Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

1. Jamie

Chapter one

Jamie

The Hit

Something tears.

Not my jersey.

Not a muscle.

Something deep inside my left shoulder explodes with a sickening pop that shoots all the way down to my fingertips.

The force drives every ounce of air from my lungs.

One second, I’m skating.

The next, I’m flat on my back, staring up at the bright white lights of an away arena that feels a thousand miles away.

The roar of fourteen thousand fans fades into a dull ring.

I try to push myself up.

Pain slams through my chest.

Sharp.

Blinding.

Wrong.

“Don’t move.”

A woman’s voice.

Calm.

Confident.

Close.

I turn my head.

Dark eyes meet mine behind the clear shield of a medical helmet.

No panic. No hesitation. Just quiet authority.

She drops to one knee beside me. “Captain Walker, can you hear me?”

I drag in half a breath. It burns. “I’ve…had better nights.”

The words come out thinner than I want.

Good. If I can joke, I’m probably still alive.

Someone else drops to the ice on my other side.

“Annette?”

“I’ve got him, Sam. Let’s get the gurney. He’s not walking out of here.”

She never takes her eyes off me.

The other medic moves immediately. No argument. No wasted words.

The woman beside me checks my pulse with two fingers against my neck. Her touch is steady. Professional. Certain.

“Where does it hurt?”

I almost laugh. “Everywhere.”

“Start with the worst.”

“My shoulder.”

“Left?”

I try to nod. That turns out to be a mistake. My vision flickers white around the edges. “Yes.”

“Leave your arm where it is.”

I try to lift it anyway.

Nothing happens. Well nothing, other than the pain that rips through me hard enough to steal the rest of my breath.

Her gloved hand settles gently against my forearm.

Not forcing me still.

Not holding me down but reminding me that fighting my own body isn’t going to help.

“Leave it there,” she repeats.

Somehow, I obey before I realize I’ve decided to.

Funny. I don’t usually take orders very well.

She studies my face for another second. “Any trouble breathing?”

A little would be a lie. “Some.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “Okay.”

Not you’re okay. Just okay.

Like she’s collecting pieces of a puzzle she already knows how to solve.

***

Behind her, the arena drifts in and out.

The crowd. The officials. The bench. My teammates.

Everything blurs together until one thought cuts clean through the fog.

Ethan.

Our rookie defenseman stands only a few feet away, frozen near the spot where the collision happened.

His helmet is off. His face is white as the ice beneath him. He is looking at me like this is somehow his fault.

I know that look.

Every rookie has one moment when the game gets too big and too fast and too cruel.

One bad bounce. One missed read. One second that they wish they could get back.

Ethan’s hands hang useless at his sides.

I force my left hand to move -barely an inch. It feels like lifting a truck.

Still, I manage the smallest nod I can. I’m okay.

Or at least, that is what I need him to believe.

The woman follows my gaze. She sees Ethan, then looks back at me.

“You can worry about everybody else later.”

I blink at her. “What?”

“Right now…” She braces my shoulder with careful hands. “You’re my patient.”

Another wave of pain crashes through my chest.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Everything tilts. Everything hurts. The arena lights dissolve into white.

Twelve seconds. If I could have those twelve seconds back…

***

………….. Colby’s legs are running on fumes.

I see it before anyone else does. His stride has shortened. His shoulders aren’t driving the way they should. He’s giving us everything he has left, but it isn’t much right now.

Toby pinches too deep.

Liam’s chirping again, which means his nerves are climbing.

Caleb stands motionless in the crease. Calm as stone.

And Ethan…

Ethan is thinking instead of playing.

I slide half a stride closer.

Not because Coach tells me to. Not because Ethan asks for help. Because that’s my job.

If everyone else gets through the next twelve seconds, everything will be fine.

The puck takes one ugly hop.

Straight toward Ethan.

***

No! Ethan reaches for the puck a fraction too late. It skips over the toe of his stick and lands on the tape of the opposing winger charging through the neutral zone.

The crowd rises as one. Not because they've scored. Because every person in the building can see what's about to happen.

"Ethan!" Coach's voice cuts across the ice.

Our rookie pivots hard, trying to recover. His outside edge catches for half a heartbeat, just enough to leave him exposed.

The opposing defenseman has fifty pounds on Ethan and a full head of steam.

He lowers his shoulder. He's not playing the puck anymore. He's finishing the hit.

Ethan never sees him.

Time slows. Not the game. Just my mind. The angle. The distance. The closing speed.

There isn't enough time for Ethan to protect himself.

There isn't enough time for anyone to warn him.

There is only enough time...to move.

I push off. One stride. Two. The gap disappears beneath my skates.

"Ethan!"

He finally looks up. Confusion flashes across his face. He still doesn't understand.

I don't explain. I drive both gloves into the center of his chest.

"Move!"

The shove sends him stumbling backward. His skates catch and his balance returns just enough to carry him clear of the lane.

Safe. Good. Then I realize...

I've run out of ice.

The defenseman never changes direction. He commits to the hit. So, do I.

His shoulder slams into my left side with enough force to twist my body before my brain can process what's happened.

Something gives. Not the glass. Me.

A sickening crack echoes somewhere beneath my jersey.

White-hot pain detonates through my shoulder.

Then my ribs.

My stick flies from my hand. The boards rush toward me. My left shoulder strikes first.

Another burst of agony tears through my chest.

The world flips.

Ice.

Glass.

Lights.

Noise.

I hit hard enough to bounce. For one impossible second, I can't tell which way is up.

I suck in a breath. Nothing. My lungs refuse. I try again and a knife drives through my ribs.

Not breathing suddenly feels far more frightening than the pain.

Whistles scream. Skates carve sharp arcs across the ice. Someone grabs the player who hit me before he can say something I won't hear anyway.

***

"Cap! Wake up! Come back here!” It's Liam. His voice sounds farther away than it should.

"I didn't see him!" It’s Ethan. His words crack apart. "I swear—I didn't.."

"You don't have anything to apologize for." Coach insists. His words are firm and certain.

I force my eyes open. Everything swims. The scoreboard above center ice blurs into streaks of light.

I can't feel my left arm.

Not pain.

Nothing.

That scares me more than anything else.

Out of the corner of my vision, Ethan takes one step toward me before Coach catches his shoulder. "Stay where you are."

The kid looks devastated, like he wishes he could trade places with me.

No.

Absolutely not.

I manage one tiny shake of my head. Not your fault. He sees it. His shoulders drop. Not because he believes me. Because I gave him permission to breathe.

Good.

That's all I wanted.

Another wave of pain rolls through me. Much stronger this time.

The lights above me begin to fade.

The ringing inside my ears grows louder.

The last thing I remember...

...is wondering whether we held the lead.

Then everything goes dark.

***

The first thing I notice when the darkness thins is the sound.

Not the crowd. Not anymore. The building has gone strange around me, like somebody turned the volume down on everything except my own breathing. Or what is trying to pass for breathing. Air catches halfway down my chest and stops there.

I drag in another shallow pull.

Bad idea.

Pain cuts under my ribs hard enough to make the ceiling lights smear together.

"Captain Walker?"

That voice again.

Steady. Close.

I open my eyes.

The woman is still beside me, one knee on the ice, one hand braced carefully near my left shoulder. Her dark hair is tucked back beneath her medical helmet. Her gaze moves over my face, not rushed, not rattled, like the entire arena has narrowed to the few inches of space between us.

"Stay with me."

"I'm here."

It comes out like gravel.

"Good." She glances toward the medic returning with the gurney. "Sam, we need collarbone stabilization, oxygen ready, and let's keep him flat. Possible rib involvement. I don't like his breathing."

Possible rib involvement.

I would laugh if laughing didn't feel like something that might kill me.

"Help me up."

Her eyes come back to mine. "No."

"I can skate."

"No."

"It's only my shoulder."

"You’re not ready to stand up yet."

I try to shift my weight anyway. The world punishes me for it. Another bolt of pain rips from my collarbone through my chest so fast I forget where I am. My hand clenches against the ice. I hear someone curse above me.

It might be Liam. It might be me.

The woman waits until my breathing steadies into something ugly but functional.

"Done proving things?"

I glare at her. At least I try to.

"I don't need a stretcher."

"I know."

That throws me.

"You know?"

"I know you don't want one." She reaches for a strap Sam passes her. "I'm still using it."

"I'd rather walk."

"I know."

"You're not very agreeable."

"I'm very agreeable when patients make smart choices."

"And when they don't?"

Her mouth barely moves.

"Sam, please bring the gurney."

Somewhere behind her, Liam gives a strangled laugh.

Coach doesn't.

Coach is crouched untying my skates now, face drawn tight in a way I don't like. Our trainer, Mark, drops beside him and leans closer.

"Jamie."

I know that tone. I've heard it in locker rooms, tunnels, hotel hallways, and after games when the cameras are gone and nobody needs to pretend anymore.

"Same shoulder?"

His eyes flick to my left side. Not surprised. Worried. Too worried.

I nod and swallow. "I'm good."

The woman stills.

Not much.

Just enough.

Her gaze moves from me to Mark.

Mark doesn't argue. He only lets out a slow breath through his nose.