51. Dylan
DYLAN
I don’t remember going down. Just the crack of my skull against the helmet and the white-hot pain that exploded in my shoulder and up my side.
And distant voices yelling my name.
Now I’m in the medical room—a side hallway off the main rink, all white walls and disinfectant—perched on an exam table while a trainer gently palpates my shoulder.
“Good news is, there’s nothing broken,” he states, voice calm but firm.
“And the bad news?” I grimace as I try to roll my shoulder.
“You’re bruised, maybe some muscle strain, but your range of motion is decent, and your reflexes are intact. You got lucky.”
Lucky. Sure.
I nod through the dull throb that pulses from my shoulder to my spine. Every muscle aches, and I’m still pissed I had to miss the end of the game. And even while the trainer drones on about anti-inflammatories, hot pads, and soaking, all I can think about is the game. What happened after I left?
“Thorn,” Ethan growls, throwing the door open and crossing the room in three strides. Finn, Griffin, and Jax are right behind him, all still in partial gear, skates off but pads and jerseys askew. The panic on their faces is palpable.
“I’m fine,” I assure them, lifting my hands as Ethan crouches in front of me. His hands hover at my knees, like he wants to touch me but isn’t sure if he should.
Finn moves behind Ethan, his gaze raking over me.
“You didn’t get back up.” There’s a tightness to his voice, the fear, the panic, still evident.
“You went down, and you didn’t get back up.
” He sounds accusatory, but I know it’s not directed at me.
It’s his fear talking, and seeing such a reaction from him, the guy who kept himself at arm’s length from me for so long, breaks my heart.
Reaching out, I grasp his hand, squeezing hard. “I’m fine.” I put emphasis behind my words, hoping it will ease some of his energy. He nods, the movement sharp and jerky, and his hold on me is almost painful, but I don’t let go. Don’t comment. I need this as much as he does.
Griffin is immediately at my side. He doesn’t have the same hesitation as Ethan as he wraps a hand around the front of my throat and brings his face within inches of mine.
The pads of his fingers caress my skin lovingly, soothingly, like he needs to feel my pulse beating in order to assure himself I’m here—with him.
“You scared the shit out of me.” His voice is akin to gravel, digging into my flesh and leaving a scar that goes farther than skin deep.
Then, without warning, his mouth crashes down on mine.
It’s not gentle or hesitant—it’s searing, claiming, as if he needs to stamp his mark on me, to remind us both that I’m alive and his.
His kiss is heat and desperation, anger and relief.
By the time he pulls back, I’m breathless, my heart hammering all over again for an entirely different reason.
Bringing my free hand up, I cup the side of his face, brushing my thumb over his cheekbone, the two of us sharing a moment before I swing my gaze to Jax. He’s waiting patiently but looking no less concerned than the others.
He offers me one of his rare smiles, and I know it’s not possible, but it eases the throb in my shoulder. It’s probably the anti-inflammatories the trainer gave me kicking in, but Jax has always had this ability to calm me, to make me feel like all will be all right in the world.
“What did I miss?” I ask, still holding his gaze, even though I’m speaking to all of them. “Did we win?”
Ripping my gaze away, I take each of them in. I see the answer in their crestfallen expressions before Ethan admits, “We lost. 1–0. Couldn’t get a single goddamn shot past their goalie.”
“He was a wall,” Finn mutters dejectedly. “But Griffin kept them from scoring again too.”
I smile at him as he smirks cockily.
“And we got the asshole who hit you,” Jax adds, sending my head whipping in his direction, eyebrows climbing to my hairline. His smug grin has my gaze trailing downward until I spot the blood dusting his split knuckles.
The trainer interrupts before I can ask anything more. “All right, everyone out. Carter needs to soak, and you all need to hit the showers before you stink up my treatment room.”
“We’re not leaving,” Griffin argues, while the others voice their own protest, but the trainer isn’t hearing any of it as he stands at the open door, waving them out. “Go.”
“Go,” I encourage. “He’s right. You all stink. How can I soak in peace with the stench of sweat clogging my nostrils?”
With some final grumbles and reluctant glances, they move toward the door.
Except, before he can disappear through it, Ethan comes back, closing the distance between us with a look of determination that stalls the air in my lungs.
In the blink of an eye, he’s in front of me, cupping my face between his palms. “I never want to experience that again,” he murmurs, voice rough.
Then he leans in and kisses me—hard, deep, like he’s pouring everything he feels into this one moment.
His lips are insistent, desperate, and when he pulls away, his thumb sweeps across my cheek like he’s memorizing me all over again.
“I know I’ve fucked up, but shit , Thorn.
You terrified me out there. The thought of losing you…
” His expression is anguished as he shakes his head.
“Shh,” I soothe, stroking his hands still cupping my face. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”
He swallows audibly, intense blue eyes meeting mine. He crouches so our lips are inches apart. “I don’t know when it happened, but you snuck your way under my skin and now I can’t remember how it felt without you there. I don’t want to remember.”
Reaching up, my fingers trail over his lips, still swollen from our kiss.
“I don’t either.” He leans into my touch before reluctantly pulling away.
The others are hovering by the door, and he stalks over before they all file out.
Griffin lingers, eyes on mine like he wants to say something.
Instead, he gives me a small nod before he disappears.
The trainer helps me to my feet, leading me into a connected room that holds two large stainless-steel tubs—one for ice baths, one for hot soaks.
It’s a private space, tiled from floor to ceiling, the warm scent of eucalyptus wafting in the air.
I can’t help but recall the last time I was in here…
with Jax. Entirely different circumstances—unfortunately.
He instructs me to sit in the tub for half an hour. “You can keep your base layers on,” he says, nodding to the sports bra and tight shorts I wore under my gear. “Let the heat work into your muscles. If anything feels off, hit the panic button beside you. Got it?”
It’ s not my first injury on the ice. Not my first hot soak, so I simply nod, already moving toward the tub.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” he says, already walking out the door.
Alone, I sink into the tub with a hiss. The water is hot, nearly too hot, but once I’m submerged, I melt. My sore muscles sing in relief, and I groan, letting my head fall back as the last bit of throbbing disappears.
I sit there for long minutes, half lost in the ripple of heat licking over my skin. My muscles ache, but I’m okay. Just bruised. Nothing torn. Nothing broken. Still, it rattles me how easily that could have changed. I know how quickly death and injury can come on the ice. I’ve seen it.
Shivering, I push away those ugly thoughts. I can’t afford to dwell on that now, or I’ll spiral. Instead, I force myself to focus on my breathing. On nothing at all.
As the water lulls me into a half sleep, images play out on the backs of my eyelids. Ethan’s wild eyes, panicked and desperate. Jax’s frantic, raw voice. Finn’s trembling hand wrapped in mine. Griffin’s death grip on my arm, like if he let go, I’d disappear.
I let out a slow, steady breath.
Even in pain, I feel…seen.
Cared for. Protected. Loved, even.
The hinges creak on the door as it’s pushed open.
A slow smile tugs at my lips. “You just couldn’t stay away, huh?”
No response, but I hear the pad of footsteps moving closer, the subtle shift of the air.
I wonder which one of them it is. Griffin, maybe?
He’s the most likely to break the rules, but then I recall the fear in Ethan’s eyes, and I think it could be him.
He’s not a rule breaker, but he is the type to check up on an injured player.
He wouldn’t have wanted to stray too far, to have me out of his sight for long.
“You guys are relentless,” I tease, shaking my head.
There’s still no response, and when I don’t hear the sounds of someone stripping down, the ripple of water as someone steps into the tub, I open my eyes?—
A hand slams down on my shoulder. Hard.
Another clamps the top of my head, and before I can gain purchase or scream, I’m shoved under the water.
Panic explodes in my chest.
I thrash, bubbles escaping as I try to scream. My lungs burn. I claw, scramble, twist. The weight above me is too strong. Unrelenting.
Water fills my nose and floods my mouth. My ears roar. The pressure on all sides of my face reminds me I’m in a suffocating prison. One that will soon become my tomb…
My fingers scrape along the smooth sides of the tub, but there’s nothing to hold on to. My feet slip against the bottom.
The pressure builds.
The silence sets in.
My limbs grow heavy, my thrashing slows. Panic turns to fog. Darkness creeps in.
And then there’s nothing at all.