Chapter 27 #2
It wasn’t late. It wasn’t even particularly egregious by the standards of the game. But it was hard, and it was at the wrong angle, catching Dani as she turned. Her momentum carried her forward with nothing to absorb the impact.
Her shoulder and upper body took the brunt of the hit, but the force sent her off balance, skates slipping out from under her as she went down and forward.
Headfirst into the boards.
A sharp, hollow crack rose above the sounds of the game.
My stomach dropped when Dani didn’t get up.
For a fraction of a second, the play continued. The puck skipped loose along the boards. But then someone noticed, a whistle blew, and everything stopped.
One of Dani’s teammates dropped to her knees beside her. She raised a hand immediately, signaling toward the bench.
I couldn’t breathe.
Dani was still down.
She was flat against the ice, one arm slightly out of place beneath her, her body too still for a game that was always in motion.
The officials were waving for the trainers.
The team’s medical staff came out fast, skidding onto the ice. One of the trainers dropped to his knees beside her. Another hovered near her head, hands already moving to carefully stabilize her.
I realized distantly that I was no longer listening to anything in my earpiece.
“Reese, we’re live in—” Mara was saying, but the words didn’t register.
My entire world had narrowed to the events just beyond the glass.
They rolled her slowly onto her back. One of the trainers reached for her helmet, fingers working quickly at the cage, unscrewing it with deliberate care while another kept her head steady.
They didn’t remove the helmet itself. That registered somewhere in the back of my mind, a detail I had learned to recognize for what it meant. It was a precaution for a possible head, neck, or spinal injury.
A backboard was already being brought out.
The arena had gone completely quiet, the kind of silence that only existed when thousands of people were holding the same breath at the same time.
I felt like I was outside of my own body, watching it happen from a distance I couldn’t close.
She was supposed to move. She was supposed to push herself up, shake it off, wave it away like it was nothing.
But she didn’t.
The trainers spoke to her again. I thought I saw her arm shift, but it wasn’t enough movement. Not nearly enough.
I didn’t wait for the next play.
I shoved my handheld microphone into Sam’s hand. “Take over,” I snapped, my voice barely recognizable.
My mind was consumed with one thought: Get to Dani.
I could faintly hear the polite clapping of the crowd and the tapping of sticks by the players as the team’s medical staff maneuvered the spinal board off the ice with her strapped on it.
I cut through the gate and into the player tunnel, my steps quick and uneven as I pushed down the concrete hallway. I hurdled over cables and dodged other reporters who were just as quick to scramble toward the action. My eyes scanned ahead like I might still catch up to them, but I didn’t.
By the time I reached the corridor that branched toward the training room, they were already inside and the door was closed.
The security guard at the entrance tried to stop me, holding up a hand and barking something about my press credentials.
“I’m not a reporter,” I declared, my voice coming out far more desperate than I intended. “That’s my girlfriend in there. My girlfriend!”
The guard hesitated, clearly thrown off by my outburst, and that was enough. I shoved past him, ignoring his protests, and barreled through the doorway.
The first door I tried was locked. My hands shook as I pulled on the handle, my frustration mounting. She could be hurt, and they were keeping me out?
I pounded on the door, calling her name. “Dani! Let me in!”
Footsteps approached behind me. It was the same security guard, clearly trying to play by the rules, but I couldn’t have cared less. “You need to go back, Miss.”
“No!” I spun around, pointing a finger in his chest. “I need to see her. Now.”
His face hardened, but I saw something flicker in his eyes—recognition, maybe? Either way, it didn’t matter. He stepped back reluctantly, allowing me a few moments of chaos-driven freedom.
I continued past him and through another door, my heart in my throat, only to find Dani sitting on the trainer’s table, surrounded by a team of medical staff.
Dani was sitting up.
That was the first thing that registered, and for a second it was the only thing that mattered. She wasn’t strapped down. She wasn’t surrounded by medical staff in a way that felt urgent.
One of the trainers stood in front of her, hand braced on her shoulder while asking questions I couldn’t quite make out. Another trainer hovered nearby with a tablet.
Dani looked up as I approached. The second her eyes found mine, she smiled.
The relief that flooded me made my knees weak.
I reached her side in seconds, out of breath, adrenaline still pumping. “Are you okay?” My voice came out louder than I intended. “I thought—God, I thought you were seriously hurt. What the hell, Dani?”
She blinked at me, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’m fine. Seriously. Just a little winded.”
I could feel my anger starting to boil beneath the surface, but there was no time to process it.
“Winded?” I blustered. “You looked like you were knocked out cold! Or worse—paralyzed! Don’t do that to me.”
I was practically shaking, my hand gripping her upper arm tighter than necessary.
“It’s probably a concussion and a broken collarbone,” someone on the medical staff chimed in.
Dani started to laugh but then immediate winced. She pressed her palm against her aforementioned collarbone. “Like I said—just a little winded.”
“You scared me,” I said, breathless and furious. My heart was still pounding in my chest, and every word that left my mouth felt like it was breaking open a door I’d kept locked for too long. “I thought you were hurt. Really hurt.”
The amusement in her eyes softened as she met my gaze. “I’m fine, really,” she insisted. “It was just a little scare.”
“Why did you make me freak out like that?” I spat out.
I exhaled sharply, trying to steady myself. I was so furious, so frustrated, but underneath it all there was fear. Fear that something would happen to her, and I wouldn’t be there to stop it. Fear that this—whatever we were—was more than just a fleeting moment.
Dani raised an eyebrow, that damn amused look still on her face. “Baby, you’re a mess,” she said softly.
Her smile faded just enough to let something else in. I could see her thinking and processing, the wheels turning behind her eyes.
“Reese,” she whispered, almost tenderly. “You really do care, don’t you?”
“Of course I care!” I said, the words escaping me before I could stop them. “You-you dummy.”
She didn’t give me a chance to say more. Dani pulled me closer, her hand cupping my face as she leaned in.
I kissed her. It was urgent and raw, the years of unspoken words and feelings crashing between us. It wasn’t just relief or desire—it was the culmination of everything that had been building between us.
When we finally pulled away, my heart was still racing, my breath coming in sharp bursts. I didn’t know what to say. How could I explain this feeling, the one that had been eating me alive since we’d first met?
I rested my forehead against hers, my breath coming in ragged gasps. “You scared me,” I whispered. “You really scared me.”
Dani grinned, her eyes full of that damnable mischief. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to keep you on your toes.”
I laughed through the lump in my throat. “You’re lucky I love you.”
She leaned in again, kissing me gently as if savoring the moment. When she pulled back, she smiled. “I love you, too.”