Page 49

Chapter 49

Declan

A sudden instinctual awareness pulls my attention away from the ice, and my eyes dart out to the crowd where I last saw Hannah sitting.

She isn’t there.

My heart pounds at the realization, and my eyes scan the crowd looking for the familiar cascade of her dark hair. I spot her gripping the handrailing by the stairs on her way out of the arena. My heart clenches at the thought that I won’t get the chance to talk to her after the game, but I’m not surprised. Not after the way she ended things at her place. I’ve been distracted all night knowing she’s here, and it can’t be easy for her either to sit and watch me play.

I’m about to shift my focus back to the ice, when Hannah suddenly sways, like a reed drifting in water. Before I can even process what’s happening, she crumples, collapsing onto the concrete steps like a marionette with cut strings.

My heart lurches in my chest as a gasp rises up from the crowd around her.

We still have an entire period to play, but I don’t give a damn. I don’t hesitate. I just drop my stick to the ice and bolt into the stands, pushing past fans and leaping over seats, desperate to get to her as quickly as I can.

When I finally reach her side, she’s sprawled out on her stomach across the concrete stairs, totally unconscious and unresponsive.

“Hannah? Hannah!” I try to rouse her, gently turning her onto her back and brushing the hair from her face, but she doesn’t move, making my gut twist with fear. Footsteps thunder up the stairs behind me, and I whirl to find Coach Dunaway making a beeline for us, his face white and taut with fear.

Hannah mumbles and stirs, and I whip my head back around to look down at her, but she’s already out again. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but she needs to see a doctor immediately.

“We have to get her to the hospital,” I tell Dunaway as he kneels beside me. “She’s not waking up.”

He stares at Hannah, his expression torn. A coach can’t just leave mid-game, no matter what—we both know the rules. His eyes flick back to the ice where the rest of the team is watching, then back to his daughter, and I can see that he’s just as worried about her as I am.

“You finish the game,” I say quickly. “I’ve got this. Find an alternate for me. I’ll go with Hannah to the hospital.”

Dunaway hesitates, his eyes flicking up to meet mine. Something in my expression must convince him, because he gives a short nod, still looking pained at the idea of letting her out of his sight.

“Go. Keep me updated.”

“She won’t be alone for a second,” I tell him, “I promise.”

He nods again, and in a matter of seconds, a team of medics swarm us. The last thing I want to do is let Hannah go, because I don’t trust anyone to take care of her as fiercely as I would, but one of the medics rests a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“I know you’re worried, but we need to do our jobs. We’ll be gentle, I promise,” he says. Reluctantly, I pass her over to him, and he instantly starts checking Hannah’s pulse and other vitals. I kick off my skates without taking my eyes off the woman slumped in his arms, leaving them and my helmet right there on the stairs. The gear doesn’t matter—only she does.

“I’m riding with her,” I tell the lead medic as he and the other EMT load her onto a stretcher, my tone making it clear this isn’t up for discussion.

He gives me a slightly shocked once-over—still in my jersey and pads—but then he nods. “Alright. Let’s go.”

The medics lift Hannah carefully and begin carrying her away. I stay right beside her, taking her hand in mine and giving it a squeeze so she at least knows someone who cares about her is here, even if she isn’t conscious of it.

“I’m right here, hummingbird,” I murmur, my voice low. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I’m vaguely aware of the announcer’s voice saying something over the PA as we rush out of the arena, but the words don’t register. Once we’re outside, I help them load Hannah up into the back of the ambulance that’s already parked and waiting for us. All of them know better than to try to stop me from riding with her—and I don’t think they could hold me back if they tried.

When they’ve finished getting her situated and her gurney locked in place so it won’t move on the drive, I take her hand in both of mine again and sink down onto the bench built into the wall beside her.

My eyes burn as I look at her pale, wan face, her eyes closed as if she’s in a deep sleep. Her skin is pale, but she’s still breathing regularly, and the machines the medics hooked her up to are showing a steady, regular heartbeat.

The tightness in my chest eases slightly as I look at the beeping monitor. She’s stable. Whatever is happening, at least she’s stable.

I can’t help wondering if this is somehow connected to our breakup. Was she already dealing with something? Is that why she pushed me away?

My chest lurches with anxiety at the thought. Images of the last time I saw Hannah flash through my mind and guilt pools in my stomach, because I want more than anything to know what’s going on with her. But at this point, I don’t even know if I’m ever going to be able to speak to her again.

What if she doesn’t wake up?

I squeeze her hand tightly with mine, silently urging her to pull through this, whatever it is. Now I have some idea of how terrible it must have been for her to be at my side when I took a hit in that game a while back, not knowing if or when I’d wake up. But she stayed with me the entire time, and she didn’t let anyone come between us—not even her dad.

The ambulance tears through the streets, sirens wailing as traffic parts before us. Inside the cabin, the medic works efficiently, checking Hannah’s vitals and adjusting an IV drip. I keep her hand firmly in mine while staying out of his way.

“BP is stabilizing. Heart rate normal,” the medic reports to his partner. He glances at me with a hint of sympathy. “She’s holding steady.”

I nod, grateful for any good news. Leaning close to Hannah, I whisper words I’m not sure she can hear. “I’m right here, Hannah. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

Her eyelids flutter slightly at the sound of my voice, and I swear her fingers tighten around mine for just a moment.

“That’s a good sign,” the medic says, noticing the movement. “She’s responding to stimuli.”

The ambulance screeches to a halt at the emergency entrance. Everything becomes a blur of motion—doors flying open, medical staff rushing forward, equipment being readied. The medic efficiently transfers Hannah’s gurney to the waiting team.

Hannah jerks awake as they wheel her down from the ambulance, her eyes wide and disoriented as she takes in her surroundings. Her gaze finds mine, panicked and questioning.

“You’re at the hospital,” I tell her, keeping pace alongside the gurney. “I’m staying with you.”

A nurse at the entrance steps forward. “Sir, I’m sorry, but you’ll need to check in at the desk. Family only beyond this point.”

Hannah’s hand reaches for mine, fear flashing across her face. “Please,” she says, her voice barely audible but determined. “He needs to stay with me.”

I meet the nurse’s eyes. “I’m not leaving her.”

The nurse hesitates. “Are you her emergency contact?” she asks briskly.

“Yes,” I say immediately. It may not be the exact truth, but I’m not letting her turn me away.

“Follow me, then. But stay clear of the medical team when they’re working.”

“I will.”

They wheel Hannah through the double doors into a treatment room, transferring her to a hospital bed with practiced efficiency. I stay pressed against the wall, watching as they connect her to monitors and start an IV. When the initial flurry of activity subsides and several staff members exit, I move to her bedside and take her hand.

“Thank god you’re awake,” I say, relief making my voice unsteady. “I was so worried.”

“Declan,” she whispers, her eyes clearing slightly. “It’s not your fault.”

A doctor enters before I can respond, clipboard in hand. He introduces himself as Dr. Landers and begins examining Hannah, asking her questions about her symptoms while checking her responses. I step back but stay close, watching every movement, cataloging every reaction.

“You recently had an MRI?” the doctor asks, reviewing her chart.

Hannah nods, still avoiding my eyes, and my heart rate spikes. When did this happen? And why didn’t she tell me?

“Is everything alright?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

The doctor gives me a neutral look. “We’re still running tests. I’ll have more answers soon.” He turns back to Hannah. “The medication should help with the headache. We’ll monitor you for the next few hours.”

Dr. Landers leaves to check on his next patient, and when we’re alone, Hannah’s watery eyes drift up to mine. The conflict and emotion swirling in them breaks my heart, even though I don’t have a clue what it’s about. I reach for her hand again, massaging her knuckles with my thumb.

“Hannah… what’s happening? Whatever it is, please, just tell me. Not knowing what’s going on is eating me alive.”

She starts crying softly, then angrily wipes the tears away with the back of her free hand and throws her hands in the air in frustration.

“I don’t know. That’s part of the problem!” she blurts, then crumples and starts crying again, burying her face in her hands.

Watching her cry, witnessing her pain like this, makes my heart feel like it’s being ripped from my chest. I can’t stand it, and I don’t know what else to do, so I wrap my arms around her and hold her close to me. She keeps crying, her body shaking against mine, and I can’t even put into words how helpless I feel. Everything has spun completely out of my control, and I don’t know what to do.

All I know is that I want her to stop hurting. And I’d do anything, give anything, to make that happen.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper into her hair. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Hannah cries until there’s nothing left, her body gradually stilling against mine. She finally pulls away a little, her breathing ragged as she attempts to wipe her face with the back of her hand. The tears have left her makeup in ruins, dark smudges beneath her eyes that somehow make her look even more fragile.

I rub her shoulder, my throat tight. “You can tell me, even if you don’t have the full answer yet. Whatever this is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Her expression twists like she’s going to start crying again, and although she lets out a few strangled sounding sobs, she holds herself together and wipes her face with her hand again, shaking her head.

“I don’t know what it is. I really don’t. For all I know, it could be nothing.” She trails off, watching my face carefully as if there’s more she wants to say but isn’t sure she should. Finally, she sighs and bites her lip, then looks over at the monitor set up beside her bed. “But it could also be a brain tumor.”

“What?”

The whole world seems to screech to a halt around me and time instantly stops. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. A million or more possibilities have been racing through my head ever since she collapsed at the arena, but not this.

“They don’t know for sure yet,” she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “The doctor said they needed to run more tests to be certain. But the symptoms… my headaches, the vision problems…”

It doesn’t feel fair. Or right. How could something like this even be a possibility for someone so sweet, so selfless? No one deserves to face this kind of uncertainty, but especially not someone like Hannah. My gut twists because I wish like hell I could trade places with her—but I know I can’t, no matter how badly I want to.

Get it together, Murray. She needs you to be strong right now.

An internal voice cuts through the shroud of shock encasing me, and I blink, refocusing on Hannah. She’s staring at me with pain all over her face and fresh tears streaking down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I should’ve told you, but I was scared. I still have so much baggage from watching Casey get sick and die, and I couldn’t stand to put you through that.”

Realization crashes into me like a speeding car—because suddenly everything that made zero sense before makes perfect sense. Hannah didn’t really want to break up with me, she was trying to protect me in her own way.

“That’s why you pulled away, isn’t it? Why you wanted to end things with me?” I ask with my head spinning. I get why she’d feel that way, but she couldn’t be further from the truth. It would’ve killed me not to be here by her side for something like this, so it’s lucky in a dark sort of way that it happened during one of my games. I don’t even want to think about how shitty I’d feel if it happened anywhere else when I wasn’t there.

“You were trying to spare me from what might happen,” I say, the pieces finally falling into place.

Hannah nods, and something powerful rushes through my chest. I grip both her hands in mine and hold her gaze because I don’t want her to miss a single word of what I’m about to say.

“Remember what you told me before about cherishing the good moments when you have them?” She nods again, and my voice turns rougher as I continue. “You were right. It’s not about how long you have them, or a guarantee that things will last forever. It’s about living for today and going after what you want, even if it means you might have your heart broken in the future.”

A tear traces a path down Hannah’s cheek, and it almost breaks me, but I have to keep going. I need her to hear this, to really hear it.

“Every moment—every single fucking one—that I’ve spent with you has been a good one. The best moments of my life. So I have no interest in being ‘spared’ the possible pain of losing someone I love. Because I love you. And I’m sick of hiding it,” I tell her, and she goes completely still.

“What did you say?” she whispers, her breath hitching.

“I love you, hummingbird,” I repeat, my voice low and full of conviction. “I love you so damn much that I don’t know what to do with it sometimes. It’s like it’s too much for my heart to handle, like it’s overflowing. When you hurt, I hurt too. That’s how I know it’s real.”

“Declan…” she breathes, her eyes wide and luminous with tears. “I… I love you too.”

She whispers the words through trembling lips, and something unlocks inside my chest. I can’t stop myself from leaning in to press my lips to hers. I want to kiss her so deeply that there’s no space left between us, no separation at all between our bodies, hearts, and souls. But I hold back the intensity of it, letting my emotions pour through the connection of our lips as gently as I can. She’s been through a lot, and I don’t want to hurt or overwhelm her.

When the kiss finally ends, I can’t help going back for one small peck, and I brush my nose against hers as I beg, “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

I make a contented sound. “Fuck, those are the best three words I’ve ever heard.”

She laughs softly, then draws back a bit, swiping at her tears as she looks me in the eyes. “But what about whatever this is? What will happen if I’m sick?”

I shake my head. “We’ll deal with it, whatever it might be. I’m not leaving your side, now or ever. Do you understand me?”

Her breath hitches, and she nods. “Thank you.”

She melts into me again, clutching at my back and shoulders, and I stroke her hair carefully and murmur into her ear that everything’s going to be okay, that she has nothing to worry about as long as I’m here. We’ll get her the best medical care money can buy. I’ll drive or fly her to the furthest reaches of the world to see any specialist she needs.

I hold her until she finally falls asleep, then gently lie her head back on her pillow. I lose track of time as I keep stroking her hair, hoping it’s helping her sleep.

After a while, the door clicks open, and I glance over my shoulder to find Dunaway standing in the entrance to the room, his tie loosened and his jacket a bit askew. He looks exhausted—like a man who’s been through hell and back.

He steps into the room and sets a small bundle he’s been holding in his hands down on the chair just inside the door. Clothes, I realize. And shoes too.

“I brought you these from the locker room,” he tells me. “Since you left in your…”

He gestures to me, indicating the hockey gear I’m still wearing. I didn’t even bother to take any of it off yet, too focus on making sure Hannah was okay.

“Thanks,” I tell him.

He nods, then comes to stand at my side. We look down at Hannah silently, and although Dunaway and I have plenty in common when it comes to hockey, for the first time outside the arena, I feel a real sense of solidarity with this man. We’re both completely focused on the amazing woman lying in front of us.

“Any updates on the tests?” I ask quietly so I won’t wake Hannah up. I’m assuming he probably stopped to talk to a doctor or nurse on the way in and got whatever the latest update is.

“Still waiting,” he responds, his voice rough with emotion. I can see the strain etched into the lines of his face.

The room goes quiet again, except for the low noises of the machines monitoring Hannah, and I clear my throat, glancing over at him. “How did the rest of the game go?”

Dunaway blinks, then lets out a rueful chuckle. “Honestly? I have no idea. Everything after Hannah collapsed is just… a blur.”

I nod, understanding that feeling completely. A ghost of a smile crosses my face. “I guess we can both find out tomorrow.”

Dunaway snorts softly. Then his expression shifts, becoming more serious. “Listen, I wasn’t fair to you before,” he says quietly. “When I found out about you and Hannah, I shouldn’t have tried to stop you from seeing each other. After everything that happened with Casey, her mother and I are just very protective. Maybe… too protective.”

I cross my arms, turning to face him more squarely. Ever since I started with the Aces, I’ve looked up to this man—and maybe been a little bit terrified of him too. But right now, it doesn’t feel like we’re talking as coach to player. It feels like we’re talking man to man. “I understand wanting to protect her, sir. I really do.”

Dunaway studies me for a long moment, then speaks with raw emotion. “She means everything to me. And I can see now that she means a lot to you too.”

“I’ll always take care of her,” I promise, my voice low but absolute. “I mean it.”

Our eyes lock, and he claps a hand on my shoulder, squeezing once. “I know.”