Chapter 50 Ryan
Those four hours were the longest of my entire life.
Every tick of the clock stretched into eternity, my mind a storm of worst-case scenarios.
My foot stayed glued to the gas pedal, the needle on the speedometer hovering dangerously close to reckless.
If there were any highway patrol cars out tonight, I’d be getting a ticket–maybe even arrested–but I didn’t care. I needed to get to Connor.
The highway blurred past me–cars, signs, trees–all of it meaningless. The only thing I could focus on was getting there.
Guilt gnawed at the pit of my stomach, a dull, relentless ache.
I should’ve been there. I should’ve been the one coaching him, just like last season.
I should’ve been standing behind the bench, guiding him, protecting him, watching out for him.
Not four hours away, chasing a job that suddenly didn’t feel so important anymore.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white.
I’d told myself this opportunity was worth it–that taking this coaching position was the right step for my career, that Harper and Connor would be fine without me for a little while.
Now, though? With the image of Connor lying motionless on the ice burned into my mind. I felt like I’d failed them both.
The thought twisted in my chest, sharp, until I could barely breathe around it.
By the time I pulled into the hospital parking lot, my entire body was running on pure adrenaline.
I barely managed to throw the truck into park before jumping out, slamming the door behind me.
I sprinted across the lot, weaving between cars, ignoring the curious stares of people walking by.
My pulse hammered in my ears, drowning out everything but the single thought pounding through my brain.
Get to Connor. Get to Connor. Get to Connor.
Inside, the harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room made everything feel even more surreal. The sharp scent of antiseptic burned my nose as I skidded to a stop in front of the reception desk, breathless and wild-eyed.
A young woman with a pleasant but slightly frazzled expression looked up at me. “Hi, how can I help you?”
“I’m looking for someone,” I blurted, the words tumbling out too fast. “A young boy–Connor. He was brought in by ambulance a few hours ago.”
She tilted her head, her fingers hovering over her keyboard. “Are you family?”
I froze. My heart pounded against my ribs. I–I don’t know?
“I-” I stammered. “No. I mean, yes. I–”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, and she gave me a skeptical look. “Sir, I can only provide information to family members.”
I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to stay calm. I don’t have time for this.
“I need to know where he is,” I said, forcing my voice to stay even. “I need to see him. I need to know if he’s okay.”
Her expression didn’t waver. “I’m sorry, sir. If you’re not family–”
I slammed my fist on the desk. The loud bang echoed through the waiting room, making heads snap toward me. “That’s my fucking kid!” I yelled, my voice breaking. “He’s probably scared out of his mind, and he needs me! Where is he?!”
The girl flinched, her eyes wide with panic. A security guard near the door took a step toward me, his hand hovering near his radio.
Shit.
I sucked in a sharp breath, dragging my hands through my hair. My chest heaved, my body trembling with adrenaline and helplessness. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, my voice shaking. “I’m sorry. I–I just–” My throat tightened. “I just need to know he’s okay.”
“Ryan?”
Her voice cut through the chaos like a lifeline, and I turned. Harper.
She looked like she’d been through hell. Her hair was a tangled mess, her face pale, and her eyes red and puffy, like she’d been crying for hours. She was drowning in an oversized hoodie, the sleeves pulled down over her hands. She seemed impossibly small, fragile in a way that made my heart ache.
“Ryan,” she said again, stepping closer. “It’s okay.” She turned to the receptionist and the security guard. “He’s with me.”
The girl behind the desk nodded, visibly relieved to hand me off.
I turned back to Harper, and the pain hit me all over again. “Where is he?” I demanded, my voice raw. “Why aren’t you with him? What’s going on?”
Her lower lip trembled, but she forced herself to stay calm. “He’s getting a CT scan,” she said quietly. “Of his neck. They wanted to make sure there’s no serious damage. He’ll be back in his room soon.”
Her words washed over me, and I sagged in relief, my knees nearly buckling.
I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. I just reached for her, pulling her into my arms and holding her like she was the only thing keeping me grounded.
She didn’t resist. She melted into me, her hands clutching the back of my shirt as if she needed the contact as much as I did.
I buried my face in her hair, inhaling the faint scent of vanilla. My heart pounded against my ribs, but for the first time in hours, I felt like I could breathe.
“I should’ve been there,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I should’ve been with him.”
She shook her head against my chest, her breathing hitching. “You’re here now,” she murmured.
I held her tighter, my fingers pressing into the fabric of her hoodie, as if holding on could somehow take away the fear, the guilt, the helplessness that had been gnawing at me for the last four hours.
But most of all, I held her because I needed to–because this woman and that kid had become my whole damn world.
By the time we reached Connor’s room, my chest was tight with anxiety. Harper’s hand still gripping mine, like she needed the connection just as much as I did. She wasn’t the type to lean on people–not like this. So if she needed me, I’d be there. For her. For Connor. For both of them.
The faint sound of Connor’s voice echoed down the hallway, growing louder with every word. My heart lurched as I caught bits of his animated chatter. He was talking. He was okay enough to talk.
“You should’ve seen the play! I bet I could’ve made that shot with my eyes closed! Maybe even with my skates off! But–wait, no–if I had my skates off, I’d probably slip and fall. You get it, though, right?”
A small chuckle followed, and I could hear the patience in the nurse’s voice as she nodded along, trying to keep up.
Then the wheelchair rounded the corner.
And my stomach dropped.
Connor sat in the wheelchair, his legs swinging lightly, but seeing him like that sent a fresh wave of panic through me. He looked small–too small–his face still pale under the bright hospital lights.
But it wasn’t just that.
It was the flash of memory–so sharp, so sudden–that hit me like a slap to the face.
Kyle.
The way his body had slammed into the boards, the sickening crack of his helmet against the glass. The way he’d rolled around the hospital in a wheelchair afterward, never getting out of it.
I blinked hard, shaking the image away.
No.
Connor wasn’t Kyle. This wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be the same.
Then Connor saw me.
“Ryan!”
He leapt out of the wheelchair like it was nothing, running straight into my arms.
I caught him without thinking, my arms wrapping around him in a fierce hug. The second he was in my arms, every ounce of fear, tension, and panic I’d been holding onto dissolved.
“Connor,” I whispered, my voice thick, burying my face in his messy hair. “You scared the hell out of me, kid.”
“Ryan,” he said, his voice muffled against my chest, his hands patting me awkwardly. “You’re kind of suffocating me.”
I let out a strangled laugh, immediately loosening my grip and setting him back down. “Sorry, buddy,” I said, brushing a hand over his hair. “Are you okay? Really?”
Connor beamed up at me. “I’m fine. Just a little sore, that’s all.”
The nurse, who’d been standing quietly behind him, spoke up. “The doctor will be in shortly to go over everything with you.”
“Thank you,” Harper said, her voice steady but soft. As the nurse left, she turned to me, her green eyes filled with something I hadn’t seen in a long time: trust. “He’s okay,” she said, squeezing my hand again.
I nodded, but my chest was still tight. I couldn’t stop looking at Connor, like I needed to confirm every second that he was really, truly fine.
“Wanna know what happened?” Connor asked, his eyes lighting up with excitement.
Harper and I both sat down, and he launched into a dramatic retelling of the hit, complete with hand gestures and sound effects. Harper winced at parts, but I couldn’t help smiling at his enthusiasm. He was a tough kid, no doubt about it.
Just as Connor was reenacting the moment he hit the boards, the door opened, and the doctor walked in.
Connor turned to him immediately, his face serious. “So, doc, you think I’ll be back on the ice this week?”
The doctor chuckled, glancing at us before answering. “Not quite, champ. It’s going to be a few weeks. You’ve got a minor concussion and some whiplash–nothing too serious, but your brain and muscles need time to heal.”
Connor’s face fell. “A few weeks?” he groaned.
“Connor,” Harper started, her tone firm, “you need to listen to the doctor–”
“But Mom–”
“No buts,” I cut in, my voice calm but firm. “Three weeks isn’t that long, and you want to be fully healed before you get back out there, right? No point rushing it and making things worse.”
Connor sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. “Fine. Three weeks. But that’s the absolute most.”
“Good,” I said, ruffling his hair. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Harper let out a slow breath, and for the first time in hours, the tension in her shoulders seemed to ease.
“You know,” she mused, glancing around the room, “at this rate, we should get a punch card for this place. Three visits in a year–one more, and we should get a free one.”
I snorted. “Yeah, not exactly the kind of rewards program I want to be part of.”
Connor perked up. “Wait–do I get anything free? Like, maybe some ice cream or something?”
Harper gave him a look, and I grinned. “Kid’s got a point.”
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the hint of a smile. Then her expression sobered. “No more hospital visits,” she said firmly, looking between Connor and me. “We’re done with this place.”
Connor held up three fingers like a scout taking an oath. “Agreed. No more.”
I met Harper’s gaze, something unspoken passing between us. A promise. A fresh start.
“No more,” I echoed.
She looked at me then, her expression softening in a way that sent warmth flooding through me. For the first time in months, there was no distance in her gaze, no walls. Just gratitude and something else I couldn’t quite name.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
I nodded, my chest tightening again, but this time it wasn’t from fear. It was something good. Something that made me want to hold onto this moment forever.
As I stood there, holding her gaze, a sudden wave of hesitation washed over me. I had wanted to talk to her in person, to finally have that conversation I’d been avoiding for so long. But this… this wasn’t the right moment.
The words pressed against my chest, begging to be spoken. But in the middle of a hospital room, with the echoes of a near disaster still hanging in the air? It wasn’t the time.
Instead, I tightened my hold on her hand, letting silence do the talking for me. Maybe tomorrow, maybe after everything settled.
I wasn’t ready to let go of this–of her, of the warmth between us. I knew there was more to say. Just… not right now. Right now, I’d just let her know that I was here, that I was still standing right beside her.