Page 10

Quinn

It's been six months, precisely one hundred and eighty-two days since I last saw him—four thousand three hundred and eight hours since he broke my heart. Attending a Tornadoes game with Aiden was not how I thought I would see Cash again or how I thought I would start my Spring Break.

I tried to escape it, but Aiden was so persistent that I came to the Tornadoes game with him.

He said he didn't feel right accepting Tornado tickets from my father and taking someone else to the game. Even though I practically begged him to find anyone to go with him except me, he wouldn't take no for an answer.

And now I am feeling unsteady on my feet, struggling to figure out how to appear together and look like I'm okay and relaxed with being here. My heart is beating so hard I'm sure Aiden can hear it.

Coming to a Tornadoes game was a bad idea.

When I step through the automatic doors and into the arena, all the familiar sensations and memories hum against my skin.

Aiden is leading the way and holding my hand.

He probably thinks his hand in mine is a sweet and couple-like gesture between us.

He doesn't know that I've purposely entwined my hand with his because if he wasn't holding onto me, I know I would run for it.

The ticket agent scans our tickets, and the smell of beer and fried food perfumes the air as we shuffle through the crowd into the concession area.

Chills shoot up my spine, and it isn't from the cold this time. It's from the life-size cutout of Cash in his hockey equipment beside a kiosk filled with Tornadoes merchandise.

Even seeing a fake cardboard cutout of him makes me uneasy.

I immediately recall how his arms felt wrapped around me, safe and kind, and how his breath warmed my neck.

I remember the feel of his hungry mouth sucking at my neck, my shoulders, and my mouth.

"Should I get one of these?" Aiden's voice snaps me out of my thoughts and knocks me back to reality. He grabs a goofy hat from the kiosk stand and puts it on his head. It has the Tornadoes logo on the front, but it has fake gray wiry hair on top. It must be the world's ugliest hat-wig combo.

"I've always wanted one."

"Get whatever you want," I say, watching Aiden take it off his head and check out the price tag. "But if you decide to wear that thing in the arena, I'll pretend I'm not with you," I tease.

He laughs, already pulling out his wallet to pay the cashier. "I'm sorry, Quinn. I can't pass up this hat. It's on sale." He slaps down forty dollars and meets my eyes. "Why don't I buy you one, too, so we can match?"

"No thanks," I say, laughing.

Aiden slides the hat onto his head. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"It's hideous."

"You know I must wear it during the game," Aiden smirks. "It's called team spirit."

"Awesome."

Aiden grins like a giddy little boy at his first game, ignoring my sarcasm. "Come on, let's go find our seats."

The arena is packed, and the air is charged with excitement and scented with beer and sweat.

The lights dim, and the music pumps through the speakers, vibrating through the concrete, my feet, and my already trembling body.

The Boston crowd boos when the gate flies open to unleash the visiting team, The Santa Anna Tornadoes.

My heart pounds as I sit motionless beside Aiden, only five rows away from the ice, in a perfect view from the opposing bench.

I shiver as he breaks through his teammates, flying like lighting down the boards right past our seats. So here I am, watching Cash at a National Hockey League game, my body hyperaware of his presence while he has no idea I'm only thirty feet away from him.

The speakers crackle as the announcer comes on the microphone, and I almost jump out of my skin.

He announces the home team, the Boston Hackers, and the crowd goes wild, screaming and cheering at a feverish pace.

Both teams skate in circles around their sides of the rink, warming up.

They take slap shots at their goalie, dance the puck around with their stick, and fire shots against the boards.

I slump down in my seat, praying that Cash doesn't look up into the crowd and see me sitting here with Aiden. I'm almost desperate enough to disguise myself.

I think about taking that ugly wig-hat off Aiden's head and putting it on mine. I'm that worried Cash will pick me out of this wild and unruly crowd.

It's not like he hasn't done it before.

The cheers settle, and I watch Cash's muscular body skate circles around his teammates as they beeline it toward the bench. One of the coaches opens the gate, and the players fly through. My eyes absorb every inch of him skating to center ice with that patented smirk of his, his bright blue eyes blazing with intensity.

"These seats are amazing," Aiden says from my right. "Your dad is so awesome for getting us this close."

Too amazing. And way too close.

My mouth is dry as the puck drops.

The game is fast, rough, and wild.

My heart whams into my chest when Cash takes his tenth shot on the net only five minutes into the first period.

The goalie stopped every single one of his shots.

Luck is not on Cash's side tonight—his eleventh shot pings off the post, and the crowd cheers and screams. When Cash slams a Hackers defender into the boards —JENKINS is written on the back of his jersey—it feels like the entire arena thunders from his force.

Beside me, a girl my age, who's showing way too much cleavage, jumps up and down and screams like a lunatic. "Go, Cash, Go! I'll let you slam me like that anytime!"

I wince and feel a surge of untamable jealousy I wasn't expecting. God, I hate him. And I especially hate her. And even more so, I hate being here. His female fan base reminds me of my unresolved emotions for him and catapults my fears to a new level. I quake inside at the thought of his fake and deceitful life, too many reminders crashing down all around me.

I want to leave.

"This game is crazy intense," Aiden yells over the noise.

Cash regains control of the puck from a quick pass by one of his teammates.

As he skates toward Jenkins, the defender he slammed into the boards only seconds ago, I can see a flicker of vengeance in Jenkin's eyes. As Cash flies along the boards, up toward the net, the energy in the room is palpable as it shifts from cheers to tension. Just as Cash attempts to crack another shot, Jenkins cross-checks him. Cash hits the boards and crashes onto the ice.

The crowd cheers and claps at the defender's attack. Jenkins is thrown into the penalty box.

"Cash Brooks is on fire tonight," Aiden says with the slightest bit of strain.

I know he's probably waiting for my reaction. Aiden has never come out and said he knows Cash was the reason he found me crying in a hotel room with a broken phone. But I know Aiden would love to ask me a hundred questions if given the chance.

"Knock 'em dead, Jenkins!" someone yells.

"He's just a washed-up drunk anyway!" another screams.

I want to turn around and slap them into silence. My skin burns slightly at how the crowd reacts to the hit on Cash. I have this gut instinct to protect him. Finally, when I see Cash get up, I take a deep breath to cool off and watch him skate after the puck.

Relax Quinn. He's not your problem anymore.

"I think I'm going to grab a beer. Want anything?" Aiden asks.

The buzzer announcing the end of the first period echoes through the rafters.

"No, thank you. I'll wait here."

With a frown, Aiden slides past me and down the concrete steps, meshing into the crowd.

Minutes into the second period, Aiden re-appears.

"I know you said you didn't want anything, but I grabbed you a tea anyway," Aiden says, shuffling past me.

I thank him and take a quick sip, letting the warmth from the tea pour down my throat. Aiden smiles at me and drapes his arm along the back of my seat.

"And I know you didn't want to come tonight, but I'm really happy you did." Aiden wiggles closer to me. "Are you still okay to meet with some of our classmates after the game?"

I nod. "Yes, for sure."

"Okay, good." He glances down at me, smiling weakly. "You're enjoying the game, right?"

"Sure," I say, grateful that Aiden never seems to push. "It's all good."

Even though it isn't.

With only fifteen minutes left in the third period, the Hackers are up 1–0 against the Tornadoes.

Cash has been viscously quick and untouchable the entire game, which has pissed off the Hacker's defence. Cash continues to blow by them and fire shot after shot on net, but the Hackers goalie won't let anything by.

Aiden loves every minute of the intense and fast-paced action between the two teams, especially how the Hacker's defence keeps smashing Cash into the boards.

On the other hand, I have done my best to repress my feelings for the man I once loved on the ice. I tell myself I am only minutes away from ending this silent torture, and I have almost survived every second of it.

When Cash flies out from behind the boards for his last shift, I can see the fire in his eyes. I'm wildly, almost anxiously, rooting for him to pull through and tie up the game. I can see how badly he wants that goal and sense the dedication in his stride.

Within seconds, the puck fires across the ice from a Tornado defender straight to Cash's stick. He weaves through the Hacker's defence, knocking Jenkins, the same defender he's been sparring with the entire game, onto the ice before he breaks through for a clear shot.

I don't think I'm breathing when he cracks a shot on the net.

The puck whizzes through the air and burns past the goalie straight into the net.

The crowd explodes around us into a mixture of boos and cheers.

Overcome with impulse and excitement, I rise to my feet and cheer.

The crowd gets even louder when the other Tornadoes slap Cash on the back and helmet as he celebrates his victory.

Nausea washes over me when his cocky blue eyes start scanning the crowd.

Please don't look at me. Please don't –

My insides go utterly still when Cash's blue eyes find me. He doesn't move a muscle and his face changes instantly from a healthy red glow to a nauseated pale white.

I watch his gaze shift from me to Aiden standing at my side.

Jealousy burns like a fire in his eyes and a snarl of unease curls around my gut.

His stick drops from his glove, and it crashes onto the ice.

His teammates swirl around him, and his fans cheer for him in the crowd, but he is only focused on me.

"Watch out, Brooks!" someone screams from the crowd.

My eyes snap over to Jenkins, the defender from the Hackers, slashing his skates at full force toward Cash. Instinctively, I scream out Cash's name. He spins around to face Jenkins, who rams his entire body into Cash, smashing him headfirst into the boards. Cash goes down with a crashing noise.

My heart stops, my vision blurs. A collective gasp spreads through the arena. The defender punches at a motionless Cash sprawled out on the ice until the referees grab Jenkins by the arms and yank him off of Cash.

The impulse to trample down the steps, push open the gate, and run onto the ice seizes me. My pulse is racing, and my skin is clammy and flushed.

"Holy shit!" Aiden gasps in complete disbelief, "Did you see that guy sucker punch Cash Brooks?"

I begin to tremble at Cash lying so still on the ice.

Complete silence falls over the arena until I can hear my heartbeat.

Jenkins is escorted off the ice as he spits and yells in Cash's direction. Two referees drop to Cash's side.

My mind is swirling, my vision is blurring, and my legs feel like they may buckle.

His body is limp, lifeless, and lying there on the ice with Cash.

Tears prick my eyes, and within seconds, the Tornado's trainer opens the bench gate and jogs across the ice. The arena remains silent as the trainer bends down at Cash's side.

He looks back at the bench and waves for backup.

"Is that a stretcher?" I ask in horror, feeling a quake inside my stomach.

Aiden grabs my hand. "He's going to be okay. Athletes get hurt." Aiden says nonchalantly. "You're not worried about him, are you?"

The thought of Cash hurt unearths a torturous, unwanted anxiety in my soul. Anxiety that I thought would never plague me again. Anxiety that now grips me by the tummy and squeezes me like a fist.

"Of course not," I lie.

As they carry him off the ice, I sink back into my seat. Tears prick my eyes, and Aiden sits down beside me. The crowd explodes in cheers and screams, and the game picks up right where it left off as if nothing had happened.

"Quinn, relax." Aiden touches my chin, gazing down at me sweetly. "This type of shit happens. It's hockey."

___________

"How was the game?" Nadia asks as she waves down the bartender. She shifts on her stool, crossing her legs and tilting her head to look at me. Her long hair falls over one shoulder. "Did you two have fun?"

Nadia hasn't stopped prying since the second we walked into the bar. Her expression offers nothing but polite interest, but her stream of questions has me back on edge. After what happened to Cash during the game, my mind is a tangled, worried mess, and my heart is pounding painfully. Coming to the bar afterward with Aiden to meet up with our classmates feels like I betrayed Cash. Like I'm not doing the right thing.

Or I'm not where I'm supposed to be.

Cash getting thrown into the boards and knocked unconscious keeps replaying in my head.

"What an intense game!" Aiden tells everyone and pours himself a beer from a nearby pitcher. "Cash Brooks got knocked the fuck out."

Taking a sip of my drink, I try not to make eye contact with anyone. I'm worried—no, I am terrified—that he's not okay. It's all my fault he was knocked unconscious. I saw the look on his face. The emotion in his eyes when he saw me with Aiden.

Nadia jerks her head in my direction. "Is he okay?"

Aiden shakes his head. "Don't know. He got carried off by a stretcher."

"Hmm, I see," Nadia says carefully.

My phone buzzes on the table, and I'm relieved to have an interruption to leave this conversation. I don't recognize the number, but the Tornadoes Dark Room on the caller ID catches my attention. I stop breathing as I click on the call.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Am I speaking with Quinn Ashby?" a male voice says.

My heart drops as I glance around the table at my classmates watching me.

"Yes, this is Quinn," I reply and push away from the table.

"Hey, Quinn, this is Gordon Keating. Assistant Trainer for the Santa Anna Tornadoes," he says. When the line falls silent, I rise to my feet, my heart racing. "Cash Brooks listed you as his emergency contact."

I feel faint and brace myself against the wall. "Oh God."

Aiden's expression falls as he catches mine across the table.

"I'm not sure how to tell you this, but Cash was knocked unconscious tonight during a game in Boston. He's been taken to the Dark Room in the arena where the team physician will be conducting a thorough evaluation on Cash, including a SCAT 2 exam." As he continued to speak, my heart began to tear apart piece by piece.

"He'll also be required to perform small motor skills tests to help determine the severity of his head injury."

I want to vomit. The only thing I know is that this isn't good. I need to move, but before I can put one foot in front of the other, Nadia is at my side, her hand curled around my arm.

"Quinn, are you alright?" she asks, but I ignore her.

"Is he going to be okay?" I say into my phone.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have any other information on his condition. We can fly you to Boston."

"I'm in Boston," I breathe out. "I live here."

"Can you come to the arena to meet with the physician?"

I open my mouth and then close it again, shaking my head. "Doesn't Cash have another emergency contact you could contact?"

"No, Miss, you are the only person he has listed," he assures me. "When can we expect you?"

I pull out of Nadia's grasp. "I think I'll probably leave right now."

I click off the call, my hands trembling. Regardless of what has happened between us, I need to know whether or not he will be okay.

"Who was that?" Aiden asks, his tone concerned.

"I n-need to go," I say, placing my drink on the table beside me.

Aiden looks flabbergasted. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the arena," I say over my shoulder as I weave through the bar.

"Wait. What?" He calls out after me, but I'm already running to the nearest exit. Behind me, his feet pound on the wood floor, my name echoing throughout the bar.

"Quinn!" he yells at the top of the steps as I bust through the exit. "What on earth do you mean you are returning to the arena?"

"Cash was seriously injured." I turn around and catch my breath. "I'm sorry. I need to go."

"Who called you?" he asks, miffed.

"The Tornadoes trainer called me. I'm Cash's only emergency contact." My lip begins to tremble. There are too many things I must figure out now: How fast can I make it to the arena from here? If Cash has a wife, why am I his only emergency contact?

"What do you mean you're his only emergency contact?" Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and then exhales, opening his eyes again. "Doesn't he have anyone else? A family member? A friend? You're going to run to his aide even though he broke your heart so bad I found you a mess in a hotel room six months ago?" He drags a hand through his hair. "And yeah, I know it was because of him. Vaughn told me, okay. I never said anything to you because I respected your privacy. But we're finally together, Quinn. And now you're going to ruin that by running to a man who destroyed you?"

I hold up my hands to stop him.

"This isn't about you, Aiden. He was knocked unconscious, and the team physician is running tests on him right now. Yes, he was the one who broke my heart... things happened... but I can't go to him when he's alone and injured. I'm not running to him. I am going because he doesn't have anyone else and—"

"Why can't you make the trainer find someone else?" he interrupts in a tight whisper. "Fuck, Quinn, you aren't even giving us a chance. I've wanted to be with you forever—more than anything. You need to know that. Please don't go to him."

"Aiden, stop this. We've kissed and cuddled, but that's it." I shake my head, and I can see in his eyes he correctly reads my gesture to back off.

"I have to go to him. I know it sounds crazy. Hell, it even sounds crazy to me," I whisper, and I hate that I know where this is going.

"I love you as my friend, Aiden, and I don't want to hurt you. But I need to go to make sure he is okay."

Aiden slams his hand against the brick wall outside.

"Don't go! You're making a huge mistake!" he shouts. My chest squeezes at the earnest vulnerability in his expression. "Are you still in love with him?" he asks.

I don't answer. Instead, I walk through the parking lot and toward my car.

"You are," he shouts.

I don't respond. I pull open my car door, slam it behind me, put the keys in the ignition, and drive out of the parking lot.

I have to go to Cash.