40. CHAPTER FOURTY
CHAPTER FOURTY
CONNOR
Theo’s skating when Marcus flicks the puck across to him.
I’m already watching him. I’ve been watching him for most of the fucking game, no matter how many times I drag my attention somewhere else and tell myself to stop. My eyes always find him again.
He turns slightly to catch the pass, his stick barely making contact with the puck before I see the other player coming.
He’s fucking huge.
And Theo doesn’t see him.
My stomach drops.
“Theo.”
It barely leaves my mouth before the guy barrels straight into him.
The hit is brutal.
His shoulder drives into Theo’s side and sends him flying into the boards hard enough that the crack of his body against them seems to shake the entire fucking rink. The sound rips through the stadium, sharp and sickening, and something inside my chest stops with it.
Theo crumples.
Not stumbles. Not drops to one knee before getting straight back up like I’ve watched him do a hundred times.
He fucking folds.
His legs go beneath him awkwardly as he hits the ice, one arm trapped beneath his body, his head turning with the impact.
Then nothing.
He doesn’t move.
The crowd falls silent around me so suddenly it’s almost worse than the hit itself. Thousands of people just stop, all that noise disappearing until there’s nothing left but a dull ringing in my ears and my heartbeat pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
I stare at him.
Waiting.
He always gets back up.
Theo gets hit all the fucking time. He gets thrown into boards and knocked onto his ass and comes up grinning like the psychopath he is, usually looking for the person who did it so he can return the favour.
So I wait for him to move.
A hand. His head. His fucking skate.
Anything.
The overhead screen changes and suddenly Theo’s body is blown up across the arena, sprawled motionless against the ice.
My stomach turns.
I lean forward without realising I’m moving, the railing digging hard into my palms as I brace my elbows against my knees. My fingers wrap around the metal and squeeze until my knuckles turn white.
“Get up,” I mutter.
Nothing.
Theo doesn’t fucking move.
My chest tightens, my lungs suddenly refusing to fill properly as I stare at him.
“Come on.”
The words come out quieter this time.
Please.
“Get up.”
Players are gathering around him now, skates cutting sharply across the ice. Marcus is there almost immediately. The referee’s whistle shrieks somewhere in the distance and medics are already rushing out from the sidelines, but it all blurs together because I can’t stop looking at Theo.
At the way he fell.
At the way he’s still lying.
There’s something wrong with it. I’ve seen him hurt before. I’ve watched him bleed. I’ve watched him drag himself off the ice barely able to put weight on one leg and still argue that he could keep playing.
I’ve never seen him still.
I search for the rise of his chest.
I can’t fucking see it.
Ice floods through me.
I’m on my feet before I’ve even decided to move, the chair snapping upright behind me as I shove through the gate.
Someone catches the back of my shirt.
“Connor—”
I wrench myself free hard enough that the fabric bites into my throat and stumble straight onto the ice.
My trainers immediately slide beneath me, cold cutting straight through the soles, but I catch myself against the boards and keep moving.
I don’t give a fuck that I’m not supposed to be out here.
I don’t care who’s shouting at me.
Theo isn’t moving.
That’s the only thought my brain seems capable of holding.
Theo isn’t fucking moving.
I’m halfway towards him when Marcus skids into my path.
He stops directly in front of me, blocking everything behind him, and the expression on his face makes the panic already clawing through my chest turn vicious.
He looks scared.
Marcus never looks fucking scared.
“Turn around,” he says, grabbing my shoulder.
I shove his hand off immediately, trying to look around him. “Move.”
My voice shakes.
I hate that it does.
Marcus shifts with me, deliberately blocking my view again. His jaw tightens as he catches my shoulder a second time.
“Con, don’t.”
“Don’t fucking what?”
I wrench away from him, anger surging up because it’s easier than whatever the fuck else is happening inside me.
Behind Marcus, one of the medics shifts.
I catch a glimpse between bodies.
Theo.
Still on the ice.
Still not moving.
Something tightens around my throat.
“Get the fuck out of my way, Marcus.”
Marcus glances over his shoulder.
It’s quick.
Barely a second.
But I see the grimace that pulls across his face before he turns back to me, and my stomach fucking drops.
“You don’t wanna see him like this.”
My eyes burn.
I swallow against the lump forcing its way into my throat and shake my head because he doesn’t get to decide that. I don’t care what Theo looks like. I don’t care how bad it is.
I need to fucking see him.
“Move.”
Marcus hesitates.
“Marcus.” My voice cracks this time and I don’t even try to hide it. “Move.”
Something in his expression gives.
He steps aside reluctantly.
And suddenly there’s nothing between me and Theo.
I drop to my knees beside him hard enough that pain shoots straight through them, the cold of the ice soaking through my jeans almost immediately, but I barely fucking feel it.
Because up close, he looks worse.
So much worse.
There’s a crack running along the edge of his visor, and for one horrible second my eyes catch on it before dropping to his chest. It’s moving.
Thank fuck, it’s moving, but every breath looks wrong, shallow and uneven, barely lifting his pads.
Blood darkens the corner of his mouth, smeared over his lips and disappearing beneath the edge of his helmet.
“Theo,” I breathe, and his name shakes so badly I barely recognise my own voice.
My hand hovers over him because I don’t know where I can touch him. I don’t know what’s hurt, what I’ll make worse, and suddenly I’m terrified of putting my hands anywhere when all I want to do is fucking grab him.
My fingers finally brush the side of his helmet.
His eyelids twitch.
Then he coughs.
The sound is weak and wet, tearing through him hard enough that his face twists, but relief hits me so violently my own breath catches.
“Theo. Fuck.”
His hand scrapes uselessly against his helmet, fingers fumbling for the edge like he’s trying to get it off, the movement slow and uncoordinated.
“Here.” I catch his hand before he can keep fighting with it. “Let me.”
I don’t know if I’m supposed to. I don’t fucking care.
I ease the helmet away as carefully as I can and toss it onto the ice beside us, already reaching for him again when his head lolls sideways.
Straight onto my thigh.
My entire chest caves in.
I shift closer automatically, one hand sliding behind his head to support him, and Theo blinks slowly up at me.
Then the fucking idiot smiles.
There’s blood on his teeth.
Blood on his mouth.
His eyes can barely fucking focus and he still looks at me like there’s something funny about finding me here.
“What’re you doing here, princess?” he rasps.
Another cough tears through him before I can answer.
“Jesus Christ.” I shake my head, my vision blurring as I slide my fingers into his hair, pushing the damp strands away from his forehead. My hand is fucking shaking. I can see it shaking against him and I can’t make it stop. “You’re such a fucking idiot.”
Theo hums.
Just this tiny, soft sound as his eyes slip closed for a second beneath my touch.
It nearly fucking destroys me.
My palm moves to his cheek before I can think better of it, thumb brushing carefully along his jaw, and Theo turns into me.
No hesitation.
No thinking about it.
He just fucking leans into my hand like he always does, his face settling into my palm, and for a second everything else disappears. The rink. The crowd. Marcus. The fucking cameras probably pointed straight at us.
None of it exists.
Just Theo.
Warm beneath my hand.
Breathing.
Still fucking here.
His arm lifts towards me and the movement barely gets halfway before his face pinches with pain.
“No.” I catch his wrist immediately, lowering it carefully back to his chest. “Stop moving.”
Theo’s eyes crack open.
“Just stay fucking still for once in your life,” I tell him, trying to make it sound annoyed, but my voice cracks halfway through and ruins it completely.
He rolls his eyes at me.
Actually fucking rolls his eyes.
“I’m alright, Con,” he murmurs.
A horrible sound catches in my throat, half laugh, half something else, and then my face is wet.
Fuck.
I swipe uselessly at one cheek, but another tear follows it before I can stop it.
“Don’t try and comfort me, asshole,” I whisper.
I bend over him, pressing my forehead carefully to his, both hands cradling his face now because I need to feel him. Need the warmth of his skin against my palms, the brush of his breath against my mouth, every tiny fucking proof that he’s here.
My eyes squeeze shut.
“God,” I croak. “I hate this fucking sport.”
Theo laughs.
Or tries to.
It breaks into a sharp hiss almost immediately, his face tightening with pain, and I pull back just enough to look at him.
His eyes flick down.
To my mouth.
Then away.
My heart stutters.
I stare at him, at the blood smeared over his lips, the small split at the corner of his mouth, the dazed, exhausted look in his eyes.
I nearly just watched him get carried off this ice unconscious.
And suddenly I cannot remember why I ever thought any of the rest of it fucking mattered.
My hands tighten around his face.
Then I kiss him.
It’s barely even a kiss. Just the soft press of my mouth against his because I’m terrified of hurting him, but Theo’s breath catches against my lips.
That tiny reaction goes straight through me.
His mouth moves weakly against mine.
“I’m imagining this, right?” he breathes into the kiss, words slightly blurred together. “Brain injury?”
A laugh catches behind the tears still clogging my throat.
“I wish you were,” Marcus grunts somewhere above us.
I don’t even look at him.
For once in my fucking life, I don’t care what Marcus thinks.
I don’t care who sees.
I don’t care what this makes me or what happens after this or how many people in this entire fucking stadium are watching me kiss Theo Knox on the ice.
My mouth brushes his again.
“I’m here,” I murmur against him, pressing another kiss to his lips. Then another, because his eyes keep trying to close and panic starts crawling straight back up my throat. “Just stay awake, yeah?”
His kisses are getting sluggish.
Too sluggish.
“Theo.”
“Mhm.” His lips barely move against mine. “Everyone will see.”
I pull back.
His eyes are open, but there’s a glaze over them now, his gaze struggling to settle properly on my face, and my stomach fucking drops.
“I don’t care.” I shake my head hard, thumb sweeping over his cheek. “God, Theo, I don’t care.”
Hands suddenly reach between us.
One of the medics shoulders me aside, forcing me away from him, and every instinct in me screams to shove him straight back. I move forward again before Marcus’s hand clamps hard around my shoulder.
“Con.”
I stop.
Barely.
They move around Theo quickly, voices overlapping as they get the stretcher beneath him, and I stand there uselessly, my heart pounding so hard it makes me feel sick.
Then Theo’s eyes widen.
“Con?”
There’s panic in it.
Actual fucking panic.
His head tries to turn as they lift him, gaze darting around like he’s looking for me, fighting weakly against the hands keeping him still.
“I’m here.”
I’m beside him before anyone can stop me, reaching down and catching his hand.
His fingers close around mine.
I lace them together tightly.
“I’m here, baby,” I breathe, keeping pace beside the stretcher, and something inside my chest cracks wide open when his eyes finally find mine.
He looks fucking scared.
Theo.
My reckless, stupid, impossible Theo, who laughs when people hit him and acts like nothing in the world can touch him.
Scared.
“Not a dream?” he slurs.
A sob tears out of me on something dangerously close to a laugh.
I shake my head, tightening my fingers around his.
“No.” I lean closer, making sure he can see me. “Still not a dream.”