Page 39

Chapter 39

Hannah

A week after the charity event, I’m sitting on the edge of my seat, watching Declan’s every move out on the ice as the Aces play the Nashville Coyotes—and trying not to give myself away in the process.

I steal a glance at my mother, who’s sitting right next to me, but she seems just as engaged in the game as I am, so she doesn’t notice that I’m focusing a lot of attention on a single player.

I’ve been coming to a lot more of the Aces games this season than usual, so I’m surprised she hasn’t made a comment about it yet, but I’m not complaining. She probably just assumes I’m trying to spend more time with her and my father, and I’m fine with letting her think that.

The horn sounds, marking the end of the period and the start of intermission, leaving the Aces ahead. I breathe a sigh of relief as I slide back into my seat.

My mother chuckles at me as the crowd starts to leave the stands to use the restrooms and stock up on concessions during the break.

“You’re awfully invested in this season,” she says as if she was reading my mind. I don’t know what to say to that, so I just shrug at her, and she smiles. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s actually been really nice to have you here.”

“Yeah, I’m glad we’re getting to spend more time together too.”

It’s sweet that she feels that way, and part of me feels guilty for not being totally honest with her about the real reason I’ve been spending so much more time at the arena lately. But another part of me knows she would have a heart attack if I told her what’s really behind it—and I have no doubt that my father would eventually find out too.

I totally understand why my father has forbidden me from dating hockey players, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. And I know I’m being reckless and bending the rules in a way that would make him furious if he found out, but some part of me wants to think that my mother would understand a little more. I don’t dare tell her though.

“You know, we could do stuff like this more often if you weren’t burning the candle at both ends,” she continues, bringing my focus back to the arena.

I know she probably didn’t mean it the way it came out, but I still can’t stop a frown from flashing across my face.

My mother sighs and pats my hand. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t mean to sound critical. I’m just worried about you overextending yourself and burning out.” She purses her lips thoughtfully. “Maybe you should think about giving up the yoga thing to focus on school. I know you love it, but school is so much more important.”

My stomach twists, and I clear my throat, fiddling with a small loose thread on the hem of my shirtsleeve. My mother has always been my biggest cheerleader—she just shows it by trying to make sure I have security in my life, rather than encouraging me to pursue my passion.

She and my father have never understood why I’m so interested in yoga, and I stopped trying to explain it to them a long time ago. After what happened with Casey, my parents just want to make sure I’m set up well in life, and I’m grateful for that, even when their concern feels a bit suffocating.

I can’t fault her for loving me in the only way she knows how.

I just wish I could tell her that I’d much rather keep the yoga and ditch school, but I have a feeling she’d have a heart attack if I ever said that out loud.

“Seriously, Hannah,” my mother presses, reaching over to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m worried about you. You look so tired. Are you getting enough sleep?”

“I’m fine,” I insist, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Just busy, but I’m managing.”

Thankfully, she nods, accepting my reassurance.

Her concern has my brain spinning again though, and I wrinkle my nose as the din of the area surrounds us. I feel like I’m living a life full of lies. There’s this increasingly intense, secret life I have with Declan that’s glorious and absolutely perfect—but then there’s this fake life I’m living on the outside with everyone else. The dutiful daughter who’s going to be a world-class lawyer, if she could only get out of her own way.

Even thinking about all the studying I need to do exhausts me. I’m finally starting to admit to myself that I never really wanted to be a lawyer. I just decided to go to law school because it was what my parents wanted, and I wanted them to feel like they hadn’t lost everything when they lost Casey.

My life probably looks amazing to all the people who aren’t me, to people who aren’t living it, but it doesn’t fit me at all.

I still haven’t found the courage to say that out loud to anyone—except Declan. And I don’t know what that means.

Almost as if he can sense me thinking about him, I spot Declan skating across the ice as the intermission ends. I lean forward in my seat, resting my chin in my hands as I watch him. He makes eye contact with me and winks subtly, making my heart flutter. When I’m sure my mother can’t see, I make a little heart with my fingers underneath my chin and flash it to him. The smile he gives me in return almost melts me, but he streaks away quickly before anyone else notices or catches on to our secret signals.

The two teams get back in position on the ice for the final period as the last of the crowd streams back into the arena.

This has been a particularly brutal game, and I was hoping that the break would give all the players time to cool off and reset all the testosterone, but as soon as the puck drops, they’re right back to tearing after each other. Maybe it’s because the Aces are the team to beat, or maybe it’s because they have a hotshot new rookie—or all of the above—but both teams are playing a bit rough and reckless.

More than once, I gasp along with the crowd as the players barely miss each other. It’s like they’re trying to test each other’s limits in some risky game of chicken to see who will flinch first. But the problem is, no one is flinching. And every time it happens, the next one is even closer. At one point, one of the Coyotes players crashes into Sawyer’s shoulder head-on. Thankfully, Sawyer sees it coming and braces himself for the impact, but the other guy goes down hard and the back of his helmet smacks against the ice.

The ref’s sharp whistle cuts through all the noise from the crowd, and they rush to the player to make sure he’s okay. In a true show of sportsmanship, Sawyer helps the Coyotes player up off the ice to a round of applause from the audience, but the guy must be seeing triple, because he sways on his feet and the refs have to help him off the ice to the bench.

The game continues, the play even more aggressive and brutal than before. Halfway through the period, Theo is streaking down the ice toward the goal with the puck in his control when a Coyotes player jabs his stick out at his feet. Theo notices, but not before it’s too late. He crashes into the guy’s stick and stumbles, flailing his arms to keep his balance and losing his stick in the process.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Theo bellows at the Coyotes player when he gets his footing again, whirling on the man.

He’s so loud that I can hear him all the way over here, despite the angry shouts from the Aces fans in the crowd. Theo looks like he’s ready to take a swing, but the refs are on the two of them in a matter of seconds, pushing them apart and making sure they don’t get at each other’s throats. Theo’s face is red, his teeth bared, but he knows better than to get into a tussle with the refs.

Once they’ve gotten the situation under control, one of the refs skates out to announce a tripping penalty for the Coyotes. Their players and fans are all furious, and their coach hurls expletives at the ref from their box, but maybe they should’ve thought about that before they decided to play dirty.

My eyes shoot to my father, who’s watching all of this happen, but he just stands there calmly with his chin in his hands, shaking his head.

“What’s gotten into these boys tonight?” my mother asks, startling me out of the trance I’ve been in. I’ve been so focused on the action happening on the ice that I completely forgot she was sitting and watching it with me.

“I don’t know. They’re playing like it’s game seven of the finals,” I say, shaking my head at another near-collision on the ice. “I guess they’re all just hungry for a win.”

“They always want to win, though. That doesn’t mean they need to rip each other apart to get there.”

“You’re not wrong.” I huff out a quiet laugh. “Dad always says the best players keep their heads when everyone else is losing theirs.”

The third period intensifies as the clock winds down. Every hit seems harder, every shot more desperate. The Aces one-goal lead has both teams playing with barely contained fury—our guys defending like their lives depend on it, the Coyotes attacking with increasing recklessness.

I wince as Noah takes a punishing check but manages to stay on his feet. Maxim nearly gets caught with a high stick that thankfully misses his face by inches. The crowd around us is on edge, the tension in the arena thick enough that the air feels heavy.

“That ref needs to get control of this game,” my mother mutters as another scuffle breaks out along the boards.

“Five minutes left,” I note, glancing at the scoreboard. “If they can just maintain?—”

My words die in my throat as the Coyotes win the face-off and their center immediately breaks away with the puck. The crowd roars as he charges down the ice with surprising speed for someone his size. The Aces defenders scramble to get back in position as he barrels toward our zone.

Declan glides into position at the blue line, his stance powerful and controlled. Even from this distance, I can see the determination in his body language—shoulders set, stick perfectly positioned. It’s what my father calls “defensive presence,” that ability to own your space on the ice.

The Coyotes player shows no sign of slowing down. If anything, he accelerates, clearly planning to either blow past Declan or go right through him.

It happens so fast I can barely process it.

One second, Declan is braced for impact, and the next, there’s a sickening collision as the opposing player slams into him at full speed. The sound echoes through the arena—that horrible crack of bodies and equipment violently connecting.

Declan crashes to the ice with devastating force. His helmet flies off as he goes down, the other player landing on top of him before rolling away.

And then he doesn’t move.

The arena goes silent in an instant. I’m on my feet before I realize what I’m doing, my hands pressed against my mouth and my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. The crowd collectively holds its breath as medical staff rush onto the ice.

“Oh my god,” my mother whispers beside me, but her voice sounds distant and muffled, like I’m underwater.

I can’t tear my eyes away from Declan’s motionless form as the medics kneel beside him. His face is so still, so pale against the white ice. As if I’m trapped in some sort of slow-motion dream, I watch as the medics check his vitals and try to stir him back to consciousness. But it doesn’t work, so they signal to some of the other medics, and a few moments later they’re hoisting him up onto a stretcher.

As the medics carry him toward the tunnel, the only thought pounding through my head is that I need to be with him. Now .

The second they disappear from sight, something snaps inside me. I break out of my trance and burst into motion, racing down the steps as quickly as I can. My mother shouts after me, but I barely hear her. The only thing I care about is closing the distance between me and Declan.

I race through the corridor toward the medical area, my knowledge of the arena’s layout proving invaluable. Being Coach Dunaway’s daughter has its perks—I know exactly which service hallway to cut through to bypass the main security checkpoint. A few staff members glance my way, but nobody stops me. I’ve been wandering these halls since I was a teenager, and tonight, that familiarity is my ally.

Breathless, I slip through a maintenance door that leads directly to the back corridors near the medical room. My heart hammers against my ribs as I round the final corner, praying I’m not too late to see him before they take him to the hospital.

The medical staff is too focused on Declan to notice me hovering in the doorway. I pause, briefly stunned by the sight before me—he looks so vulnerable, so unlike the powerful defenseman who commands the ice. One of Declan’s arms is dangling from the stretcher limply. Tears stream down my cheeks at the sight, making it almost impossible to see, and my throat is so tight that it hurts to breathe—because I can’t help fearing the worst. What if he’s got some kind of traumatic brain injury? Or what if he’s so hurt he can never play again?

I know logically that this wasn’t my fault, but I still can’t help thinking that if I hadn’t been in the crowd, if I hadn’t been distracting him, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe he’d still be out on the ice defending the net for the Aces. But instead, he’s lying here on a stretcher, breathing but unresponsive.

It hits me in a rush with terrifying clarity that this man has become so much more than just a fling to me. I feel like my whole world exists on the stretcher where the paramedics have him laid out.

Despite the dread in my stomach, I step closer, needing to see him. To know he’s okay. The medics finally realize I’m there when I approach, but they don’t try to stop me.

“Is he…?” The words tumble out of my mouth, but I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence. One of the medics smiles sympathetically at me and shakes her head.

“He took a pretty hard hit, but we think he’s going to be okay. We just need to get him checked for any internal bleeding or damage.”

I flinch at the medic’s words because I know that means Declan’s not in the clear yet, but at least my worst fear isn’t going to be coming true tonight. As the medics step back, I extend a trembling, unsteady hand to rest it on his, and just before our fingers touch, his eyes flutter open. It startles me at first, as though somehow my proximity has jarred him back to consciousness.

“Declan?” I breathe out, squeezing his hand. I almost can’t believe his eyes are open after the hit I watched him take. “Are you okay?”

He meets my gaze, his eyes hazy and swimming, and for a second I think he’s not really hearing me. That maybe he’s awake but not fully conscious. But then a smile slowly spreads across his face, and I feel something inside me crack with relief. He squeezes my hand back weakly.

“I am now.”

His voice is rough but unmistakably his, and those three simple words flood my system with relief. I choke back a sob and bring his hand to my mouth to press my lips against it, kissing him like I might never get the chance to do it again. Tears stream down my face as I press my forehead to our joined hands.

“I was so scared,” I whisper against his skin. “When I saw you go down like that?—”

“Hannah?”

The deep voice behind me slices through the air like a blade of ice.

I freeze, my shoulders tensing. I know that voice as well as my own. Slowly, I lift my head, but I don’t let go of Declan’s hand. I can’t. Not now.

When I finally turn, the sight of my father standing in the doorway knocks the air from my lungs. His face is unreadable, a mask of careful control that I recognize from his worst losses. But his eyes… his eyes are darting between my tear-streaked face and my fingers intertwined with Declan’s.