32
Sasha
This has been the longest four hours of my life. I followed the ambulance to the hospital and have done nothing but sit in this waiting room ever since.
Conor has a mild concussion, thankfully, with strict orders from the doctor for rest and minimal screen time for the first forty-eight hours.
The real problem is his shoulder. It was dislocated pretty badly and the ortho team couldn’t reset it manually, so he’s been in surgery for the last two hours. I haven't even been able to see him and it’s killing me.
Coach and a few of the players came down to the hospital straight after the game ended. It was a tied score by the end, and the player who hurt Conor didn’t even get penalized. According to the ref, no one saw it happen so he can’t do anything about it. It’s bullshit and everyone thinks so.
“I’m so sorry we’re late.” Olivia rushes to my side, pulling me into a hug before I can even stand. “We had to stop in with Diane and Charlie and tell them what happened. We’ll pick Bella up later.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I sigh heavily, slumping back in the uncomfortable chair. “I haven’t heard anything since he went into surgery.”
“I brought his stuff back to our place.” Josh steps forward, holding out Conor’s phone. “Someone should probably call his parents.”
My stomach drops. Shit!
This whole time I’ve been sitting here, thinking about Conor and wondering if he’s okay and not once did I think about letting his parents know!
God, I am such a dick. “I’ll do it.” Taking the phone from Josh, I slip into a quiet corner of the waiting room and switch it on.
The screen explodes with notifications. Dozens of missed calls.
Hundreds of texts. Most are from people I don’t even recognize, but right at the top are the repeated calls from Mom and Dad.
Using Conor’s painfully unoriginal passcode, 0000, I pull up his mom’s contact and hit call.
She answers on the first ring, “Oh my God, Conor. Are you okay?” My heart breaks at the panic in her voice. I swallow hard, blinking away the tears that are threatening to fall.
“Hi, Mrs Matthews. It’s Sasha.” I haven’t met Conor’s parents yet, or even spoken to them before for that matter, and I wish it were on different circumstances.
“Conor’s okay. He has a mild concussion but right now he’s in surgery.
” I try my hardest to keep all the emotion out of my voice and stay strong.
“He dislocated his shoulder and they couldn’t get it back in manually. He should be done soon though.”
“Oh, thank the Lord.” I hear another shaky breath in the background, followed by what I assume is Mr Matthews letting out a sigh of relief. “We were watching it when it happened. Of course, we didn’t see what had happened but we saw everything after.”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t call sooner.” I say in a quiet voice, the guilt twisting painfully in my stomach. “I didn’t have your number. I only just got Conor’s phone now.”
“Don’t be silly, love.” Her voice is soft. She sounds exactly like I imagined. Warm. Kind. Comforting. It makes something ache deep inside my chest.
I haven’t spoken to either of my parents since Liam left. He says they’re making more of an effort now, and I’m grateful for it, but I can’t help wishing they’d tried a little harder before I had to ask them to.
Maybe, once Conor gets home, I’ll call them.
“We’re on our way to you now. We were staying in Georgia, road tripping but we’re cutting it short. We should be there in about two hours.”
“I’ll see you both soon.”
“Don’t worry about him too much, sweetheart.” She laughs softly. “My boy is a fighter.” For once, the name ‘sweetheart’ doesn’t make me want to throw up. It makes me smile.
After we hang up, I go back into the main waiting room where more of the Flames have come in.
“Do you want a coffee or anything?” Liv asks me as I sink back into the chair beside her.
I shake my head. “I’m okay, thanks.” I smile up at her as she pulls me close to her, hugging me tight to her body in a comforting embrace. We stay like that in silence for another hour.
Every time the theatre doors open, my heart jumps into my throat. Every time it’s not news about Conor, it sinks again.
Finally, Conor’s doctor walks through the doors. I’m on my feet before I even realize I stood up. Coach is beside me in an instant. “The surgery went well.” The doctor says with a reassuring smile. “We’re expecting a full recovery.”
The breath I’ve been holding all evening leaves my lungs in one shaky breath as the weight lifts off of my chest.
“And what is the recovery time?” The coach asks immediately.
“The shoulder itself should heal in around four to six weeks. Returning to full contact hockey is a different story. We’d estimate six to eight months before he’s back in training.”
Coach mutters something under his breath as he scrubs a hand down his face.
“That time may be cut by a month or two, depending on his healing status and if he keeps up with his physical therapy.”
Coach puffs his cheeks, blowing out a long breath. Losing one of his best players until the middle of the season is obviously a huge blow.
But I know Conor. He’s going to take it even harder. Hockey isn’t just his job. It’s his escape. It’s the one place where the noise in his head finally goes quiet.
“Can I see him?” I ask before I can stop it. Please say yes. I need to see him. I won’t believe that he’s okay until I see it with my own eyes.
“I don’t see why not.” Relief floods through me. “He was put under for surgery and is starting to come around but he’s on a high dose of pain relief.” The doctor warns with a smile. “He wasn’t making much sense when I left the room.”
Coach snorts. “He doesn’t make sense on most days.”
“He keeps asking for his guardian angel, or something along those lines.” I freeze and then a smile slowly spreads across my face. Even drugged up after surgery… He’s still asking for me.
"There's my angel.” Conor’s smile stretches across his face the second I step into the room, the doctor following closely behind me. His eyes are glassy, unfocused around the edges, and he looks like he’s just woken up from the deepest sleep. Which, I guess he has.
The tears I’ve spent the last few hours holding back finally spill over at the sight of him.
His shoulder is wrapped in thick bandages, his arm secured tightly in a sling.
Wires trail beneath the blankets to machines beside the bed, their steady beeps filling the quiet room.
He looks exhausted and pale, but he’s here.
He’s okay.
“See what I’m talking about?” The doctor says to me as she moves around the bed to check Conor’s vitals.
Conor frowns. “What?”
“I told her that the drugs haven't worn off yet because you keep asking for your angel.”
He looks at me like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “She is my angel.” He points at me with his good hand. “This woman right here saved my life.”
I can feel my cheeks heat as I scoff. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Nope.” He gives me his signature cheeky smile and adds a wink for good measure. Well, I think it was supposed to be a wink. Both of his eyes squeezed shut, but paired with the smirk he’s currently wearing, it’s not hard to assume it was a wink. “I’ve been worried about you.”
I blink at him for a moment. “You were worried about me?” He has to be kidding right? He’s lying in this bed just after having surgery, hooked up to machines, and he was worried about me?
“Of course. I knew you were waiting out there this whole time. That worried me.”
I soften my eyes at his words as I give his hand a gentle squeeze. “I was worried about you.”
“Oh please, I’m basically made of steel.”
“I'm serious, Conor. When I saw you get hit into the boards like that…” I pause, searching for the right words. “It scared me. And then I saw all those medics coming onto the ice, I knew it was bad. Ask Olivia, I was like a raging bull when I couldn't get to you.”
Conor bites back a smile. “A raging bull or more like a barking chihuahua?”
“It’s nice to know your sense of humor didn't get knocked out of you when you took that hit.” I deadpan but it’s hard to fight the slight tilt of my lips as amusement dances in my eyes.
“I’ll leave you two alone for a bit.” The doctor says as she makes her way back to the door with a smile on her face. “Visiting ends in one hour. I’ll be back to check on you then.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Conor calls as she leaves the room.
Silence settles over the room again. I sit carefully on the edge of the hospital bed, still holding his hand. “So…” I ask quietly, running my thumb along his bruised knuckles. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling good.” His smile is bright, but his eyes don’t match.
“You don’t have to hide from me, Conor.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t have to pretend you’re okay when you're not.” I run my palm down his face, cupping his cheek. He leans into my touch, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath.
“This sucks.” He sighs heavily, “I don’t care about my shoulder, that will heal.
I do care about not playing hockey for at least six months.
” He tilts his head up, looking at the dirty ceiling instead of at me, “It’s the one constant I’ve had in my life since I was a kid and now it’s just…
gone.” Conor runs a hand through his messy blonde hair, “What am I supposed to do now?”
“I don’t know.” I tell him, honestly. I have no idea what he could do that would be able to take his mind off everything that requires only one hand. “Oh, once we get you settled at your place, we can make a list.”
“You and your lists.” He pokes my side playfully as I laugh.
“I’m sure we’ll find something to keep you busy.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows lift.
“I have some ideas…”
He chuckles, pulling me closer to him. “Come here.” Conor lifts his good arm for me to fit underneath.
“No, no. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Sasha. Come here. Now.” How can I deny that sexy, commanding tone?