Page 43 of Kitty Season (Green Line Ice #2)

“ T hey won’t let me see him. Why won’t they let me see him?”

The poor nurse who happened by me floating in a stark white hospital corridor, eyes me with professional empathy. “They won’t let you see who? Who are you waiting for, Miss?”

“Brady. Brady Basse. He is a goalie for—” Her expression turns warm, and she grips my shaking hand.

“Boston College.” She nods. “My brother Cory plays for Boston. Let me go find out what I can.” She nods again, then adds, “I will be as quick as I can. I promise.”

Wiping my red raw cheeks of tears, I slump into the plastic chair closest to me and fold forward, seeking refuge from prying eyes and too bright lights.

In my bag, my phone rings again and once again I ignore it.

The game would be done now, it could be Troye, but the thought of speaking to him and telling him I still know nothing is almost as debilitating as not knowing anything in the first place.

But it rings again, and again, and on the fifth ring, I can’t take it anymore.

Reaching down, I pull the phone from my bag and am surprised to see an unknown number flashing on the screen. Thinking Troye may have someone else’s phone, I answer.

“Troye, is that you?”

“No, no it’s not Troye,” An unfamiliar voice says. “Is that you Quinn?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“S, S, Sofia,” she stammers. “I’m Sofia Basse, Brady’s mum.” A new wave of tears is unleashed.

“Brady told you about me?”

“Of course he did darling. He’s mentioned you on almost every call he’s made home.” As if it’s not nauseous enough, my stomach does a slow roll.

I begin to ask her how she has my number, or how she knows what’s going on, but what comes out is a trembled, “They won’t let me see him.”

“I know. He’s having some scans, Quinn. One of the doctors just called and told me. He’s awake and breathing okay, but because he has had two concussions so close together they are checking for swelling on the brain.”

“Swelling on the brain?”

“I know it’s scary, sweetheart, but he will be okay. I can feel it in my heart.”

I nod, which is stupid as she’s on the phone, in Australia, not here beside me. “Brady gave me your number a few weeks ago. Troye’s too. The doctor mentioned there was a young woman who rode in with him, and I knew it would be you. Are you alone? Is Troye with you?”

Like I’ve been struck by lightning, I bolt upright in my chair, the sudden movement dizzying. “You know about us?”

“I do. And I’m so happy Brady has found not one, but two people he loves and that love him back. He deserves nothing less.”

After that, I’m barely cognizant of what she, or I say, but we remain on the phone over an hour, my ear burning by the time the nurse that I accosted earlier, Cory’s sister, approaches.

“I’m sorry I took so long, but he was having some tests run. You can see him now.”

“Go, Quinn,” Sofia sobs, the calmness she’s carried all but vanishing. “Go see our boy. I’m going to call the doctor back.”

When I enter Brady’s room, the lights are low, and it’s silent bar the gentle drip emanating from the IV bag hanging beside his bed.

His eyes are closed and there’s a terrifying reddish purple bruise on his right temple that disappears into his mop of blonde waves.

Other than the drip, I’m relieved to find no machinery with buzzing, beeping lights attached to him. That’s a good sign, I tell myself.

I’m hesitant to approach, unsure if he’s awake, so I kind of just hover by the door and watch the rise and fall of his chest.

He is so pale, so very pale.

“Are you going to just stand there and watch me?” One blue eye pops open, the edge of his lips curling into a faint smile.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You didn’t. Come. Please come sit.” He taps the empty space beside him, and closes his eye.

My movements feel odd as I approach, each step so difficult, feet so heavy it feels like I’m floating in zero gravity. “Are you okay?” I ask, still standing.

“I will be when you sit.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I counter.

“You won’t. I’m a hockey boy, remember. We’re tough.”

So gently I’m almost levitating, I sit. “Tougher than your footy players?”

“I reckon.” A tiny laugh sees a disproportionate response in his expression. He winces, one hand flying to his ribs, the other grasping his forehead.

“I spoke to your mom before.” I offer, hoping to distract him. It works, his eyes widen to the size of a saucer, and that cute blush slightly colors his white cheeks.

“Good lord, did she text you a baby photo? Or the one of me when I lost my top and bottom front teeth at the same time?”

“No. But she did tell me you were a massive nudist as a child. I can’t say I was surprised. You hockey boys are all exhibitionists at heart.”

All humor is gone then. The bright spark always shining from within dimmed. “They said I shouldn’t play anymore, Quinny. That I was lucky this time, but might not be so the next.”

“Don’t think about that now,” I whisper, taking his hand in mine, pressing my lips to his palm. “They’re probably just giving the worst case scenario. I’ll talk to Dad. I’m sure he’ll know of some specialists, and they will fix everything. You just wait and see.”

“Okay. If you say so,” he says, so softly I have to lean in to hear it.

Like I did with his palm, I ghost a kiss over the non-bruised side of his temple. “I do. Now, why don’t you get some sleep,” I whisper, his hair tickling my lips. By the time I kiss him once more and return to an upright position, he already is.

With strict orders to stay off the ice in place, Brady is allowed home the next morning. Later Sofia, Brady’s mom is flying in, and will be greeted at the airport by my mom tomorrow. Today though, it will just be the three of us … me, Brady and Troye … until Troye has to leave for the game.

The Bears went on to win against Ohio, and will face Denver tonight.

The cruelty of Brady missing his chance to play in the Frozen Four final is lost on no one.

Troye in particular, seems to be struggling with the unfairness of it all most of all, and has gone out of his way to avoid speaking about the game.

Which is not easy. This will be his first and last chance to claim the prize.

Dulling down his joy pleases no one. Especially Brady.

“You’re allowed to be excited, you know,” he says to Troye as he wheels him down the same corridor I spent an eternity in yesterday. “I’m not that precious.”

Troye stops, and leans around the side of the chair, pinching Brady’s cheek. “Could have fooled me.” It’s still hard to fathom the change in Troye over the last few weeks. From cold and distant, to sweet and affectionate. Something I knew he was all along.

Damn I love being right.

They chirp at each other and talk about tonight’s game, till we make it outside and Troye leaves us to bring the car around. “This is so unnecessary,” Brady complains as Troye jogs away. “My legs didn’t fall off.”

“Them’s the rules, Basse. I say enjoy the rest while you can. Dad and I are going to have you back on the ice training for next year before you know it.”

“It’s important to you, isn’t it?” he asks softly. “That I make it back.”

“Of course it is. You’re my number one goalie, remember?

My dreamy hockey boy.” I keep my voice as light and hopeful as I can, hoping it inspires Brady to believe it, too.

“Lotte knows this doctor, Doctor Carmichael, from her internship. My dad knows him too. He’s a sports neurologist and he’s coming to see you the day after tomorrow. That way your mom will be with you.”

“Sure. Sounds great.”

I wish he did. Justifiably despondent, he’s been so quiet since we arrived, his voice so small for someone so large and full of life. He would still be in pain, of course, and he would be fearful, but I’m determined to keep positive, even when he can’t be.

Troye pulls up in my car, hops out and jogs around to the passenger side, opening both doors then grabbing the plastic hospital bags holding Brady’s stinky pads and uniform. “Goalie shit is disgusting. I don’t know whether you need to wash it or burn it,” he jokes after depositing it in the trunk.

“I don’t think burning is an option,” Brady huffs. “Imagine the fumes.”

“Burial it is then. Hop in the front, Skip.” Troye’s by the door now, ducking down to tap the front passenger seat. “I want to be able to keep an eye on you.”

“But Quinn.”

“Quinn will be fine in the back. I prefer it, actually. I like the smell of your gear. Turns me on a bit.”

Troye’s chuckling as we pull out from the curb, but Brady’s silent, glumly looking out the window as the world speeds by.