won’t be here, Hails,” he whispers.
My chest compresses.
“She is one hundred percent there with you. She is. Every single day.”
I hear movement and him breathing down the line, but he doesn’t say anything for the longest time.
“I thought…I thought it was getting easier.”
My eyes close as my own grief assaults me.
I know exactly what he's talking about. As time goes on, you realize it’s getting easier to function.
You never forget, but the memories change from the most painful ones to happy ones, comforting ones.
Or at least, that’s how it worked for me.
And then one day, just when you thought you were coming to terms with it all—bam.
It hits you out of nowhere, when you least expect it, and you don’t have the capacity to deal with the sudden onslaught of grief.
“Baby,” I breathe, unable to summon the right words despite having gone through it.
“You’re an incredible hockey player, you’re going to go out there tonight and absolutely kill it.
Everyone is behind you. I’ll be watching.
Your parents are in the stands. The team is right there.
You’ve got this. The second you step on the ice, everything will fall into place. ”
“But you’re not here.”
“Maybe not in person. But I am one hundred percent there with you. I’ll watch every single second of the game. I’ll be cheering you on just as loudly as if I were there. And every time you see a camera, that’s me watching you.”
“Fuck,” he hisses. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Believe it, baby. You’re about to be announced right after Everett motherfucking Donnelly,” I say, knowing just how much that’s going to mean to him.
“Yeah. I am. Fuck.” A laugh spills from his lips, letting me know that he’s going to be okay.
“And more than that, you’re gonna take the W tonight. You’re gonna do it for Rylee. For Killer, but most importantly, you’re gonna do it for you.”
I might not be able to see him, but his excitement is palpable.
“Fuck, yeah, we are.”
“You so are.”
“Hails, I lo—” He cuts himself off as my heart lurches in my throat. “I can’t wait to get home to you tonight.”
“I can’t wait either. I’ll be waiting, wearing nothing but your jersey.”
“Goddamn,” he groans.
“You need to go,” I tell him, aware that we’ve already been on the phone too long.
“Yeah, I know. I’ll call you later.”
“I’ll be watching you, baby. Listen hard enough and you’ll hear me screaming your name.”
“Later on tonight, I’ll be hearing it even louder.”
The Blaze win the first puck drop, and it’s like that sets the tone for the game, because the Vipers are immediately on the back foot, and they struggle to get the upper hand, even when they get hold of the puck.
It’s incredibly frustrating, especially coming off the back of some amazing wins.
My stomach is in knots every time Hayden jumps the boards for a shift.
He’s so desperate to prove himself, to show the world that he’s good enough to be up there as Rett’s partner.
I want it just as badly for him. He’s living out a dream right now, and I really don’t want the experience to be tainted by a loss.
“Oh,” I cry, jumping to my feet as one of the Blaze’s wingers collides with Hayden.
My heart is racing a million miles a minute. My stomach so tight it hurts; my anxiety through the roof. I’ve watched hundreds of hockey games since securing this position, but I’ve never felt like I do right now. My breathing is so labored, anyone would think I’ve just come off a shift.
Thankfully, Hayden hops back up as if nothing happened and races toward the crease, ready to protect the net.
But he’s a second too late, and the puck hits the back of the net.
The home crowd roars as their team celebrates.
I don’t watch them, though. My eyes are on Hayden; his head is lowered in defeat.
Rett sees it and skates closer as they head to the boards.
He grabs Hayden’s shoulder and says something to him.
Without getting a good view of his mouth, I don’t stand a chance of reading what he says. But whatever it is, it perks Hayden up a little before he grabs his drink and hits the bench for a rest.
“Fucking hell,” I groan, sinking back onto the couch to catch my breath.
My reprieve only lasts a minute at best, because he’s back out there. Being a goal down really lights a fire under our asses, and they push back harder, thankfully levelling the score in only thirty seconds after winning the second puck drop.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I scream, hopping up and down in excitement.
The next time Hayden is on shift, he blocks two incredible shots, sending the puck down to Kodie, who makes two unsuccessful shots on goal.
“Come on, you’ve got this,” I say, taking a sip of my water, my ass right on the edge of the seat.
We’re only ten minutes into the game, and I’m sweating. I’m not sure how I’m going to make it through to the end. I’m fucked if it goes into overtime. I think I might go into cardiac arrest before then.
“You’ve got this, baby,” I say, rubbing my hands together as he and Rett jump back in. “Let’s end this period with a goal.”
We lose the next puck drop, and the Blaze winger takes off, ready to take his shot and reclaim their lead.
My fingers curl around my couch cushion as Hayden tracks their movement, getting ready to intercept. The winger diverts, but Hayden sees it coming, and he manages to steal the puck. He takes off like a rocket, and he’s over the blue line.
He’s got an open shot on goal; he knows it, too.
“Oh my god,” I gasp as he pulls his stick back. “Come on, baby.”
He sends the puck careening toward the net, but I don’t see if it hits its mark or not, because one of the Blaze’s D-men appears out of nowhere with his stick in the air, colliding with Hayden.
“No,” I scream, on my feet before my man has even hit the ice.
I watch in horror as the ice turns red with blood, and my heart sinks into my feet.
“No, please.”
I move closer to the TV.
Hayden’s not moving.
No. Not twice in two games.
No, please. No.
It’s not until he rolls onto his front, his gloved hands clutching his face, that I remember I should be breathing.
But while he might be moving, there’s more blood.
So much fucking blood.
I don’t hear a word the commentators are saying—my ears are buzzing with white noise, and the only thing I can think of is that I need to be there.
“Fuck,” I bark before I do something I never thought I would.
I race across the apartment, pulling on a hoodie that was thrown over a stool at the kitchen island. I shove my feet into my sneakers and grab my car key from the bowl in the entryway.
I don’t question myself as I run to the elevator, my heart trying to beat out of my chest, panic racing like ice through my veins.
When it doesn’t come fast enough, I turn to the stairs.
I can’t just stand here waiting.
I need to be there.
He needs me.
He—
I choke back a sob as I begin racing down the stairs as if I have the hounds of hell snapping at my ankles.
By the time I hit the ground floor, my legs and lungs are on fire. But I would do a million more flights if it would get me to him.
My car lights up as I run toward it on shaky legs, but I don’t stop for a second once I’m in the driver’s seat. I jab my finger into the start button and immediately put it into reverse.
It’s not until I release the brake a little and the car begins to move that I realize what I’m doing.
I stare at the white wall ahead and take a moment.
Hayden might be fine.
He could already be back on his feet and flying around the ice again.
But no matter how many times I tell myself that, I don’t believe it.
He’s not okay. That amount of blood is never okay.
I release the death grip I have on the wheel and shake my hands out.
If I’m going to do this, then I need to at least know where I’m going.
Putting the car back into park, I set about setting the GPS to the Blaze’s arena, which is a hell of a lot harder than it should be because of the way my hands are violently trembling.
“Get it together, Caldwell,” I hiss at myself as I press start.
It will take an hour and a half.
That’s…that’s more than I’ve driven in years.
It’s crazy. It’s—
It’s Hayden.
With determination shooting through my body, I push aside all my fears, or at least I try, and I put the car back into reverse and carefully edge my way out of my space.
Less than thirty seconds later, I’m pulling onto the main road.
My heart is in my throat, my fingers are already cramping from how tightly I’m holding the wheel, and I’m sweating profusely.
But I’m doing it.
Refusing to let any thought enter my head other than my need to get to him, I focus on the road ahead of me, and the directions on the screen and in my ears.
You’ve got this, Caldwell.
Go and get your man.