13. I’ll Be Damned
I’LL BE DAMNED
LIAM
In response to a crisis, the body reacts in a series of events.
The hypothalamus signals the adrenal glands to release epinephrine, also known as adrenaline.
The immediate effects are an increased heart rate, as your body pumps more blood to your muscles.
Your blood pressure rises to deliver oxygen efficiently.
Your respiratory rate increases for more oxygen intake.
Pupils dilate for better vision. Then, your digestive and immune systems slow down, your body prioritizing survival.
Most people experience an emotional and behavioral response—fight, flee, or freeze.
And as I think over everything I learned in my human physiology class, I can finally answer the question I always wondered:
Would I fight, flee, or freeze?
Apparently, I would freeze.
Because as I watch Tatum Hart fall unconscious on the ice, his head smacking against it loud enough to break up the fight and silence the arena, I don’t move.
My hearing is dulled, my breath coming in quick pants as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest.
And still, I don’t move.
I watch as my world turns in slow motion.
Reid is escorted off the ice, his pale form trying to look back to find Tatum.
A little late to be concerned about Chadlington’s captain, I think, as I blink slowly.
I look over the ice and find Aubrey’s dark hair fluttering behind her as she makes her way toward Tatum. My body wants to stand, to follow her out there.
I know we need to assess him.
When it comes to head and spine injuries, time is of the essence.
But when my body tells my mind to give the order, there is a disconnect. I remain standing, watching from behind the glass.
Aubrey falls to her knees, shoving aside Chadlington’s players who have circled around their captain.
Finally, my body and mind connect.
I’m on the ice, pushing past the players as I join Aubrey. Her panicked eyes find mine for just a second, and there is no warmth in them. They quickly sweep over Tatum, as do my own.
His nose is crooked, clearly broken if the blood is any indication.
But thankfully, there are no other outward signs of injury to his body. We check for a pulse at his wrist, then at his neck.
I surprise myself when I find my hands steady enough to find one.
“Pulse is steady,” I announce as Aubrey releases a deep breath, nearly in time with the players and coaches surrounding us. Chadlington’s own athletic trainers are now crowded around him as well.
“Tatum,” I call, rubbing his shoulder.
But he doesn’t respond.
Aubrey searches through her pack, finding a pair of scissors, and begins cutting his jersey and chest protector. She starts a sternum rub to help him regain consciousness.
After a second, his eyelids flutter, and he comes to.
“Tatum,” Aubrey says again.
“Yea—” he chokes eventually. “I’m alright…” he tries to murmur.
“Good,” Aubrey notes as I look behind her to find the paramedics waiting.
“Tatum, can you move your legs for me?” Aubrey instructs, beginning her assessment for any spinal injury.
I watch with wide eyes as Tatum slowly moves each of his legs.
I feel a thousand pounds lifted from my chest as he moves them with ease.
“Good,” Aubrey and I say in unison.
“Now your fingers,” Aubrey orders. “Can you squeeze my hand? As hard as you can?” She laces her fingers with his. When I see her skin go pale, I know he likely doesn’t have any serious injuries—just suffered from glass jaw, Reid’s uppercut knocking him out cold.
“I don’t think he has any spinal injury,” Aubrey informs the paramedics as they move in. “But that can’t be ruled out,” she adds with an edge of certainty.
We work quickly with them to secure a neck brace for Tatum and place him safely on the backboard before helping carry him from the ice.
The players from each team clap, the crowd joining in. And before we know it, the arena is wild with cheers.
Aubrey stands beside me, helping carry the end of the stretcher alongside the three paramedics. Her pinky slowly touches mine, just a whisper of a touch.
Pinpricks dance on my skin.
I know she only does it because she can probably see the look on my face—the blatant stare as my mind races back to that night when I was being carried off the ice just like Tatum.
How she had met the squad and grabbed my hand as I moaned in pain, the bone of my lower leg covered with a towel as her eyes widened from the unnatural angle it was twisted in.
I crack her a smile, thankful for her comfort in this moment, here for me just as she had been in the past.
But I’m not hurting, I’m not running from the memory. I allow myself to feel it, to use those emotions and think about how Tatum might be feeling.
Grabbing his shoulder, I quickly give what comfort I can before they put him into the back of the ambulance. “You’re gonna be alright, man,” I mumble. Tatum is unable to move much from where they have him strapped to the backboard, but he blinks, trying to murmur something.
I’m certain he’s telling me to “go fuck myself.” I try to ignore it, knowing it’s likely because he knows I’m best friends with the man who just knocked his ass out cold in front of a sold-out arena.
Aubrey and I stand outside as we watch the ambulance’s lights flash, then pull away.
We stand in silence for a few minutes before I reach out. I’m not sure why I do it, but I let my fingers slide sensually over her arm. I turn to her, watching her throat bob as she swallows thickly.
Quietly, I whisper, “You were amazing in there.”
Her eyes find mine as she shakes her head in dismay.
I incline my head. “Yes. Yes, you were.”
Finally, she manages to reply through stiff lips, “Thanks…you too.”
But I know it’s a lie.
I know that I don’t have that fight instinct like her.
It doesn’t come naturally to me. And I wonder if she saw me freeze at first, how useless I had been in those first seconds.
But I don’t have a chance to linger on the thought as she turns on her heel, grabs my hand, and leads me back through the arena’s doors.
By the time we make our way back to the bench, the final buzzer is sounding, sealing our 4-2 loss.
And for some reason, I don’t think much of the score—not like I used to. Because as Aubrey and I walk back to the training room, I can’t help but think I’ve finally won.
All because Aubrey Vaughn actually touched me without acting like my skin was poison ivy.
When I walk out of the arena that night, I want nothing more than to crawl into my bed and go to sleep.
Aubrey and I were busy assessing cuts and injuries from the teamwide fight.
Based on the boys’ moods, they are less than happy with the actions of their alternative captain, my dumbass best friend, who got himself escorted from the game.
He’ll likely face a one or two-game suspension for his actions, and that’s honestly the least he deserves for throwing such a cheap fucking shot to begin with.
After locking up, being the last one to leave through the players’ entrance, I look up to find a figure waiting by my Jeep.
At first, I think it’s Reid, trying to find someone to talk to after his poor form tonight.
Hate to break it to him, but I’m not in the mood to talk to him, and he certainly won’t want to hear anything I have to say. But my steps slow before faltering altogether when I see it’s a much shorter and smaller form.
Aubrey.
“Hey,” I mutter softly as my heart starts racing just at the sight of her. She has her hair pulled up now, her face showing lines of tiredness, but I can’t help but stare and admire her. There is no form of Aubrey Vaughn that I don’t find attractive.
“Hey,” she replies delicately, her eyes dancing around the parking lot like they are too nervous to meet my own. “I was wondering if you want to go to the hospital with me? Thought it would be nice if we checked in on Tatum.”
I nod. I never would have thought about doing that. But Aubrey has always been one to put others before herself.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea. I can drive?” I offer as she lingers by the passenger-side door.
I know how much she hates driving at night, so she doesn’t argue when my Jeep unlocks.
Delleth Medical is only a few minutes from campus, and the drive is quick, with few stops at the traffic lights this time of night. But I can’t help noticing how much she fidgets as we pull in.
Her hands won’t stay still, messing with the zipper of her sweatshirt, then flipping her phone over in her fingers. When I park, and she starts to get out, I lay a hand on her leg before she can move. I ignore the fiery heat that shoots through me at the touch.
“Are you alright?” I ask, tilting my head to study her. She reaches for the door handle and climbs out, my hand sliding over her leg as she deliberately ignores it.
Can you blame her? You just told her a few weeks ago that you regret ever falling in love with her. I should be thankful that she’s still talking to me.
She answers, from outside, the door still open, “Yeah, just worked up from everything tonight.”
When I climb out and follow her in, she leads the way to the emergency room. She knows her way pretty well, never once stopping to look for the signs to the ER.
Maybe she’s been here for class or something, I think to myself as we approach the triage desk.
We ask for Tatum, and the nurse at the desk tells us to take a seat. For privacy reasons, they can’t tell us much, but they said they’ll notify his family—that maybe they’ll come out and update us.
We find seats in the overcrowded waiting room, nearly full of patients.
I lean in to whisper something to Aubrey, but my mouth snaps open as I take her in.
She’s pale.
Her usual tanned skin is nowhere to be found under the fluorescent lights.
I reach out and place a hand lightly on her knee. “Aubrey?” I ask.
Her eyes are wide, unblinking. I watch her throat bob as she swallows. I shake her knee lightly, hoping to snap her out of it, but it’s useless.