Page 27

Rusty turned away from the intensity of her stare to yell at the Rafters to get the damned puck out of the corner already.

Cross’s D-partner, Koskinen, managed that and play rushed down to the other end of the ice.

Rusty leaped up, following the play. Around him, fans cheered and groaned.

The Rafters had some scoring chances, hit the crossbar, flipped the puck over the net, everyone was in close scrimmaging.

The puck came out front, a defenseman shoved a Rafters forward into the net and the puck popped loose.

Cross and the guy covering him both went down.

The net came off its moorings and as the whistle blew, two more guys got tangled together and fell into the pile.

Someone screamed.

Rusty flinched. Who was that? Some player just got hurt bad. That was obvious from the way everyone on the ice froze. Where’s Cross?

Marie jumped to her feet beside him, eyes on the pile of players getting disentangled.

The Rafters’ trainer skidded over in his sneakers, kneeling down, followed more slowly by a woman Rusty didn’t recognize, but who came from the Portland side.

A Rafter. Fuck. Refs and players stood in a loose circle, screening the scene and when Rusty flicked his gaze to the Jumbotron, all they were showing was the backs of the players.

Through the screening bodies, Rusty saw the trainer wave, and then two guys were bringing a stretcher out. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Three of the four players who’d been in that pile were on their feet. None of them was Cross.

Fuck.

Marie clutched Rusty’s wrist in a painful grip. “Is it RJ? Can you tell?”

“I think so.” The teams began making their way back to their benches, Fargo clearing the ice, the Rafters lingering by the boards. Tense silence filled the arena.

“He never screams.” Marie’s voice hitched. “He broke his arm when he was nine, and he didn’t make a sound.”

Rusty had no answer for that. He’d broken his own arm at six, jumping off a swing, and he’d made plenty of noise. “Hope it’s just a break.”

“Just?”

“Broken bones heal.” At least that scream meant he wasn’t out cold. Less chance of a head injury. The worst head-trauma happened when you fell and hit the ice with another guy on top of you. Cross was already down on the ice when he got hit. Rusty was scrambling for best-case possibilities.

Beside the crease, the guys set up the stretcher, then eased Cross onto it. Rusty flicked his attention back and forth from the ice to the Jumbotron. They weren’t using a cervical collar. That was good news. They were being super careful with Cross’s lower half, though.

As they lifted the stretcher and carried him off the ice, Cross gave a little wave caught on the Jumbotron, his naked fingers seeming fragile against the expanse of the hockey rink. People cheered as if everything was fine.

“He waved,” Rusty told Marie. Her grip was cutting off his circulation but that was okay. She was Cross’s sister. Whatever she needed. “Waving means he’s conscious, moving. Low risk of head and neck injury. That’s a good thing.”

The gate closed behind the stretcher. The net was put back on its moorings. No blood stained the ice. Players began filing back on as the refs circled into position.

“They’ll take him to a hospital, right?” Marie turned to Rusty, letting go of him to grab her purse. “Where will they take him?”

“Hospital for sure, if he was stretchered. Come on, let’s go ask.” He led her past people’s knees and down toward the boards, squeezing through until he reached the aisle, then back into the arena. Turning left, he headed for the security barrier.

“No spectators beyond this point,” the guard told them.

“She’s not a spectator, she’s Cross’s sister. LaCroix, I mean.” Rusty turned to Marie. “Show him some ID.”

She dug her wallet out of her purse and showed the guard her license.

“Okay, sorry, ma’am, I still can’t let you through. But I’ll find someone from the team to come talk to you.”

“As fast as possible.” Marie’s icy tone suggested she was used to commanding underlings.

“Yes, ma’am.”

They waited in silence, hearing the muffled sounds of play resuming overhead. After a few minutes, a middle-aged woman hurried toward them with the guard behind her. “Miss LaCroix?”

“Yes. I have RJ’s medical power of attorney. Roger’s, that is.”

“May I verify your ID again, please?”

Marie passed over her license. The woman scanned it, looked at Rusty, but didn’t ask for his as she handed the card back. “Thank you. I’m Wendy Unger, Rafters public relations. I’m so sorry your brother was injured. He was awake and talking as they transported him, which is good.”

“Where are they taking him?”

“They’ll go to West Memorial Hospital. They have an excellent trauma center. Do you have transportation? I can find someone to drive you.”

“I’ll do it,” Rusty volunteered immediately. He had no right to follow Cross to the hospital, wasn’t entitled to information, but if he stuck to Marie, he wouldn’t be completely out in the cold. And Cross would want Marie there. “My truck’s parked in the lot.”

Marie turned to him. “Thank you. Can we go now?”

“For sure.”

He led the way back to the main hallway and soon found himself jogging along. Marie stuck close to his side. The corridors were fairly empty with the game underway, and they made it out one of the doors in a few minutes. Rusty glanced around the lot, getting oriented. “This way.”

When they reached his truck, he opened the passenger door for Marie. Despite her obvious impatience, she ran a finger over the edge of the door. “You painted this recently?”

“Yes? It’s old, but it runs fine.” He swiped a few things off the seat and tossed them into the space behind. “Sorry, it’s not super clean.”

“That’s fine.” She swung up into the truck.

Rusty had to use his phone GPS to find the hospital, then set it in the cup holder. “Fifteen minutes.” He peeled out of the parking space and turned for the gate.

“Try not to kill us getting there,” Marie told him.

“Right. Sure.” Urgency beat in his head, driving his heart rate up, but she was right. He slowed and made safe turns, getting onto the main road.

Despite his focus on the traffic, he could feel Marie watching him, intent on his profile. What? I’m not that interesting. Maybe she was distracting herself from worrying about Cross.

“Have you ever watched movies with RJ?” she asked after a few minutes.

“Yeah. A few. Some SciFi.” He merged and powered around a grandma in her Lincoln sedan.

“How old are you?”

“Gonna be twenty.” He couldn’t wait, either, although his birthday was technically seven months off. Twenty sounded much more adult than nineteen.

“RJ’s thirty.”

“Yeah, I know— fuck! Pick a lane!” He thumped his hand on the steering wheel as the douche ahead of him wandered across the dotted line.

Marie was quiet the rest of the drive, maybe realizing that distracting Rusty could be hazardous to their health. He didn’t have brain space to worry about what she thought of him.

When they reached the hospital, he offered, “I can drop you off right up front.” He might have a hard time getting in to see Cross without her, but she was clearly jumping out of her skin with worry.

“Just park and come on in with me.” She slanted him a look under frowning brows. “You’re worried too.”

“Well, yeah.” He wasn’t going to look a gift sister in the mouth, so he got a ticket from the barrier gate, pulled through, and found the first available spot. He had to slow down his strides, crossing the lot. Marie was taller than Cross, but still couldn’t match his leg length. “Sorry.”

In the hospital, Marie inquired about Cross. The receptionist scanned her screen. “I’m sorry, it says no visitors.”

“I’m his sister. I have his PoA.” She showed her ID again and another screen on her phone.

Rusty kept silent, relieved to have her coattails to make him seem legit.

“Ah, okay. Go on up to orthopedics.” The receptionist explained how to find that department.

Once they were on the elevator, Rusty blew out a slow breath. His heart had quit pounding like a trapped bird although his palms still felt clammy.

Marie turned to him. “What?”

“Huh?”

“That sigh.”

“Oh, well.” He ran a hand over his head. “Orthopedics, right? Not, like, surgery or ICU or neuro or something. That means bones. Bones heal.” Better than spines and brains and internal bleeding, anyhow.

“Ah.” Marie nodded. “That makes sense, thank you.”

Several people sat in the seats in the orthopedics waiting room.

Rusty didn’t see anyone who screamed “hockey team” to him.

After they touched base with the nursing station, who said Cross was off in imaging, Marie grabbed Rusty’s wrist again, half-pulling him over to a pair of chairs right by the doorway.

He didn’t resist. She let go as they sat, staring down at her own hand like she was surprised, then up at him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to touch you without asking. ”

“It’s all good. You’re thinking about Cross.” He restrained himself from rubbing his arm and lowered his ass to the vinyl seat next to hers.

She pulled out her phone. “I should let our parents know, but I wish I had an update first.”

“Maybe keep it low key. He’d hate for them to get upset.” Rusty was pretty sure about that. Cross seemed to have a friendly but not close relationship with his folks, and Rusty was sure he’d hate anyone fussing over him.

“You’re right.” She tapped something in briefly. “I guess you know my brother pretty well, huh?”

That rang alarm bells. Rusty cleared his throat and shrugged. “Not really. We’ve hung out a few times, with the other guys mostly.” And not. “He’s a mentor, kind of.” And not.

“Mm.” Marie went on texting.