Page 27

The crowd is so loud tonight, I’m grateful I brought headphones for Levi. This is the most animated he’s ever been with so many people around. It’s been a struggle to keep them on him all night, but I have him distracted. Or rather, the fast-paced game playing out in front of us has him occupied. I swear, this almost-two-year-old knows what’s going on more than I do.

Not that I care. If I’m not helping Levi with something or playing with him, my eyes are glued to the wall of a goalie in the net. I texted him to tell him I was bringing Levi to their game tonight after Paige arranged for us to go again.

Big surprise, I received a one-word answer.

Julien

Jerseys

Jerseys, plural. I didn’t think it warranted a response. Let him pace around, brooding about whether or not I’ll wear it. I felt evil in the best way. And it may or may not have (but definitely did) cross my mind to not wear them to see how he’d react.

Of course we wore them. And I think I’ve taken a hundred pictures of Levi in his. Paige eyed me suspiciously when I came out wearing the dress-like jersey, jeans, and my Doc Martens. She didn’t comment because she was too busy obsessing over her cute nephew. Can’t argue there. She’s taken at least as many photos of me and Levi as she has the three of us.

I had felt a little out of place at the first game, not sure if I belonged—hockey has never been my thing. Paige is the sporty one and I’m the brainiac. That’s how it’s always been.

But I’m a runner now, apparently, so I’ve got the brains and the brawn. And hockey may not be my thing, but apparently goalies are. Well, one goalie.

I hate to admit it, but Julien was right. Not wearing any team colours last time was a bad move on my part. Swimming in his jersey, in the woodsy, masculine scent of him, I feel at home at the rink. I think Levi thinks the same thing since he didn’t even try to take his off when I put it on him.

“Do you see the puck?” I ask as his eyes dart around the arena.

“Woo,” he says, pointing to Julien in the net.

I laugh. “Yup, that’s Julien. Say, ‘Hi Julien!’” I know he can’t see us, but Levi waves anyway. Feeling brave, I send him a quick text he’ll see after the game. Pictures of me and Levi in our jerseys. His jerseys.

“GO! SKATE!” Paige yells beside me, blasting my eardrums. I should’ve brought earplugs for myself .

We’re up 2–0 in the last five minutes of the third period. The other team hasn’t been able to get past Julien. According to Paige, my personal commentator, they’ve doubled the shots on net, but not a single one has made it through.

If Julien can blame me for their losses, then I am sure as hell going to take credit for how incredible he’s doing tonight.

He had barely made it onto the ice before turning and looking up behind the bench. Levi and I waved. Julien lifted what I now know is called a blocker up at him and waved back. He didn’t smile, but I felt his gaze assess me. I rolled my eyes and stood up, turning around to show him the back, where his name felt branded on my skin.

Only nodding when I turned back around, he proceeded to skate to his net and start his warmups. There should be a law about him warming up on the ice that way.

I know what his body feels like, even if it’s with his clothes on, and watching him stretch made me positively weak in the knees. Aren’t ice rinks supposed to be cold? I’ve been hot since the game started.

I’ll go right ahead and blame the wiggly toddler in my arms and not the goalie I’ve had sex dreams about every night since we kissed. Plus the ones before that.

“Go! Go! Go!” I cheer along with the rest of the crowd, beginning to understand the appeal. It’s been fast-paced and exciting from start to finish. Well, almost finished—there’s one minute left.

The other team has a breakaway, and it seems our defence won’t be able to catch up. I want to close my eyes, but I don’t.

Time seems to drag, each movement playing out in slow motion .

The player dekes and dodges, gaining speed as he races down the ice. He makes a snap decision, but Julien is too good. He sees it, stretching out to an impossible length, catching the puck right before the buzzer blares, saving the last shot of the game.

Pride swells in my chest as the crowd erupts, making up my mind that if anyone but my goalie had been in net, there’s no way they could’ve made that save. I may be a little biased.

I keep my attention on Julien, hoping he can see us cheering for him. He’s a bit preoccupied because the player who took the shot crashes into him, unable to slow his momentum.

We’re on our feet with the rest of the Whales fans, chants of, “Richard! Richard! Richard!” booming around us. A shutout after a string of losses—I learned the ties are counted as a loss in the teams’ eyes.

“He did it, Levi! He caught the puck!” I jump up and down with him.

“Puh,” he says proudly, my heart unable to expand any more in this moment.

“That’s right, baby, puck!” I snuggle into him, my heart soaring as I hug him so close I’m practically squishing him.

“Leah.” Paige grabs my arm, and the seriousness of her voice snaps me out of celebration mode. I focus on Julien immediately, almost dropping Levi.

He’s down on the ice, unmoving, puck still in his glove from the incredible save. I can’t tell what’s happening, but a hush falls over the crowd as they realize their star goalie hasn’t recovered from the hit .

Medics and the head coach, Whyatt, run onto the ice, Adam leaping over the boards behind them.

“I have to get to him,” I say, my heart rate skyrocketing with panic.

“You won’t be able to,” Paige tells me, reaching for Levi. I didn’t realize I’d begun shaking. The player who slammed into him walks away, and Julien is still down.

Irrational anger bubbles up inside me and even though my 5’4” is no match for these hockey players, I’m going to kick the motherfucker’s ass.

“I have to go. Watch Levi,” I say, but Paige doesn’t let me get far, grabbing me by the jersey.

“They won’t let you near him,” she tries to tell me. “You’re not family.”

“I’m wearing his fucking jersey.” I practically scream the words, but they’re drowned out by the crowd.

“So are half the people here.”

I can feel my eyes blaze with fury. “I’m wearing his jersey,” I say again.

Understanding flashes in her eyes as she looks from me to Levi and then onto the ice where Julien is still down.

“Leah,” Paige starts.

“Not now.” I use my sternest voice, the one that makes her jokingly call me Mom. But she’s not joking—she’s got concern in her big brown eyes and written all over her face.

They’ve taken Julien’s helmet off, and I see him move his head to the side, craning it back. And I just know he’s searching for me. I fight against the sea of people, struggling through the dragging current, and make it to the glass.

When he sees me, he relaxes a little before wincing in pain.

How do I get to him? It’s torture to stay and watch as they load him onto a stretcher. Oh god, that means it’s bad enough he can’t limp-skate off the ice. They’ve removed his goalie pads and somehow, he doesn’t look any smaller. I keep my eyes locked on his until he’s completely out of sight.

I’m about to fight my way back through the crowd that’s all trying to leave at once, but Paige is there, talking on the phone.

“Okay, thanks, babe,” she says before hanging up.

“Was that Adam? What did he say?” My voice is frantic, even to my ears.

“He said it looks like a hip dislocation. Julien was in an odd position after saving the shot and when the player crashed into him, he felt it pop. They’re taking him to the hospital.”

“Which one? Can you watch Levi?”

“Lee ... Julien told Adam to tell you not to come.”

My head fills with quiet. “He doesn’t want me there?”

“He probably doesn’t want you to see him in pain,” Paige says, her voice incredibly soft.

“Right. Well, if that’s the case, that’s stupid.”

A smile spreads across her face. “I agree.”

“Which hospital?”

“Vancouver Gen. I’ll take Levi, you go.” She hands me the keys to her Jeep. Since she works for the team and she’s engaged to one of the coaches, she has access to the staff parking lot, which will be much easier to get to and get out of.

“You’re the best sister.” I hug her and kiss Levi, who’s beginning to crash on Paige’s shoulder.

Then I fight for my life to get through the crowd to the back entrance, showing Paige’s ID. We don’t look alike, but I’ll fight with anyone who doesn’t let me through.

Luckily, I’m not given any trouble and before I know it, I’m flying down the streets, headed to the hospital.

It’s been a few hours of watching Adam and Henry Whyatt pace the hallways of the hospital. I’m not a pacer. I’m a sit-in-your-anxiety-without-moving kind of person. Not even baking a pie would help keep my nerves in check at this point. Maybe a run?

Adam is still livid.

He tried to request a different doctor but his ex-best friend, Caleb, the one who screwed Paige and Adam over when they first met, was the orthopaedic surgeon on call.

It took Caleb and two ER doctors to get Julien’s hip back in place. On the ice they thought it was both hips, but thankfully, it was just the one. The other was only strained. We’re waiting on X-rays and an MRI to determine if he needs surgery.

Regardless, Julien is going to be out of the game for at least three months.

My mind spins in circles as Caleb comes into the private waiting room, brows furrowed at a chart.

“Dr. Sharpe,” Coach Whyatt says, drawing Caleb’s attention. He meets Adam’s leer, and if I didn’t already know Caleb doesn’t have a heart, I would’ve thought he flinched at the animosity he found there.

“The scans came in. I’m sorry, none of you are family—has anyone been contacted?”

I expect Whyatt to at least speak up, assuming he’s aware of Julien’s family situation since he’s been coaching him for years. Even Adam doesn’t look like he knows.

I sigh. “Julien’s dad lives in Montreal. He doesn’t have any other family.”

Adam glances at me with surprise, but I shake my head. Now is not the time.

“How can we get in touch with him?”

“Why are you not asking Julien this?” I say, eyes narrowing.

“Dr. Sharpe, I understand there’s protocol but if it’s an emergency, I’ve been put in charge of Julien’s medical decisions.” Whyatt has the patience of a saint.

Caleb’s face says he finds that suspicious, a little too convenient, but doesn’t argue. “We had to put Julien under anaesthesia to reduce the hip, as it’s a painful process. He’s not awake yet.”

I breathe out slowly. At least he wasn’t rushed into emergency surgery.

“Caleb, just tell us,” Adam barks .

Caleb sighs, addressing the coach. “The call on whether to opt for surgery needs to happen soon, sooner than Julien will be able to wake up and make an educated decision himself. The scans show no damage to nerves or blood vessels and there are no fractures. Given the hit he took, he’s lucky. But there is some damage to the soft tissue.”

“What does that mean?” I ask quietly, my mind racing with possibilities.

Caleb turns to me like he’s just noticed I’m here. Paige was right, he’s a dick. “It means we can take him to surgery to fix it, or we can let it heal on its own.”

“What’s the best option to get him back on the ice fastest?” Coach Whyatt asks.

“What’s the best option for proper, long-term healing?” I correct, glaring at the coach.

“In my opinion, the non-surgical route is better,” Caleb says simply.

“Why?” I need all the answers.

“We were able to reduce the hip within the timeframe necessary for optimal healing. Surgery isn’t a guarantee for a quicker recovery.”

“Will he be able to play without surgery?” Whyatt asks. This guy is playing with fire. Doesn’t he care about anything else?

“Recovery is long—two to three months minimum, and even then, limited mobility is to be expected after it’s healed. But typically, athletes take the healing process seriously. He’ll be healed by playoffs. ”

Whyatt looks relieved, his shoulders losing their tension, like Julien being fit for playoffs was his biggest concern.

“And after playoffs?” I need to know how this will affect him long-term.

“There are a lot of variables at play here. It might be in his best interest to retire after the season. Given his age and the stress of his position, his body might not be up for much more, if he makes it to playoffs.” Caleb shoots a stern look at Whyatt, and despite the fact that both my sister and Adam hate this guy, I’m grateful. At least he wants the best for his patients.

Adam turns to Whyatt, brow furrowed. “Julien is nearing the end of his career, Coach. He’s got one year left on his contract. There’s talk of trading him to Montreal next year if he doesn’t retire. They want him home when he finishes. We can’t take that away from him.”

Suddenly I feel as though I was the one hit by a giant-ass hockey player. Why didn’t he tell me? It’s not like Julien talks a lot, but this? I didn’t know this. I knew about his dad but not about his job.

Julien could be leaving.

And I’ve been falling for him without realizing.

Falling for someone who is leaving.