Chapter 44
~Daley~
The elation over River’s assist and Deacon’s goal doesn’t last long. My heart is still soaring, pride surging through my veins, when Deacon takes the next face-off and is almost immediately slammed into the boards by Brady Miller.
“Come on!” Jonny yells over the boos ringing out around us.
Brady’s made a number of questionable hits on Deacon tonight and the crowd has definitely noticed even if the refs aren’t calling them.
All things considered, Deacon has been remarkably restrained in response.
I’ve been expecting him to drop his gloves at any point, and no one would blame him for it.
Each time, though, his discipline has won out.
But this time, Deacon stays hunched over after the hit. I can’t see his face, but I see the red stain that blooms on the ice beneath him, and my stomach lurches. “What happened? Is he okay?”
The rest of the players on the ice crowd around him, blocking my view even further, and the team doctor steps out onto the ice. With a cold pack pressed against his face, Deacon leaves the ice while the crowd calls their encouragement. Unbelievably, there’s still no penalty called against Brady.
As soon as the buzzer sounds, the Wolves coach stalks over to talk to the ref while I turn to Sherry. “What are the rules on visiting injured players?”
When River was younger, moms were expected to turn up if their son got injured. Even in his junior team, when he went off, they let me into the first aid room to check in with him. This is the NHL, though, and I’m not a member of Deacon’s family. I have no idea what the protocol is.
Sherry knows exactly why I’m asking, and she’s just as blunt as she was earlier. “I don’t know if they’ll let you back there, but the worst they can say is no. If the first person says no, ask for Rodney. He’s the nicest guy down there, a big old softie.”
“Thanks.” I give her a grateful smile before telling Jonny and Brayden where I’m going. Neither of them protests.
Screwing up my determination, I head to the concourse and straight to the stairs that lead down to the dressing rooms and players area.
Thankfully, my previous visits gave me an idea of the layout of the arena, and I manage to make it downstairs before running into a locked door, guarded by a large man with a walkie-talkie wearing a purple Wolves fleece jacket.
“Pass?” he asks as I walk up.
“I don’t have one,” I admit. No point in pretending otherwise.
“Then you’re not going back here, lady. Sorry.”
His arms cross over his chest, emphasizing his bulk.
I hold my hands up in a demonstration of compliance. “I understand. I’m a friend of Deke Belin, and I’m just wondering if he’s okay. Is there a way to get a message to him?”
He won’t have his phone with him, I already know that. River warned me that they don’t get to see their phones during a game, not even during intermissions. I have the assistant coach’s number to use in an emergency, but once again, this doesn’t qualify as an emergency.
The man at the door is unmoved. “You’ll find out how he’s doing when the rest of us do.” Something in my expression must convey my worry because his expression softens, just a little. “That hit was bullshit, though.”
“You saw it?” I glance around for a TV, coming up blank. “How?”
Uncrossing his arms, he slips a hand into the pocket of his jacket and lifts a small tablet just enough that I can see it. “I heard the goal and wanted to watch the replay. Caught the hit too.”
“Miller was after him all period,” I inform him. “That wasn’t the first hit.”
The man snorts. “Doesn’t surprise me.”
If this man has worked here for a while, he must have known Brady too. By the sounds of it, he doesn’t think much of him.
“I’m Daley Adams,” I introduce myself, sticking out my hand. “The new defenceman, River, is my son.”
Recognition lights his eyes as he takes my hand. “Wait, are you the one who made the cookies?”
I laugh in surprise. “Yes. How do you know about that?”
“River gave us security guys the leftovers. He’s a good kid.”
“He sure is,” I agree, unable to hold in my proud smile.
“I’m Rodney,” he adds, which surprises me far less. Based on how quickly he switched from intimidating to friendly, I had a feeling he might be. “You know Deke too, you said?”
Apparently, the news about Deacon and I dating hasn’t made it to the venue staff yet, so I keep my answer simple. “I do. If there’s any chance you could just pass on a message that I’m here, I would really appreciate it.”
“I’m not really supposed to do anything for anyone without a pass,” he says, but his hand is already reaching for his walkie-talkie. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“I promise.”
Speaking into the device, he identifies himself with the venue shorthand. “South door to med 1. Daley Adams here for Belin. Looking for update. Over.”
There’s a pause before static crackles back through the speaker. “Med 1 to south door. If she has ID, Belin has authorized entry. Over.”
Rodney’s smile lets me know he was hoping for that answer. “You have ID on you?” he asks.
Thankfully, I brought my bag with me from my seat, and I dig out my driver’s license for him. He reads off my full name and date of birth into the walkie-talkie, his eyebrows rising when he reaches the year.
Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m old. Though I’ve been feeling a lot younger in the last month or so.
“Sending an escort,” the voice on the other side says. “Over.”
“Hope it’s nothing serious,” Rodney says as he steps aside to open the door for me. “Give the captain my best.”
Another security guard arrives to escort me through the maze of hallways beneath the stands until we reach the medical room.
It’s larger than I expected and well-equipped, and on the bed in the middle of the room sits Deacon, still wearing his uniform and skates, gloves and helmet off, with blood-soaked gauze stuffed up both of his nostrils.
Dried blood has crusted on his chin and soaked into his jersey, but he smiles at me anyway when I enter.
At least, he tries to. As soon as his mouth moves, he winces.
“What the hell happened?” In just a couple of steps, I’m standing in front of him. Seated the way he is, we’re pretty much face-to-face. “He hit you from the front, how did you hurt your face?”
I’ve seen plenty of boys break their noses or bust their lips when they get checked into the boards face-first, but Deacon hit the boards with his side and back. His face should be fine.
A storm stirs in his grey eyes. “His stick got me in the face.”
My jaw drops. “On purpose?”
“Considering he got me in the ribs with it on the previous hit, yeah, I’m pretty sure it was intentional.”
My chest burns with indignation on his behalf. “That’s a suspension, at the very least.”
“If they can prove it,” he agrees. “Hand me one of those wipes, will you?”
He points to a pack of disinfectant wipes on the counter by the wall, and I walk over to grab one. With it, he does his best to clean his face, avoiding the area around his nose. “Brice already spoke to the refs and they’re working on getting the tapes.”
“He could have really hurt you.” My fists ball at my sides, my mama-bear instincts coming out as strong as they ever have before. “What if he hit you in the eye? Or the mouth?”
“You’re saying my broken nose doesn’t hurt?” he tries to joke, but as soon as he starts to smile again, it quickly turns into a grimace.
“It’s broken?” I eye the swollen, discoloured bump across his bridge, wincing myself at how uncomfortable it looks.
“Pretty sure. Doctor’s just getting the x-rays now.”
I blow out a breath, bringing one hand up to softly trace along the line of his jaw, careful not to put any pressure on the skin. “I’m sorry, Deacon.”
His eyes close at the light touch. “I’ll be alright, Mama. But I gotta say: I like you storming in here and looking out for me. It’s kinda hot.”
My hand drops to his shoulder as I give him a light shove. “Don’t make fun of me. I was really worried.”
His eyes pop back open, a smile in them even if his lips can’t cooperate. “I’m not making fun. I mean it; you didn’t have to come down here, especially since you’re not cleared to, but I love that you did.”
His hands find my waist, pulling me in a little closer. His eyes drop to my lips, and the heat in his gaze makes me painfully aware that we haven’t seen each other for five days. If he didn’t need his mouth to breathe right now, we’d already be kissing.
The team doctor walks in, clearing his throat as he does, but Deacon doesn’t release me. If anything, his grip on my waist tightens. “How does it look?”
“Broken,” the doctor replies bluntly, holding the x-rays up to the light for Deacon to see. “Right here. A clean break, at least. I don’t need to reset it.”
“So, I can go back out there?” he asks calmly, and my jaw drops again.
“You want to go back out there today?”
Deacon shrugs. “If I can get it bandaged up and put a face guard on, I don’t see why not.”
I turn my astonished gaze to the doctor, who only chuckles. “Hockey players are a different breed than you and me, Ms…?”
“This is Daley,” Deacon introduces me. “My girlfriend.”
The word stuns me so much, I can’t formulate a response, and the doctor turns his attention back to Deacon. “Sit out the second period, make sure the bleeding stops and we’ll try and get you back out there for the third. Deal?”
“I guess so,” he grumbles, and the doctor gives us both a nod before leaving the room to update the coaching staff.
Left alone again, I slowly turn back to Deacon. “Girlfriend? Doesn’t that sound a bit…”
I’m not sure how to describe it. Young? Serious? What part of it am I objecting to?
Deacon, on the other hand, has no reservations. “Perfect?” he suggests, raising his eyebrows suggestively, and this time he does kiss me, breathing be damned.
And when he puts it that way, it does sound kind of perfect.