CHAPTER EIGHT
Palisade
The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and urgent voices. Paramedics. Doctors. Questions I answered on autopilot while my mind stayed frozen on the image of Casey's small hand breaking the surface of that dark water.
They were keeping her overnight for observation for secondary drowning, a precaution to make sure water hadn't stayed in her lungs. By the time they moved her to a room, Easton had arrived, still in damp clothes, refusing to leave until he saw her.
She looked impossibly small in the hospital bed, surrounded by blankets and monitors. Her eyes were open, and when she saw us, a weak smile crossed her face.
"Mom, Uncle Easton." She kept her voice low and looked like she was fighting sleep by blinking hard.
"Hey, baby." Taking her hand carefully around the IV line. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired. And warm. Really, really warm."
Easton moved to her other side, his hand finding her free one. "That's good, kiddo. That's exactly how you should feel."
"I'm sorry," Casey whimpered, tears welling. "I wasn't paying attention—"
"Shhh, none of that." I smoothed her hair back. "The important thing is you're safe."
"Because Uncle Easton saved me." Casey turned to look at him, her six-year-old directness cutting through everything. "You jumped in even though it was freezing. You could have gotten hurt, too. Why?"
Easton's throat worked as he swallowed hard. "Because you matter to me, Casey. You matter more than you know."
Casey's eyes drifted closed, as if exhaustion was pulling her under. "Will you stay? Both of you?"
"Yes," we said in unison.
I settled into the uncomfortable chair beside Casey's bed, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. Easton took the other chair, and for a long time, neither of us spoke.
We sat there in the dim hospital room, listening to the beep of monitors and the muffled sounds of the hospital beyond the door.
Around midnight, a nurse came in to check Casey's vitals. She smiled at us and whispered, “Everything looks good. You should both get some rest."
Neither of us moved. How could we? Casey had nearly drowned. Had been under that dark water, fighting for her life. The image of her small hand breaking the surface would haunt me for years.
"I keep seeing it," I said after the nurse left. I wasn’t sure if I was talking to Easton or myself. "Her going under. The way the ice just… gave way."
"Me too," Easton said quietly.
The silence stretched between us, broken only by the steady beep of Casey's heart monitor.
"It's my fault." The words came out before I could stop them, raw and jagged.
Easton's head snapped toward me. "What?"
"I should have been watching her more closely." My voice cracked. "I saw her drifting. I called out, but I was too far away, too slow. I should have—"
"Palisade, stop." Easton's voice hardened. "This wasn't your fault."
"She disobeyed because she wanted to impress you." The tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over. "She pushed herself too far, trying to make the spin perfect, and I let her. I was distracted, talking to you…"
"Hey." Easton stood and moved around Casey's bed, crouching beside my chair. His hand found mine in the darkness. "Look at me."
I forced myself to meet his eyes.
"Casey is six years old," he said quietly. "Six-year-olds push boundaries. They test limits. They make impulsive decisions because their brains literally aren't developed enough to fully understand consequences yet. This. Was. Not. Your. Fault."
"But if I'd been faster, I could have stopped her."
"If you'd been faster, you would have gone through the ice too. The ice wouldn't have held both of you." His grip on my hand tightened. "When I saw her go under, I…" He stopped, jaw working. "If you'd both been in the water, I don't know if I could have…"
He didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.
"You're an incredible mother," Easton continued, his voice rough and gritty. "You've raised an amazing kid who's brave and smart and passionate about the things she loves. Today was an accident. A terrifying accident. But it wasn't your fault."
"I don't know what I would have done if…" My voice broke. "If you hadn't been there. If she'd…"
"But I was there." Easton moved closer, still crouched beside my chair, his face inches from mine now. "And she's okay. We're all okay."
His thumb traced small circles on the back of my hand, the gesture both comforting and electric. In the dim light of the hospital room, with Casey sleeping peacefully between us, the walls I'd so carefully constructed around my heart crumbled.
"Easton," I said, not even sure what I was asking for.
His free hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen. "Palisade."
The way he said my name made my breath catch.
We were so close now. Close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. Close enough that if either of us moved even slightly, our lips would meet.
The air between us felt charged, heavy with possibility and want and everything we'd been trying to ignore since the moment he'd walked back into my clinic.
Easton's gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes, a silent question.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I should pull away. I should remember all the reasons this was complicated, dangerous, impossible.
But I'd almost lost my daughter today. Life was too short. Too fragile.
I leaned in…
A soft whimper from the bed made us both freeze.
Casey shifted in her sleep, her small face scrunching up, one hand reaching out as if searching for something. "Mom?" she mumbled, not quite awake.
The spell shattered.
Easton pulled back immediately, dropping his hand from my face as I turned toward Casey.
"I'm here, baby," I murmured, stroking her hair. "Right here."
Casey settled, her breathing evening out again almost immediately.
When I looked back at Easton, he'd moved back to his chair on the other side of the bed. The careful distance between us felt like miles.
"I should—" He cleared his throat. "I should let you get some rest."
"You don't have to go."
"I know." Everything we'd almost done hung in the air between us. "But we both need sleep."
"Easton—"
"It's okay, Palisade." His voice gentled, though I could hear the underlying steel. "We both need to think about… everything."
He stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair, his eyes leaving me a message I shouldn’t think about. But before he left, he paused at the door.
"For what it's worth," he breathed, "I'm not sorry. About tonight. About any of it."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone with my daughter and the ghost of what almost happened.
I settled back into my chair, Casey's hand in mine, my lips still tingling from a kiss that never happened.
And I had no idea if that made it better or worse.
Easton
The next morning, I stood outside Casey's hospital room, my phone pressed to my ear while coordinating the last details with Beck.
"Three o'clock at the arena," I confirmed quietly. "Keep it low-key. No media circus. This is for her, not for the press."
"Got it, man. The guys are already excited. We're bringing gifts."
"Gifts?"
"Well, yeah. She's our honorary member now, right? She needs the full treatment."
I smiled despite my exhaustion. "Alright. Just… keep it chill. She's been through a lot."
"We've got this. See you soon."
I ended the call and turned to find Palisade standing in the doorway, two cups of terrible hospital coffee in her hands.
"Talking to the team?" She asked, offering me one.
"Yeah. They want to come by before the scrimmage this afternoon. Bring Casey some things." I paused. "Is that okay? I should have asked you first."
Palisade's eyes softened. "Easton, you saved my daughter's life. You can bring the entire NHL roster if you want."
"Just the Shadow Wolves," I assured her with a small smile. "I thought it might cheer her up. Help her remember that ice isn't scary. It's also where magic happens."
"That's…" Palisade's voice cracked slightly. "That's really thoughtful."
We stood there in the hallway, drinking awful coffee. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to go back to my empty apartment and pretend yesterday hadn't changed everything either.
Because it had.
The moment I'd seen Casey fall through that ice, something fundamental had shifted inside me. The protective instinct that kicked in wasn't about doing the right thing, or community service, or being a decent human being.
It was deeper than that.
More primal.
Like I'd risk anything to keep that kid safe.
The hallway felt too quiet. Too intimate. Palisade wrapped both hands around her coffee cup, staring at the floor.
"About last night—" she started.
"Don't." I kept my voice gentle. "We don't have to talk about it."
"But—"
"We were scared. Exhausted. Running on adrenaline." Even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. Last night hadn't been about adrenaline. We still had something between us that had never left seven years ago. "Let's just get through today first."
She nodded as if in relief.
A couple of hours later, the hospital room door burst open. Casey's small space was filled with very large hockey players.
Beck Hamilton's towering frame was first through the door, followed by Aaron Waters and three more players from the team. They were all wearing Shadow Wolves sweatshirts and carrying wrapped packages.
Casey, who'd been picking at her breakfast, froze. Her mouth dropped open.
"Oh my God," she breathed.
"Easy there, superstar," I said, moving to her bedside. "A few friends wanted to meet our newest honorary team member."
Beck stepped forward, holding an enormous stuffed wolf wearing a tiny Shadow Wolves jersey. "We heard you had a pretty scary adventure this weekend. Thought you might like some company."
Casey's eyes were as wide as saucers as she accepted the stuffed wolf, clutching it to her chest like it might disappear. "Beck! Thank you!"