Chapter 5 #2
Daisy handed her the notes and said, “Nothing special. They used to each toss me a puck before games, but our house became overrun. Connor forced Hazy and Valentine to switch to sticky notes instead. It’s way easier to store a thousand sticky notes than a thousand hockey pucks.”
Olivia glanced at the notes. One said, ‘Ice cream after?’ and the other had familiar handwriting that said, ‘Bring Livy.’
“Ooo,” Olivia said. “We’re getting ice cream after this?”
Daisy nodded. “Yup. And the place has fresh waffle cones.”
Olivia wiggled in her seat, almost as excited for a warm cone as she was to watch Connor play. She watched most of his games, but TV was never the same.
The lights went out in the arena, and a storm-watch siren blared, announcing the release of the players onto the ice.
The crowd grew restless immediately upon puck-drop. Every minor infraction resulted in curses and jeers. Each penalty had the fans on the edge of their seats. Gloves fell to the ice faster than the clock ticked down.
Olivia had never been to such an intense game. The animosity between the teams was palpable. If left unsupervised, some of the men might kill each other.
Her breath caught in her throat as Connor flew across the ice on a breakaway in the second period. She sprang to her feet before he took the shot, certain it would go in.
A few seconds later she let out a different kind of scream than she’d anticipated.
He had practiced how to fall safely a million times.
He’d practiced safe checking for hours upon hours as a kid.
She’d been there. Unfortunately, it was impossible to practice taking hits so dirty that the only possible explanation was an intent to maim.
The crowd went silent for a split second that felt a decade long.
He was too still. He stayed down for too long.
His helmet popped off during the second impact against the boards or ice.
She breathed a sigh of relief when he rolled over.
But his yell of frustration and pain when he got to all fours was discernible from a hundred feet away, through a crowd of seventeen thousand.
He heaved, the contents of his stomach spilling onto the ice, and bile rose in her throat in response.
Her own scream echoed his as the crowd yelled.
While Connor lay broken on the ice, Valentine laid into his attacker.
A trainer rushed onto the ice while Valentine shoved the player who had injured Connor into the boards, tackling him and climbing on top to beat his face into a bloody pulp.
The Bulls tried to yank Valentine away from their teammate, but Valentine held on, refusing to stop.
All the players dropped gloves, everyone entering an all-out brawl.
The Freeze’s goalie sacrificed the penalties he would take crossing the red line.
Olivia was both more terrified than she had ever been and beyond proud and grateful that Connor’s team wouldn’t bend over and take it when one of their own got injured.
The trainer dragged the telltale white bed onto the ice between all the dueling men.
Daisy grabbed Olivia’s hand, and they ran up the stairs, away from Connor.
Olivia wanted to struggle—to stay and make sure he left the ice breathing—but she floated outside her body, her mind desperate to get to Connor.
Daisy pushed her way through groups of gathered fans and dragged Olivia along, the only thing anchoring her to the moment.
An eternity passed as they waited in the elevator, the traitorous doors opening and closing on every floor.
Olivia tapped her foot, her anxiety needing some form of outlet.
They landed on their floor. Daisy reclaimed Olivia’s hand, and they broke into a jog.
Daisy peeked into doorways as they passed, searching for him.
In the distance Olivia could still hear the crowd. The screaming and chanting and announcers and upbeat music. The chaos was a world away as Daisy located the room they needed to be in. She knocked on the door, and Olivia caught a glimpse of Connor.
A man waved Daisy in and stopped Olivia from following.
“Sorry,” he said. “Only authorized personnel.”
Daisy seemed torn between tearing the guy’s head off for keeping Olivia away and getting to Connor. Olivia stamped down her anger at being barred from the room, understanding the importance of maintaining the players’ privacy.
She settled an anxious smile on Daisy. “It’s fine. Make sure he’s okay.”
The door shut, cutting off her obstructed view. Muffled voices fluttered through the door, and she took solace in the fact that nobody seemed panicked. He was being well taken care of. She rested her shoulders against the wall in the hallway outside the exam room and slid to the floor.
Olivia waited a few minutes before the door opened, and Daisy popped out.
“He’s asking for you.”
She climbed to her feet and followed her new friend into the room.
Connor was in a state of semi-undress. Multiple sets of hands pulled at the layers of gear, pads, and clothing obstructing their examination.
She didn’t know what to do, faced with her best friend whimpering in pain. Working in a hospital, even just the billing department, she’d witnessed her fair share of medical emergencies. Still, seeing Connor like this had terror climbing in her chest.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and approached him, doing her best to stay out of the way.
Olivia took a spot near his head and said, “Hey.”
At the sound of her voice he tried to look in her direction, the neck brace they’d placed him in blocking the movement. He reached out blindly to her, and some of the staff slapped his hands down, restricting all movement.
“Hey.” His voice came out cracked and hoarse.
A small gash on his forehead had already been stitched, and his head rested on a slushy ice pack.
It looked like they had already gone through concussion protocol and were working on his other injuries.
He’d blown chunks all over the ice after a head injury.
Olivia knew that probably meant a concussion.
Removing his shirt and shoulder pads revealed his torso, clammy and pale but clear of any bruising, redness, or swelling. No visible lacerations.
“They told me I can’t go back to the game,” Connor said.
“You were stretchered off the ice. You won’t make it back,” she said, rolling her eyes. She’d heard his scream of pain, rushed to be with him, been barred from seeing him, and he was worried about the game. Fucking typical.
His team of healthcare professionals gathered around the stretcher. “We’re going to lift you to get your gear off, okay?” The question came from a bald man with kind eyes that put Olivia at ease.
Connor’s attention fixed on a spot on the ceiling, and his jaw clenched before he nodded. The group lifted him, and he ground his teeth and focused on shaky breathing while they stripped him out of his pads.
Olivia did her own compulsory assessment of the damage. She tried to stay neutral. But when his thighs were revealed, one of them already bruising and swollen, she couldn’t help the little gasp she let out.
“Fuck,” she whispered, doing her best to fight her own wooziness.
His grip on her fingers tightened. His left femur jutted out at an unnatural angle. Broken, for sure. The collective hush in the room didn’t help his curiosity.
“You’re going to the hospital,” the doctor said.
Connor darted alarmed eyes to the man.
“I don’t need the hospital,” he insisted.
Olivia leaned her face closer to his so he could see her. “Connor. This isn’t the time to argue. You’re going to the hospital.”
He stayed quiet, his hesitation, pain, and anxiety loud in the quiet space. When he nodded, Olivia let out a shaky breath.
The staff spent several more minutes taking X-rays and other imaging she didn’t recognize. Whatever they found had the medical staff relaxing, the energy in the room changing from frenzied and urgent to calm and methodical. They freed Connor from his C-collar and braced his leg for transport.
Once loaded into the back of the ambulance, Connor reached out to her again, clinging to her hand like it was his only lifeline and giving her pathetic, teary puppy-dog eyes. “Come with me?” he asked, voice breaking.
Olivia pulled away from him and raised a questioning eyebrow at the EMT standing by. He nodded.
“Yeah, I’ll come with you.”
Olivia wasn’t familiar with the hospital staff who wheeled Connor off in one direction and pushed her in another.
A young woman shepherded her to a waiting room somewhere in the emergency department.
The crew on the ambulance told her what to expect, but it didn’t make separating from Connor any easier.
The doctors in the arena had been able to get Connor relatively stable. Luckily, he hadn’t gone into shock, but the way the bone broke and the bruising around the break meant he needed surgery. They said something about setting the bone with a rod and screws.
Sitting in the tiny, silent, sterile-smelling room all alone, each minute stretched into the ether.
Olivia couldn’t be sure time passed at all.
She alternated between tracing the outline of the faded, ugly, brown pattern on her chair with her finger and scrolling through post after post on social media until her eyes hurt.
One such social media post reminded her of Connor’s mom.
She was basically Olivia’s mom too, having taken over all motherly duties after Olivia’s own mother walked out.
To add insult to injury, the woman Olivia bitterly referred to as her birth-giver took the family dog with her.
She still wondered what had become of their beagle, Popcorn.
Jayden’s best friend in kindergarten had a cat named Oreo, so Jayden thought all pets had to be named after your favorite snack.
Hence; Popcorn. Olivia hoped the sweet puppy had a beautiful life with the woman who loved him more than her flesh and blood children.
Guilt radiated through Olivia as her finger hovered over the call button on Christina Hale’s contact. The poor woman must be beside herself with worry, and Olivia might be able to ease some of her concern, but the idea of talking to Christina after so many months of silence filled her with anxiety.
Her relationship with Christina had been yet another casualty of Lance’s controlling behavior. She kicked herself for how much she’d let a stupid man take from her. He’d never outright demanded she stop talking to Christina. But he had made passive-aggressive comments after every phone call.
He’d insisted Olivia focus her attention on building a relationship with his own mother since they would be “real family” someday. But Olivia could and should have strong friendships with multiple women, regardless of their age or familial relation. He only meant to isolate her.
The realization that Lance had been genuinely manipulative and abusive hit Olivia like a truck. How had she let that happen? How had Lance’s controlling nature crept up on her? Why had she been so complicit?
She smashed her thumb onto the call button, needing her mom.
Christina answered on the first ring. She’d probably had her phone in her hand, pacing a hole in the living room carpet while she waited for any news on Connor.
“Livy, honey. What’s wrong?”
She could hear the anxiety and concern in Christina’s voice, but she stayed all business.
Connor called it her “let me fix it” voice.
Hot tears dripped down her nose. Christina’s baby boy was actively being cut open on an operating table, and she was worried about Olivia.
And Olivia couldn’t be bothered to keep in touch.
She couldn’t recall the last time she’d reached out.
She sniffled before answering, but her voice still cracked when she said, “Hi, Mom.” Olivia started calling her Mom around middle school. Any other name would have felt weird. She needed to tell Christina a million things, but she started with the most important. “I’m calling about Connor.”
“Oh, honey. I don’t know anything yet. It’s way too early; the game isn’t over.”
Olivia seethed at the lack of information the league provided about player health, even to family members. If a mother or wife or child saw their loved one get brutally injured on live television, they deserved an update as quickly as possible.
“No, I figured you hadn’t heard anything. I’m calling to give you an update.”
Her clarification met several seconds of silence, and she could see Mrs. Hale’s face in her head. The slow blink of speechlessness she’d witnessed a million times, usually in relation to Connor’s hare-brained antics as a teenager.
“Were you at the game?” Christina whispered, and Olivia imagined her sinking onto the threadbare couch Connor’s dad, Mark, insisted on keeping around.
“Yeah, I’ve been staying with Connor the last couple of days.”
“You have?”
“Yes. I figured you’d like an update about what’s going on.”
“Thank God someone knows something,” Christina said. “Lay it on me.”
Olivia explained everything the doctors had told her. Christina seemed to relax as Olivia spoke, only interrupting to ask a few questions. When she ran out of things to say about Connor’s recovery plan, Christina asked why Olivia had been staying with him.
She spent most of her waiting room time explaining her years-long relationship, the controlling behavior Lance exhibited, her recent realization of the mental and financial abuse, and her absolute lack of any plan for her future.
By the time Valentine, Daisy, and Beanie joined her, she was a mess of snot and tears, wrung out emotionally, but feeling lighter than she had in ages.
She didn’t know where she would live next week or what she should do, but she knew one thing for certain.
Nobody would ever come between her and Christina Hale again.
The woman was an absolute saint, the rock she needed at every stage of life.