Page 40

Chapter 40

Declan

My vision is fuzzy, and words sound like they’re being spoken underwater through cotton stuffed in my ears, but as I look from Hannah to Coach Dunaway standing in the doorway, it’s crystal clear to me what’s going on.

Coach knows. There’s no undoing or hiding it now.

But Hannah doesn’t seem to care, and that’s good, because I don’t either. Her eyes snap back to mine, and she brings my hand to her mouth to kiss it again, almost like she’s daring her dad to say something. The medical staff intervene though, prying my hand out of hers and telling her something I can’t quite make out about how they need to take me to the hospital.

“I’ll be okay,” I mumble to her, the words slurring like I’ve had a fifth of whiskey.

Even I’m not totally sure how true that is, but it seems to reassure her a bit, because she lets me go and steps back. One of the medics moves between us and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“We need to check him for a concussion and do a few CT scans, but we think he’s going to be okay,” the medic tells her, just loudly enough that I can hear it too. I can’t see Hannah’s face, so I don’t know if that does anything to bring her more comfort, but I breathe a sigh of relief myself.

Because the truth is, I wasn’t positive if I was going to make it through this. I’ve taken more than my fair share of hits over the years while I’ve been trying to make it to the NHL, but this is easily the worst one I’ve ever absorbed. One second, the hulking center for the Coyotes was hurtling toward me, and the next thing I knew, I was on a stretcher with a bunch of unfamiliar faces standing over me.

I wiggle my fingers just to see if I can move them, and they work so I try to do the same thing with my toes, and those work too. But when I try to sit up, a splitting pain makes it feel like someone has taken a jackhammer to my skull.

“Easy, killer. Not so fast,” one of the medics cautions, then helps me lie back down. “Don’t worry, you’re in good hands. All we need you to do right now is rest. Think you can do that?”

I almost nod, but after the searing pain I just felt in my head, I think better of it. “Yeah. I think I can handle that,” I croak out, and the medic smiles at me.

When he steps away, I can see Hannah again. Coach Dunaway is holding her tight in his arms, and her eyes are glistening with tears. He pats her back, clearly trying to comfort her, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

More than anything else, I wish it was me holding her right now. I’d love nothing more than to kiss her forehead and tell her that I’m going to be fine, that I’m not going to let this beat me.

It could’ve been so much worse .

That thought makes a pit open in my stomach as it hits me just how close I came to ending this dream I’ve been chasing my entire life. People talk all the time about how dangerous hockey is, but I never really took that risk seriously before now. Because it never mattered enough to me to scare me away.

The only thing I’ve ever wanted was to make it to the NHL, to live this dream.

And I easily could’ve lost that and so much more tonight if things had gone even a little bit differently. If the medics are talking about concussions and CT scans, then my career might still be in trouble, but I refuse to accept defeat. I have to believe that I’m going to pull through this. I don’t have another choice, because everything else in my life depends on it.

My mother’s face flashes through my mind, and I see the beaming expression she wore when she told me that Hannah had talked her into moving to Denver. None of that can happen if it turns out that this injury means I can’t play anymore. I’ll lose my place on the team and the money that comes with it. I won’t be able to take care of the woman who raised me the way I’ve always promised I would.

I can’t let that happen. I won’t let it happen. Whatever is going on with me, I’m not going to let it break me or take away what I’ve worked so hard to get. I’ll beat this and get back up, just like I always do—because I have more reasons now than ever before to keep going.

As if she can hear my thoughts, Hannah glances over at me with tears streaking down her cheeks. She watches the medics get the gurney ready to load up into the ambulance that’s no doubt already waiting, and as they wheel me away, her eyes follow.

The worry in her expression kills me, and I fight the impulse to jump off this stretcher and race back to her. But I don’t have the energy or coordination to do it anyway, so I just lie back and watch the fluorescent lights flash overhead as the medics wheel me outside. Every little movement sets off a fresh stabbing pain in my head, but I just keep promising myself that I’m going to be okay.

The ride to the hospital passes in a daze, a symphony of lights and sounds blinking and chirping at me as an EMT gives me another once-over. But as the ambulance rolls along, my eyelids start to droop as the adrenaline of the game starts to bleed out of me, leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake.

The EMT taps on my arm.

“Hey, stay with me now,” he says in a firm but kind voice. “I know you’re tired, buddy, but we can’t have you going to sleep until we’re sure it’s safe, so I’m gonna keep you talking, okay?”

“Okay,” I mutter.

My tongue feels like sludge in my mouth, thick and heavy and uncooperative, but at least I can speak.

The EMT asks me a bunch of simple questions, like what day it is, who the president is, and who my favorite hockey player is. I try to stay focused on his words and respond to them all, but the harder I try, the more tired I get until finally my eyes get so heavy that I just can’t keep them open anymore.

They flutter open again as the ambulance jerks to a stop and the EMT springs into action to offload me and the stretcher. A small team of nurses rush out of the ER doors to help him, and they instantly start peppering us both with questions about what happened and what’s already been done.

The EMT fills them in, but I don’t have enough energy or coordination to add anything before the nurses wheel me into the hospital. Everything happens so quickly that I lose track of where I’m at or who’s talking to me as they get me into a room and hooked up to an IV. I barely even feel the needle piercing my skin.

They run a battery of tests and imaging that I’m too out of it to keep track of to make sure I’m not bleeding internally or anything like that, then mercifully leave me alone in a hospital bed for what feels like hours.

I sleep off and on, periodically coming to only to go right back out again.

At some point, a doctor enters the room and gently stirs me awake.

“Mr. Murray?” she asks quietly as I try to force my eyes to focus on her. “Can you hear me?”

I nod, which hurts, but not as badly as before. “Yes, I hear you.”

My voice comes out raspy, like I’ve been gargling gravel, but the doctor nods approvingly.

“Good. I have good news. All the tests came back negative for any major injuries or internal damage. As far as we can tell, you’ve got signs of a mild concussion, but it’s not too bad. You’ll need to rest up and take it easy so we’re probably going to keep you overnight just so we can keep an eye on you, but I expect you’ll be fine.”

I breathe a shuddery sigh of relief, and for the first time since the incident, the reality of how much worse it could’ve been hits me. If that reckless bastard had checked me in a different spot or used a little bit more force when he did, he could’ve paralyzed me—or worse.

I hope he’s at least getting a suspension for this shit .

The doctor says something else to me about moving me to another room, and I nod again, but I’m barely listening. She pats my shoulder gently and then leaves, and a couple of hospital staff come in to wheel me out of the room.

They roll my bed down the hall, and as we round the corner into the new room where I’ll be spending the night, it doesn’t do my aching head any favors to see Coach Dunaway already there waiting for me.

Tension crackles between us as we lock eyes. I can take a guess at what he’s thinking after what he saw happen between me and Hannah, but he doesn’t let any of it slip. He’s wearing a perfect poker face as he steps over to my bedside.

“The doctor said it’s just a mild concussion. You’re lucky,” he says, all business.

I nod, swallowing. “Yeah. It could’ve been a lot worse.”

“I’m glad for both our sakes it wasn’t,” Dunaway says, his steely eyes still boring into mine. An uncomfortable, charged silence falls between us for several moments, until he finally blows out a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “So are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

I hesitate, unsure what or how much to say. The last thing I want to do is cause any trouble for Hannah, although I’m sure she’s already gotten an earful from him too after he saw us holding hands. Then again, the secret is already out, so there’s not much point in shying away from it now.

But it’s not my call to make. It’s Hannah’s.

She asked me to keep this between us, and while we both failed at that, I want her to be in the driver’s seat for any conversations with Dunaway about what’s going on between us.

Wincing, I push myself up into a sitting position in the bed to be more at eye level with him, ignoring the protests of my body.

“With all due respect, sir, I think that’s up to Hannah.”

Dunaway clenches his jaw so hard that I can see the muscles in his cheeks pop, running a hand over his smooth bald head in an irritated gesture I’ve seen him do during practice more than once. He’s obviously pissed, tension radiating from his body.

I’m sure he doesn’t like my answer at all, and that he probably thinks I owe him the truth after everything he’s done for me—and maybe I do owe him for that, but it’s still not going to come from my mouth. If Hannah wants to come clean to him, I won’t stop her, but I’m not going to make the choice for her.

She already has too many people in her life doing just that .

“You have a lot of fucking nerve, you know that?” Dunaway bites out, glaring at me. “I have half a mind to bench you for the rest of the season for this.”

I shake my head despite the pain. I’m losing energy fast, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep talking, but I’m not backing down until he accepts it. He can threaten me all he wants, but I’m not going to roll over on this.

“Look, your daughter has only ever said amazing things about you to me. I know she loves and respects you—but you’re not her keeper, and you’re not mine. So you can do whatever you want to me. You can make my life hell if that’s what will make you feel better, but none of that is going to change how I feel about her.”

Dunaway stands staring at me, fuming. He paces by my bedside a few times before he whirls on me, but I match his intensity with a glare of my own and raise my eyebrows at him expectantly, almost daring him to say whatever he feels like he needs to get off his chest. I’m incredibly grateful to this man for giving me my big break in the league, but I’m not going to let him weaponize that against me.

“This is not what I wanted for my daughter,” he snaps, his eyes narrowed in anger.

My heart hammers in my chest because I know I’m about to risk throwing away the career I’ve worked so hard and so long for, but I can’t let this go. I can’t stay quiet. Even if it costs me my career trajectory by getting me benched for the rest of the season. I care about Hannah way too much to let any of that stop me.

I grip the plastic rails on the hospital bed and look right into Dunaway’s stormy eyes. “Maybe instead of thinking about what you want for Hannah, you should ask her what she wants for herself. Isn’t that what matters the most?”

Dunaway’s head jerks back a little. He stares at me for a moment, looking almost dumbfounded. His fists drop, and his jaw grinds side to side as he chews on whatever thoughts are clearly racing through his mind, but he doesn’t say anything.

We stare at each other in the cramped hospital room, tension simmering between us for what feels like forever. Then Dunaway drags in a long breath, rolling his shoulders.

“I’ll make sure the nurses keep an eye on you,” he says, his tone turning businesslike again as he slips back into the role of professional hockey coach.

Without another word, he strides out of the room and closes the door behind him, leaving me alone. But when I glance over at the glass built into the door, I find him standing there and watching me, his jaw still working, like he hasn’t let go of what I said.

Good. Because for Hannah’s sake, it’s past time someone got into her dad’s head a little bit.