Chapter 24
Emalyn
Ronan is down. DuPont blindsided him intentionally, sending his head snapping back into the post.
The benches clear, as the players from both teams flood the ice. Obviously, no one touches the goalie. A rule all teams usually adhere to. Which is why their players aren’t running to DuPonte’s defense as much as they are on the ice from obligation.
Dakota and the rest of the med team rush onto the ice to follow concussion protocol. I lean against the boards, trying to see something— anything.
As players are sent to the penalty box, until it’s standing room only, I see Ronan. He’s conscious.
Coach King is screaming in a rage with the refs that DuPont hasn’t been ejected from the game.
I don’t watch him.
My eyes find my goalie again, then slide upward to two pairs of striking blue eyes, two rows above the net.
My gaze collides with Ronan’s mom’s. Her hand covers her mouth, eyes full of tears.
His younger brother is on his feet, hands clasped on top of his head, watching Ronan’s every move.
I didn’t get to tell him they’d be here for him.
We didn’t get to talk, because I didn’t want him to be distracted.
I certainly didn’t intend for his mother to get a front row seat to this.
I can’t stay here. Not bothering to say excuse me to anyone, I push past people and step on toes all in the name of getting to the tunnel. I flash my lanyard badge and break into a run towards the medical room where they’ll have taken him.
Shoving the door open, my head swivels wildly until I see him stretched out on the table, stripped out of the padding leaving him in a tight dri-fit top that shows off his defined body. His hockey skates are still hanging off the end and he has an arm thrown over his eyes.
The lights are dimmed and Dakota’s speaking to him in a hushed tone.
Moving to his side, I take his hand. The soft rustle of plastic in his hand tells me he’s holding a vomit bag, just in case. I gently take it from his hands.
“I’ve got you, Ro.” I murmur, letting my fingers rub soothing strokes on his arm. My breath catches as his hand goes to my hip and squeezes.
It feels like it takes hours for them to evaluate him, before finally letting him rest again. I don’t leave his side. Since he can’t look at screens due to a mild concussion, I stream the remainder of the game on my phone and commentate for him.
The backup goalie holds down the last period the best he can, with the help of his well-trained defenseman.
Tate and Fitz pull together nicely to keep the puck away from the net.
Ripley manages to score another goal putting the score to 4-2 and pulling off a win for game one.
You can hear the fans' muffled roar from the quiet med room.
Ronan’s arm lifts for a moment, eyes flicking toward the door. I know he wants to be out there celebrating with his teammates. More than anything.
“That’s your win. You did that, Ro.” I whisper, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
His arm lifts, and he turns his head causing my kiss to brush his lips instead.
My body stills. I don’t pull back right away.
Footsteps coming closer have me finally pulling back from his soft lips and returning to my seat next to his bed. Just in time for Dakota to return.
“I’ll need to do one last assessment and then we can release him.
He’ll need supervision for the first forty-eight hours.
No driving, no screens, no physical activity.
This is the rest period,” She says in her firmest doctor voice.
Her eyes flick to me, then Ronan before a little smirk appears on her face.
“May need supervision a bit longer actually. Sometimes symptoms linger for more than a few days.”
“No, I need to play. I can’t sit out of the finals like this.”
“I’ve already told you, Ronan. It’s not likely to happen. You’re one of the best goalies in the league.”
Once he’s finally ready to be released, I glance over at him. His tired eyes meet mine.
“My room or yours?”
“Ugh, sunshine. This isn’t how I imagined it playing out. Right question, wrong circumstance.” He groans.
My cheeks pinken.
Although he may be saying more than he means due to the head injury, it’s nice to know that he’s imagined it. Us. Something.
I hold one arm and Dakota holds his other, helping him sit up on the edge of the bed. A soft knock comes at the door before it cracks open.
“Can I come in?” A soft and scared voice asks. My blood runs cold.
Oh no.
This is not how I planned for this to go. Ronan’s head jerks up then back down as he immediately winces.
“Oh, my God.” She gasps, rushing to Ronan. Oh, come on. Boundaries, much? We didn’t talk about this. Ronan’s blue eyes are a shade of hostile I’ve never seen before.
“What are you doing here?” Ronan asks in a tone that must make his splitting headache worse. I can see the vein throbbing in his forehead.
Her eyes flick to mine, wide.
“You, uh, didn’t speak to him yet?”
“No.” I mutter. Ronan’s sharp eyes turn on me, making my belly flip with dread and guilt.
“You two have been talking?”
“Sort of. Not really… It’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about.” I shrug, helplessly. Dakota shifts her weight, looking extremely uncomfortable.
“I-uh, I’m sorry.” Ronan's mom pats his shoulder somewhat awkwardly. “Now that I know you’re okay I’ll just… go.”
“Yeah, that would be for the best.” Ronan snaps shocking even me. His mother looks heartbroken. After what she shared with me, I know she doesn’t deserve it.
“Ro…” I murmur with a soft shake of my head. His expression softens just a touch.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you. I’m just not feeling well. Head injury and all.” He gestures to his head. His mother seems to be relieved with understanding as she shoots me a grateful smile.
“Right. Well, I’d like to hear from you soon… if you’d be open to it.” She gives a soft yet awkward wave before slipping out of the room again.
“Get to yappin, Sunshine. I wanna know what all that was about.” Ronan says, letting us help him to a standing position.
“Soon, I promise. You need rest first.” I pat his shoulder. He shoots me an impatient look. I give it right back before adding, “Trust me.”
He huffs.
“Here we go.” I mutter, helping Ronan lower into the bed and help him get situated.
I smile down at him in my bed. He’s wearing that navy hoodie that I love to see him in, even if those baby blues are covered by my kitten-eared sleep mask at the moment.
After pulling the blanket over his legs and gently brushing the hair off his forehead, I turn to leave the bedroom of the hotel suite.
His hand gently grips my wrist before I can get far.
“You’re not sleeping on the couch.” Ronan mumbles.
“You need room to stretch out. To recover.”
“No, get over here, Sunshine. I need snuggles.” He says, making grabby hands at me from his spot under the covers.
I snort, pulling the black out curtains closed.
There’s drinks for hydration beside the bed alongside medicine for the pain.
I glance at him again, before shucking my jeans off.
Sighing, I slink into his arms. I scoot until I'm tucked under his arm, my foot tangled between his feet and my head on his chest.
He draws circles on my shoulder with his fingertips until he’s out like a light.