Chapter Eight
Lana
“Lana, you trust me, don’t you?” Tucker asks beside me in the family box.
We’re at the Lone Stars’ first playoff game of the season. I turn to glower at him. I didn’t want to be here. But he’d insisted at breakfast this morning over a huge stack of my favorite Denny’s pancakes, and he wouldn’t have asked me to come if he didn’t think it was important.
“I do trust you, but he hurt me.”
“He’s hurting too, sis. And even if you choose to walk away, you’re not the type of person to leave a teammate high and dry before the final game.
” Tucker elbows my ribs, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“Remember when that one girl you were best friends with got you kicked off the cheer team halfway through the season? You still showed up at every single competition after just to cheer her and the others on.”
“Ugh, why do you have to remind me?” I do remember, but I refuse to acknowledge the unspoken part of the story where Anna and I became best friends after the fact.
Even though she’d gotten me kicked out because her crush picked me for lifts, I still showed up to every event and cheered them on.
Somehow, along the way, we became best friends.
“Because I know you better than you know yourself sometimes.” He winks and wraps me in a one-armed hug. I sigh and lean into it. I missed his hugs.
Tucker has always been able to read me and knows exactly how my mind works. Even if he hadn’t talked me into coming, I likely would have shown up at the last minute anyways. Not because I’ve forgiven Ryan, but because I made a commitment to being his girlfriend, at least for the season.
But the second the season ends, I’m out.
I’ve already decided to move in with Leah.
She talked to the student housing manager, and they said we could either stay in the one bedroom and add a second twin-size bed, or move up into a two-bedroom apartment on campus.
Moving into a larger space will mean money is tight, but my advisor helped me find some of the work-study positions at the college, so I’d be scheduled around class times, and even have the possibility of working in the engineering lab or as a TA for one of the instructors in a year or two.
It’s a terrifyingly delicate balance, but I can handle it. It means I can stay in Houston, and won’t live in a penthouse teeming with tension.
A horn blares through the stadium, echoing in my empty chest and sending my heart into a tizzy. The team pours out from under the stands and I lean forward, looking for Ryan.
He skates out behind the team, and the crowd goes wild. I notice as he glances up at the family box and even though he’s below us and far enough away that I can’t see his hazel eyes, I know he’s looking at me.
I feel the air shift, electricity pulsing between us.
The teams get into place and the moment the puck drops, the atmosphere shifts. I find myself instantly tracking Ryan’s massive, unmistakable figure at the home team’s net. He moves with a fluid, terrifying precision, cutting across the crease like a predator guarding its territory.
Before I can even register my own movements, the sports fan—no, the Ryan fan—in me takes full control. When an opposing forward launches a vicious unexpected slapshot from the blue line, my breath catches in my throat and Tucker chuckles.
Ryan lunges, his glove hand snapping out like a whip to catch the puck clean out of the air.
“Yes!” I scream, jumping to my feet alongside Tucker. My hands slam against the glass, and I catch Ryan looking my way. I can’t see his mouth, but I would bet anything he’s grinning.
A second later, I catch myself and slowly sit back down. A sharp pang of humiliation settles in my stomach. I’m supposed to be angry with him.
I am angry with him.
Yet my body refuses to cooperate. Every nerve is on fire, desperate to be closer to him.
When the opposing team commits a blatant, dirty tripping foul right in front of the net, I find myself leaning against the glass, booing so loudly my throat scrapes. Brenda joins me and when I glance over, Tucker just shakes his head.
I’m still hurt, my heart broken into a million jagged pieces of glass, but watching him play makes me feel like I’m on fire. Every nerve tingles with anticipation and excitement.
The minutes tick down toward the end of the second period. The Lone Stars are locked in a brutal 1-1 tie with the opposing team, and each play grows increasingly aggressive as the players slam into the boards, desperate to make the final play that wins the game.
I watch, holding my breath, hands over my mouth, as Ryan protects the home net from the incoming opposing forward. Then, in a chaotic scramble right in front of the crease, my world flips.
Two of the defensemen get tangled up with the opposing forward at full speed.
Like a collapsing wall, the group of players slam directly into Ryan, blindsiding him.
His head snaps back and his helmet hits the ice with a sickening crack that echoes over the roar of the crowd.
He lands hard, sprawled out on the ice. Not moving.
“Get up. Get up,” I mutter.
He doesn’t.
My heart stops, and my ears ring. No, that’s not right.
The ref repeatedly blows the whistle. The area immediately falls dead silent.
I can’t think. I’m pressed against the edge of the box, trying to control my breathing.
I forget that I’m supposed to be leaving Ryan after this.
All I can think about is that he has to be okay.
The world narrows until all I see is Ryan. I watch his chest, but I can’t see if he’s breathing or how injured he is.
The EMTs are on the ice and without thinking I turn and bolt from the family box.
“Lana!” Tucker calls out, but I don’t stop.
I sprint down the corridor, practically throwing myself down the stairs to get to the atrium.
My lungs burn as I fly past the security guards, flashing them my family pass.
They shout after me, but one of the regulars quickly steps out of the way to let me into the restricted tunnel down to the locker room.
“Thank you!” I manage to huff out as I pass. Blood pounds behind my ears, and my chest aches.
He’ll be okay. He has to be okay. I repeat it over and over like a prayer in my head. I can hear muffled shouting just before I push through the heavy doors into the medical review room.
“I said I’m fine!” Ryan roars loud enough for me to hear, his voice booming off the walls.
He’s sitting on the edge of a PT table in his undershirt and pants, his jersey and gear resting on a table behind the doctor.
His chest heaves as he angrily shoves one of the medic’s hands away from his face.
His hair is wild and damp with sweat, and he looks like he’s ready to murder someone.
“It was barely a hit,” he growls. “Now give me my helmet back so I can get back out there before the third period starts.”
“Ryan, sit down and look at the light,” the team doctor commands. “You took a massive hit to the—”
“I don’t care about the hit! We’re tied, and I’m not sitting out when we’re having the best season of—”
“Ryan.” My voice is small, breathless and ragged from running, but my hunk of a hockey player freezes and gapes at me like he’s just seen an angel.
“Lana?”
The med team takes a step back at the doctor’s instruction, and I take a small step forward.
Ryan’s chest heaves, his jaw is tight with fury and adrenaline.
But the second he registers that it’s really me, the fire in his hazel eyes dims to a candle flame.
His shoulders slump and a look of raw regret flashes across his features.
My heart breaks again at the desperation in his face.
I step forward, my sneakers barely making a sound against the rubber floor mats. I completely ignore the coach and medics hovering nearby, focusing only on Ryan. When I’m less than a foot from him, I turn my head toward the doctor.
“Is he okay?” I surprise myself with how steady my voice is despite the terror humming through my veins.
The doctor sighs and runs a hand over his face. “He took a severe blow to the back of his head when he hit the post. His pupils are sluggish, and his balance is off. He clearly has a mild concussion.”
“So he can’t play?” I ask softly.
The doctor’s eyes soften and he shakes his head. “He wants to go back out there, but medically, there is no way I am clearing him to get back on the ice tonight.”
Ryan groans and opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up a hand. He huffs but stays quiet.
“Can you give us a moment, please?”
The doctor nods before stepping back and gesturing for the rest of the medical team to step out. The coach pats my shoulder and follows, muttering something into his headset.
Ryan is off the table before the door is even closed. He stumbles forward half a step and reaches for me. I step into him. His massive, calloused hands cup my cheeks as my tears spill over.
“Lana, I am so incredibly sorry,” he chokes out, voice thick.
His eyes are brimming with tears. “I never, ever meant to hurt you. Yesterday…when Tucker walked in, I panicked. I was terrified of what Tucker would think if he knew I was falling for you. I caved under pressure. But it was a lie. Everything I said was a lie.”
His thumbs wipe away the tears now streaming down my face. My hands tremble against his chest, and I can feel his heart racing beneath them.
“I don’t want you to walk away. The apartment is yours. I’ll pay for your tuition and do whatever I can to keep you safe and let you follow your dreams.” The conviction in his voice is the glue that puts my heart back together, and when he looks down at me, my heart swells.
I tried to walk away from him, but standing here now, I know I never really wanted to.
“Please, just know that what happened between us in that bedroom, every time we kissed, it wasn’t a stunt. It was the only real thing I’ve ever had.”