Page 11 of Defensive Zone (Chicago Thunder #3)

Chapter Ten

Carter

Zach isn’t moving. Why isn’t he moving?

It’s like time is standing still as the arena goes eerily silent. So silent, I can hear Elliot call Zach’s name in a panicked shout as he rips off his helmet and throws his stick down onto the ice. His glove and blocker are next, and he skates over to where Zach is lying face down in the corner and drops to his knees, shielding his unmoving body.

“Hurry the fuck up!” Elliot shouts over to the bench, and chills ripple across my body.

Blaine’s next to Elliot, manically waving his hand for attention. Jackson Wilde skates over to the bench, lending an arm to help the Thunder trainer, Joe, as he hurries across the ice with his medical bag. The paramedics are waiting at an open door behind the goal, ready to jump into action if needed.

Please get up , I inwardly beg.

I can tell Ethan’s torn between wanting to smash his fist into Mueller’s face and protecting Zach. The hit was completely unnecessary. Everyone saw that at the speed Mueller was skating, it wasn’t just going to be a simple case of boarding. It was intentional. He wanted to hurt Zach.

No doubt it’ll be investigated, but right now, the sole focus is on making sure Zach is okay.

Joe crouches down by Zach’s head, and the rest of the boys create a shield around him, allowing enough space for him to work. Even Washington’s trainer rushes over the ice with the aid of their captain.

Chills course across my skin and blood pounds in my ears the moment Ethan motions for the waiting paramedics to bring the stretcher onto the ice. I’m on my feet in an instant, but I don’t move just yet. There’s murmuring coming from the ice, and relief floods through me as Zach moves. He tries to push himself up but falls back down. Alex shoots me a panicked look, fear laced in those big blue eyes of his as he grabs onto my arm, giving it a squeeze. Luckily, he doesn’t say a word. I don’t think I will be able to hold it together if he speaks to me, but I’m grateful for his reassuring touch.

They put a C collar around his neck then carefully transfer him onto the backboard and secure him, then I’m running up the steps onto the concourse, heading toward the locker room.

Flashing my badge at security, I’m thankful they don’t try to stop me because I’m not made for running. I’m two hundred and sixty-five pounds. My body is made for blocking and knocking down the opposition, not running like my life depends on it.

But right now, it does.

Because Zach is my life, and right now, he’s hurt.

I’m vibrating with adrenaline and panic when I meet the paramedics wheeling Zach to the waiting ambulance. Joe spots me first, his face falling.

Fuck.

Resting my hands on my knees, I try to catch my breath. It’s coming out in ragged pants from running. I probably need oxygen, but I don’t have time.

“How’s… he… looking?” I ask as I gasp for air.

“He’s got a concussion, for sure. He’s delirious right now, understandably as he was unconscious for around thirty seconds.”

Was it only thirty seconds? It felt like the longest time of my life.

“They’re going to need to do some scans to check for any bleeding around his brain. They’ll also need to do an X-ray as it looks like he may have broken his wrist.”

Bleeding around his brain? Fuck.

I’m no doctor, but I’ve seen my fair share of concussions in the years I’ve been playing football, and I know the longer you are unconscious, the more dangerous it is. The fact that this isn’t Zach’s first concussion won’t work in his favor either.

“Go with him. It’ll settle him seeing you,” Joe says, squeezing my shoulder. “I’ll come by the hospital as soon as I can.”

A small voice in my head says seeing me is likely not going to settle him, especially with what happened earlier today, but I can’t let it get the better of me. I can’t let that voice of doubt win when he needs me right now.

Nodding, I let him know I’ll send updates if there’s any before he arrives, then I climb into the back of the ambulance. My heart splits in two at the sight of Zach. There’s blood on the side of his head, his skin is ghostly pale. And while I know it’s precautionary, the sight of the C-collar makes the back of my eyes burn and my chest clench.

I know we have high-risk careers, but seeing him like this just shows how dangerous these sports can be.

He lets out a pained groan, and fuck , I feel so fucking helpless.

Scooting up the bench slightly, I reach up to slip my hand in his and squeeze his fingers gently.

“Hey, I’m here,” I say softly, not wanting to startle him. “You’re going to be okay.”

He lets out another groan before murmuring a confused, “Carter?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Just stay still, okay? They’re going to get you sorted.”

“Carter…” he repeats, but this time, his voice trails off.

“Stay awake for me, Zach,” the EMT says as he cuts through his jersey and the elastic of his pads to expose his arm and puts in an IV.

Zach mumbles incoherently, slurring his words.

“That’s it, buddy. Keep talking.”

“I can take off his skates, if that will help?” I offer. “I’ve watched him tie his skates since we were kids. I know how to tackle the weird way he likes to tie them.”

The EMT flashes me a grateful smile. “That would be great, thanks.”

Shifting around so I don’t get in the way, I begin to unlace his skates and slide them off his feet as gently as I can without jostling him. I place them between my feet, and a choked laugh escapes me as I see his worn Chewbacca socks.

On his thirteenth birthday, I bought him a set of Star Wars socks with my allowance. There were three pairs in the set, and I was so fucking happy with myself at finding them. He wore the Chewbacca pair for one of his state tournaments, and they won. From then on, they became part of his superstition, and he would only wear Chewbacca socks for his games. Of course, by the time the season ended, they were worn out and covered in holes, but he wouldn’t wear anything else. It brings a small smile to my face that sixteen years later, he still has the same tradition.

I’m just glad he buys a new pair at the start of each season.

I carefully slip the threadbare socks off his feet and stuff them into his skates, knowing that if anything was to happen to his socks, he would be really upset.

Once we get to the hospital, I follow close behind, not wanting to get in the way but not wanting to be too far from Zach either. I’m pleased when they take him straight through to a private room where the nurses and doctor are waiting to begin the job of taking all his hockey gear off. For some bizarre reason, people like to take photos of athletes, regardless of the fact they’re in a hospital. I don’t understand it.

“So bright,” he groans, squinting his eyes.

“Should I turn off the light?” I ask, pointing to the light switch like an idiot.

“You can dim them.” One of the nurses nods.

“Better?” I ask Zach once I’ve dimmed them, making sure there’s enough light that the staff can keep working.

His words come out slurred. “Yeah. Why was the sun in here?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “I dunno, but it’s gone now.”

They roll him slightly onto his side to remove his chest pads, and the small movement causes him to throw up.

I stand out of the way while the nurses do what they do best. Thankfully, they took off his gear before he was sick, so the equipment is clean when they put it in a bag and hand it to me. I put it in the corner of the room where I already stashed his skates. Not that he can use it again, but I don’t know whether the Thunder’s equipment manager, Jordan, has a process for dealing with damaged or broken equipment.

They dress him in a hospital gown as he continues to slur his words as he talks. His blue eyes are dazed, unable to focus on anything.

“The doctor will be in shortly.” The nurse, whose name badge reads Beth, smiles. “You can be with him, you don’t have to stay in the corner.”

I let out a nervous laugh and rub the back of my neck. “Oh, okay.”

Zach’s face lights up in a lazy smile when I reach the top of his bed. Taking his hand in mine, I give it a gentle squeeze, relieved when he squeezes it back.

“Where am I?” he asks.

“You’re in the hospital. You took a nasty hit in the second period, but you’ll be okay.” I can’t stop myself. I lift my hand and card my fingers through the dark strands, pushing them off his face.

He closes his eyes and hums, so I do it again, hoping that it brings him a tiny bit of relief.

“Have I been here long?”

“No, ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops.”

“’Kay.”

It’s silent apart from the beeping of the machine he’s hooked up to and the noises from outside his room.

“Carter?” he rasps.

“Yeah?”

“What am I doing here?”

My heart falls.

One of my teammates had post-traumatic amnesia after he suffered a concussion two seasons ago. He couldn’t remember anything up to the incident. His earliest memory happened three days prior, and it took two weeks for it to come back, but even then, there were still patches where he couldn’t remember anything, including the hit that caused him to be concussed.

Closing my eyes, knowing we’ll be having the same conversation for a little while, I open them and tell him again, and this time he gives my hand a small squeeze along with his slurred “’Kay.”

Even though it’s only been a couple of minutes, it feels like an eternity has passed when a doctor finally comes into the room with a clipboard in hand.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Bradley. Are you Mr. Reid’s family?”

“Uh, hi, I’m Carter Lockwood, and, uh, no, but we live together.”

She looks down at her chart, then nods. “Great. You’re listed as Mr. Reid’s emergency contact,” she informs me.

I am? I look down at Zach’s spaced-out expression, and my chest tightens. He has no idea how much this means to me. He’s listed as my emergency contact too.

“We’ll be taking him for a CAT scan shortly, where we’ll check if there’s any swelling and any potential bleeds. Afterward, we’ll take him for an X-ray to assess the state of his other injuries. Depending on the results, we may need to operate, but we’ll get a better idea of where we stand once we get the results of the imaging back.”

“Thank you.” I chew on my bottom lip, my eyes flicking to Zach as he struggles to keep his eyes open. “Will he…” I swallow. “Will he lose his memory at all?”

“He’s most likely going to have some memory issues, especially short-term. It’s called post-traumatic amnesia. I’m unable to determine how long it will last, though. Sometimes it’s minutes, hours. Sometimes it can be days or weeks.”

Fuck. Okay. Well, there’s no way in hell I’m leaving in the morning, that’s for sure. If Zach wants me to go back to Denver, he’ll have to physically push me onto a plane because I will not leave him.

Not now. Not ever.

“I’ll come find you as soon as we have more news,” she says after doing a quick check of his pupils, and I step aside as people come in to take Zach for his scans.

Stepping out into the hall, I watch as his bed is wheeled down the corridor, and it’s only when it disappears around a corner that I allow all the emotions of today to come to the surface.

His confession that he’s in love with me. The knowledge that I’ve been breaking his heart over and over again. The fact he thought he was a bad friend because he had feelings for me, and the only way to fix that was to get over me.

The hit. Seeing him lying there motionless on the ice. Being wheeled off on a stretcher.

Gripping my hair, a choked sound escapes the depths of my chest as tears fill my eyes, blurring my vision.

The thing is… I don’t want him to get over me. I know it’s probably selfish of me to think that, but… What if this is what Raegan was talking about when she said to keep an open mind and an open heart?

Did she know?

It’s not like I haven’t thought about Zach in more than a platonic way, especially after the time in Hawaii when I got jealous about the couple hitting on him. There have been times since where I was jerking off and found myself thinking about him instead of Raegan. But I chalked it up to us being such close friends. To the fact that Zach is always on my mind.

I just didn’t realize, it’s always been him.

My mind spins as things start to make more sense. Why my relationships never worked out, and they would always bring up my friendship with Zach as if it were an issue.

It’s like I’m finally seeing him. The blindfold is off, and he’s there, clear as day, and I don’t really know what to do with it all.

I don’t want him to think I’m only feeling like this because I don’t want to lose him after he told me how he truly felt.

I have the opportunity to make things right. A second chance. A do-over.

I slump down into the plastic seat in the waiting area and pull out my phone. I send a quick text to Ethan, letting him know what the doctor said so he can relay it to the rest of the team, then pull up a new text thread with Zach’s mom, Laurie. She and Kian, Zach’s father, are currently on a cruise around the Mediterranean, so they’re at least seven or eight hours ahead, and the chances of them seeing it right now are slim. But I know if the roles were reversed and it was Zach in the hospital, she would text me to let me know regardless of what time it was.

Carter

Hey Laurie. I know it’s the middle of the night there and I hope this doesn’t wake you up. Zach took a nasty hit on the ice tonight. We’re currently at Northwestern Hospital. He’s got a concussion and potentially a broken wrist. He’s having a CAT scan now, and once they’ve assessed his head, they will do an X-ray. I’ll let you know when I hear more, but I’m here for him, Laurie. I promise you, I’m not going to leave his side.

I don’t realize tears are falling down my cheeks until one splashes against my phone screen. Fuck, I’ve got to get myself together.

He’s going to be okay.

He has to be okay.

Time seems to go by painfully slow. People come and go, but I don’t pay them any attention. Eventually, I close my eyes and rest my head against the wall behind me. I must doze off as I jolt out of my seat when someone touches my shoulder.

“It’s okay, it’s just us,” Ethan says, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “Has he come out yet?”

Blinking the tiredness away, I shake my head. When I look up, the waiting room is now filled with some of the Thunder boys—Blaine, Jackson, Peyton, Kendrick—but when my eyes land on Elliot, it only takes one look at his face and I’m on my feet, bringing him into my arms. He looks like he’s seen a ghost, staring at the doors that Zach disappeared behind I don’t know how long ago.

“Hey, it’s all right. He’s going to be all right.” I don’t know whether I’m reassuring him or myself.

Elliott shivers. He rests his head on my shoulder, and his voice is so quiet when he says, “I was so fucking scared, Carter. He wasn’t moving.”

“He’s strong, and you were there for him. He’ll really appreciate that you were looking out for him.”

There are hushed whispers around us, and when I look up, Dr. Bradley is standing by the door.

My heart plummets into my stomach when she says, “Mr. Lockwood? Would you come with me, please?”