Page 94 of Goalie Secrets

It’s not just the pain, though it radiates from every part of my body. There’s a shrill, uneven rhythm. Machines? Maybe. Something hisses near my head, and voices rise and fall around me, hurried and urgent, like waves crashing against the shore.

“She’s still hypotensive. Let’s get more fluids in her.”

Another voice cuts in, calmer though no less intense. “BP’s stabilizing, but her oxygen’s borderline. Keep monitoring.”

I try to speak, to move, but nothing obeys me. My body feels wrong. Heavy, like it’s pinned down by something invisible. My mouth is dry. When I attempt a sound, it comes out as a groan.

“She’s waking up.”

I force my eyes open. The world is a blur of fluorescent light and moving shadows. Someone looms over me, their face partially obscured by a mask.

“Ma’am, can you hear me? You are safe. We’re taking you to the hospital. Don’t try to move.”

My head swims as fragmented memories crash into my consciousness. The flash of headlights, the impact, the spinning. The tree.

The tree that crushed half my car.

“She’s tachycardic. Push two of lorazepam if she doesn’t calm down,” someone says, their voice authoritative but distant, like I’m hearing it through a tunnel.

I’m falling, pulled under by a tide I can’t resist. My eyes flutter closed.

***

When I surface again, the beeping has been replaced by a low, persistent hum. I’m being moved. Something clicks loudly near my ear, followed by a mechanical whir.

“She’s got a concussion, possible rib fractures. Get imaging for the chest and extremities,” a voice says. It’s the same one I heard earlier. Steady, professional.

“Her left arm’s swollen—likely a fracture. We need to clean that laceration.”

“Any family?”

“Emergency contact was her employer. No family listed.”

“She’s here alone?”

The words stab deeper than the pain in my ribs.

Alone.

***

The next time I wake up, the room is eerily quiet except for the steady beep of a monitor. The light is blinding and everything hurts. My ribs, my arm, my head. I move slightly, and pain flares hot across my chest, stealing my breath.

“Vanya.”

The sound of my name pulls my focus. Kyle’s voice from somewhere beside me. I turn my head too quickly and groan as dizziness washes over me. Kyle is perched on the edge of a chair, his face pale.

“Hi. Good to see you awake,” he says softly, standing and moving closer. His eyes scan my face, like he’s checking for damage the other doctors might have missed.

“What happened?” My throat is scratchy from the effort of asking.

“You were in a car accident. T-boned at an intersection. The car spun and you hit a tree on the passenger side.” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “You gave us all a scare.”

I try to sit up, but my body protests. I suck in a breath. Kyle’s hand is on my shoulder instantly, gently pressing me back down.

“Don’t move,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve got a broken arm, a couple of cracked ribs, and a concussion. You’re lucky it isn’t worse.”

“Lucky,” I mutter. He’s right, of course. I could have died.