Chapter 5 Brody #2
“No.” I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, only stopping to look back at her when I reach her bedroom door.
The pain magnifies when I notice the hurt on her face, the twist of her lips from my rejection.
I’m not a believer in divine intervention or fate or any of that other cosmic bullshit, but this seems like a big fucking sign from the universe that I need to stay the hell away from her.
My guilt turns to regret, to disappointment in myself when I shake my head.
When I roll my shoulders back and say, “I got caught up in the moment tonight, and we need to forget it ever happened. I was never here. We never spent any time together. We left the club separately, and I didn’t—”
“Get me off and have your first night of fun in months?”
“Yes.” I blow out a breath. I hate how easily she can read me. “That.”
“Is that really what you want?” she asks, her tone softening.
No.
It’s not what I fucking want at all, but it’s what has to happen. She’s too good. Too perfect, and I don’t want her brought into the hell I know is going to greet me the second I leave her apartment and head for the hospital.
Nothing in my life—and her brother’s life—is ever going to be the same again. I can’t give her the attention she deserves. Not when every time my phone rings, I’m going to wonder if it’s another one of my players calling because they’re hurt and they need me and I’m letting them down.
“It has to be.” My throat is on fire, and I hate myself. “There’s no world where this could ever be anything more than sex.”
“Okay.” Hannah lifts her chin and brushes her hair away from her face. “It’s already forgotten.”
It stings.
It shouldn’t, since I’m the one with my head up my ass and ruining this, but it fucking hurts.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“So am I.”
There’s probably something else I should say, but it’s not about me right now.
I turn down the hall, taking off in a sprint.
My lungs protest. My knee aches, but I need to get to Riley.
I need to get away from the hurt in her eyes so I don’t solidify myself as the meanest motherfucker to walk this planet.
There are footsteps behind me, but I don’t stop until I’m outside on the street, both hands on my thighs and holding back vomit.
I should turn around. I need to look back and see if I can find her window so I can apologize, but I physically can’t.
I can’t bring myself to do it, and I know I’ll hate myself from now until the end of time.
The hospital waiting room is crowded when I get there. Not a single one of my players is talking, and it’s the quietest I’ve ever heard them. I heave a deep breath and walk up to Liam Sullivan, my goalie, who is pacing the hardwood floor.
“Hey.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m here.”
He deflates when he sees me and points to a woman sitting behind a large desk. She has a phone pressed to her ear, unintimidated by the six-foot-three goalie towering over her with a scowl. “She won’t tell us what’s going on. And my patience is about to run out,” Liam says.
I elbow him out of the way, and he doesn’t put up a fight. “Excuse me.” I lean over and press the button on the phone, ending the call the receptionist is on. “I’m Riley Mitchell’s coach. Have his parents been notified? They live out of state.”
“I was in the middle of doing that before someone decided to hang up on them,” she draws out with a pointed glare. “If you don’t get back on that side of the desk, I’m going to have security escort you out. I don’t give a hoot who you are.”
“I tried that already.” Liam glares at the woman again. She doesn’t relent. “It’s bullshit.”
“Come here.” I lead him to a quiet corner, not arguing when Maverick joins us.
I glance between them and push away the fear that’s threatening to choke me.
They’re looking to me for guidance, and I need to get my shit together.
I need to be strong when this is the weakest I’ve ever felt. “Tell me everything that happened.”
“Riley left the club early.” Maverick gulps down a breath. “Most of us were still celebrating, and the next thing I know, my phone’s ringing. The guy calling told me there was an accident, and Riley was being taken to the hospital.”
“Have they given any indication of what happened to him? Where he was hurt?”
“No.” Liam grunts. “Just that he lost a lot of blood, and they—”
The doors to the emergency room open. A doctor walks out, and everyone rushes over to him.
“I’m guessing you all are here for Riley Mitchell?” he asks.
“We’re his teammates.” Maverick pushes his way to the front of the group. “Is he—”
“He’s breathing,” the doctor tells us. “That’s the good news.”
My blood turns ice cold. No one is moving, and everyone’s attention rests on me.
I’m the one in charge. I’m the one who has to ask this next question, and my stomach drops to my feet.
“And the bad news?” I manage to get out. “Please?”
“He suffered very serious injuries to his right leg which resulted in major blood loss. Surgery to repair the leg… well, it’s impossible. We’re going to have to do a transfemoral amputation, and after, he’ll—”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Maverick snaps. “You’re going to have to dumb it down for us.”
“He’s going to lose his leg above the knee,” Lexi Armstrong, the team’s athletic trainer, tells us, and hell breaks loose.
“Jesus fuck,” Ethan yells, kicking a wall.
Grant is quick to wrap his arms around his best friend’s stomach before he does something stupid.
He tosses a look my way, apologizing on Ethan’s behalf, but all I can see is Hannah.
The same eyes, the same mouth, and my hands curl into fists at my sides.
“This is the best fucking hospital in the city and you can’t fix his fucking leg? What the fuck do they pay you for?”
There’s a conversation about Riley’s surgery and recovery time.
I screw my eyes shut, transported back to my days as a player when I suffered a career-ending injury: a blade slicing above my knee.
The stitches, the pain, and the discussions that happened after, trying to figure out how quickly I could get back on the ice.
The team rushed me. I wasn’t completely healed when they put me back in the lineup, and I was never the same after. My days of playing professional hockey were over.
If there’s any chance of salvaging Riley’s career, I’m going to make sure we take his recovery slow.
I want to give him the chance I never had.
“Will he be able to skate again?” Maverick asks.
The doctor gives us a smile that tells me everything I need to know.
No.
He won’t.
Everything he’s ever known about himself is gone, and none of us will be able to help him get it back.
I should’ve answered the fucking phone.
The guys disperse after hearing that news to grieve in their own ways. I drift to the corner, taking a seat in a hard plastic chair. I stare at the floor, wondering what the fuck I do now when a phone rings.
“Hello?” Grant’s voice. Shaky. Broken. “Hey, Han.”
Of course she’s calling to check on him because she’s good and wonderful and the bright light in pitch-black dark.
I want to scream. I want to move far away from him, but I find myself leaning back. Trying to catch parts of their conversations while still feeling like a piece of shit.
“You heard? I’m not surprised. The internet is already picking up the story and publishing photos. I’m doing okay. Riley is breathing, but he’s going to lose his leg.” Grant pauses, a sob rushing out of him. “This is the worst night of my life.”
Mine too, I want to say. Tell your sister I’m sorry.
“I’ll call when I leave the hospital. Yeah. Sure. Love you too.”
There’s a long stretch of silence. I put my elbows on my knees, burying my face in my hands. I’m not equipped to handle this. A situation like this one was never talked about in any of the personal development books I read, and I don’t know how the hell we go forward from here.
A tap on my shoulder stops me from spiraling. I lift my chin, wiping my eyes.
“Coach?”
Grant’s voice wobbles again. I look over my shoulder and find him sitting in the chair behind me. Curled shoulders. Tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, and he doesn’t look like the kid we drafted five years ago. He looks like a man that’s been through hell.
“Hey, Everett,” I say. “Want me to grab you a water?”
“No. Not thirsty.” He points to my chest. “Your shirt is on inside out.”
“Oh.” I glance down. There’s a smudge of Hannah’s lipstick on the collar, and I want to burn the thing to ash. “Thanks.”
“I’m worried about Riley.” His bottom lip quivers. A new wave of tears hit him, and I’m out of my seat in an instant. Making my way over to his side and sitting next to him. “I want him to be okay.”
“I worried about him too.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “The doctors are going to do a good job taking care of him.”
“He’s one of my best friends. All the guys are, but Riley is special.
Yeah, he’s good on the ice, but he listens when I need to vent.
He gives me advice. He’s a nice guy.” A quiet laugh followed by a sniff.
“Even when I flirted with Lexi. He has such a crush on her.” His chuckle fades away.
“Guess this is a reminder we should tell people how we feel about them. Things can change in the blink of an eye.”
“That’s true.” I roll my lips together. I can’t believe I walked away from Hannah like that. I’ll never forgive myself. “We’re going to get through this.”
“Are we?” Grant stands. He paces, hands in his pockets. “What’s the point in playing when he’s not part of the team? I’m never going to be able to look at this championship without thinking about tonight. About Riley.”
“I don’t have the answer to that.” I avoid looking at him. All I see is her. “Hockey has been there for me in my darkest moments, and sometimes, we’re not playing for ourselves. We’re playing for those who can’t. But I’ll tell you the thing I do know: you’re not in this alone.”
“I’m not?”
I finally let myself look at him, but I wish I hadn’t. He’s as distraught as I feel.
“No,” I say. “I’m here. Your brothers are here. We’re going to figure out the next steps together.”
“Do you promise?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I nod. Maybe I’ll start to believe it. “I promise.”