Page 11

Cash

A flash of light beams into my eyes. Loud voices call my out name. My body is cold, weak, and sore. I can't open my eyes. I'm fighting in and out of consciousness.

"Brooks, can you hear me?"

A familiar voice echoes stridently into my ears.

Lights find my eyes again.

My brain is trying to wake me and break me out of this darkness, but I can't escape it. I hear footsteps patter up to my side. Pain swells in my chest, and panic beats in every sharp and staggered breath. My mind flashes to the memory of blue and red lights blinding me in the reflection of a shattered windshield. My head pounds with the memory of sirens wailing in my ears, and my heart seizes with anxiety.

Cory. His name races over and over in my mind.

I frantically push through the painful memories poisoning my mind, letting adrenaline rush through my veins and take over each jagged movement.

"Brooks, come on. Wake up."

I groan out in pain, agony throbbing all over my limbs and head.

The memory of swinging my entire body toward the passenger seat as I griped Cory by the shoulders replays in my mind.

The vision of blood covering my hands and his entire body crushed, bone and flesh swallowed by the dashboard, jolts me awake.

My eyes flutter open to a foggy silhouette of Kenny Prete, the Tornado's trainer, standing over me. My panic washes away at the sight of his familiar face. He shines a tiny light between my now open eyes.

"His pupils are unequal," he says over his shoulder to someone I can't quite make out behind him. My vision is fuzzy and blurred, and I must blink a few times to regain my sight. When I sit up, an intense nausea washes over me. Panic rushes up my spine as I roll over onto my side and vomit uncontrollably into a bucket on the floor. I choke, cough, and sputter as I heave. The intensity of it rocks my entire body.

"Ah fuck," I slur and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

The room feels like it's spinning. My head is pounding. What the fuck happened to me?

"Cash, do you know what stadium you are in?" Kenny asks.

He waits for me to acknowledge him...with an answer, an eye-flicker, or maybe even an I don't know.

"Jesus, Kenny, give me a second," I reply, still feeling like I'm going to vomit. I take a deep breath and lay my head back on the cushion. "I'm in Boston. Dougall Energy Centre Arena."

"What month is it?" he asks.

I stare at him, offering no response. It takes a second for me to remember. "February," I finally breathe out.

He sighs with relief and continues, "Who was the opposing team?"

"The Boston Hackers," I tell him.

"Do you remember the hit?"

"No," I reply without looking up at him.

"Nothing at all?" Kenny studies me, tapping his foot on the floor.

My brain pauses for a moment.

Suddenly, everything comes crashing back in waves.

My heart stops.

Part of me hopes it's an illusion, a desperate one. But deep down, I know what I saw. I remember the moment I felt my heart explode in my chest. There was no mistaking Quinn in the crowd. She was there. She was at my game with Aiden.

"Cash? Do you remember something?" he asks, breaking the silence.

I remember celebrating my goal and absorbing the cheers from the fans.

I remember the second I scanned the crowd and how surreal my world felt when I saw her.

The noise drowned out, and the faceless fans faded away.

I soaked in the sight of her.

Quinn was utterly stunning, with her long brown curls swept to the side and cherry-red lips.

For a brief moment, I thought I was dreaming.

Fear and apprehension flashed fleetingly in her eyes when they met mine.

My eyes shifted to Aiden beside her, and rage simmered inside me as I dropped my stick on the ice.

The next thing I remember was complete darkness.

"I remember," I say and take a deep breath. "I was hit from behind and went head first into the boards."

But mostly, I remember Quinn.

______

As I lay in the darkroom on my backside, waiting for Dr.

Henderson, the team physician, to give me his diagnosis, I mentally prepared for the night ahead.

Little to no sleep and a long and tiresome plane ride back to California alone.

Regardless of my diagnosis, I know I will be benched as a precaution, just not for how long.

I flex my jaw back and forth, and it moves with a resounding pop. Did that fucker Jenkins punch me when I was down?

What a dick.

A knock on the door startles me. Great. Here comes the bad news.

The door pushes open a crack, and I see Dr. Henderson with his hand on the knob, talking to someone over his shoulder. I squint at them, trying to clear the fuzzy blur wreaking havoc with my vision.

Her face appears, and my chest seems to cave in on itself. She sees me immediately, her expression transitioning from unease to relief to tight concern in a millisecond.

"Quinn," I manage to say.

She reaches up and fiddles with a pendant around her neck. Is that what I think it is? Are those some of the labradorite stones I sent her? Hell, it is. Not all is lost between us, after all.

We stare at each other in a palpable silence. She looks very nervous. I wouldn't say I like that she looks so nervous.

"Thank you, Dr. Henderson," she says softly, shaking his hand.

"I'll be back shortly with your results," he says, closing the door behind him.

"Hey," she breathes.

I feel a flash of panic, worried that Quinn's an illusion and somehow I'm dreaming or hallucinating from the injury. But when she steps forward, I know I'm not imagining anything.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, and slowly sit up.

She pauses and glances past me toward the exit on the far wall. "Gordon called me." Her gaze shifts back to me. "I'm your emergency contact."

"And you came?" I watch her carefully.

Quinn remains quiet and fidgets with the pendant necklace around her neck.

She constantly fidgets when she's nervous. I confirm the gemstone on the pendant is labradorite. Okay, I'm sure not dreaming.

And my vision is fucked up right now.

Is it possible I'm seeing things? Christ. Maybe these painkillers are stronger than I thought.

"You were hit pretty hard..." She trails off and lets her sentence hang for a moment, suspended in the air, while she walks over and sits on the chair farthest from me.

"I was at the game tonight. I saw when Jenkins slammed you head-first into the boards. I saw you lying there unconscious, and...I came because I needed to know if you would be okay."

"I'm glad you came." My hands are shaking, my pulse racing. "Nice necklace."

"Thank you." She blushes, tucking the necklace into the front of her shirt.

My eyes meet Quinn's for a beat, and I wonder if she knows what I'm thinking. I wish I could've given those stones to her myself on Christmas morning, just the two of us. I've ruined any chance of us being together, whether I want to accept it.

She blinks and looks out the window, her jaw flexing. "Do you remember anything?" she asks, all business, no smiles.

I nod. "The last thing I remember is seeing you in the stands, thinking I was dreaming. It couldn't possibly be you watching me with Aiden."

Standing, she slowly approaches me as if she's either going to hug me or punch me. "Why am I listed as your emergency contact? Why not your wife?"

I can't look at her. I want to tell her everything so badly, but not like this—trapped in the team Dark Room with my head pounding and mind foggy. I'm scared to explain everything to her in my current state.

My heart can't take her leaving me again. Why I am the biggest, most self-absorbed asshole of all time?

"Quinn, I told you I can explain."

"Is she your wife?"

I stop and look at her to see her bottom lip quiver as she stares down at me with sad, distrustful eyes.

Is that the real reason she came here?

To finally hear me out?

Just the memory of that night at the airport, of her finding out the truth, my worlds colliding and crashing down all around me, Daniela's smug smile and how quickly it all unravelled. . . it rocks me. I never thought I would ever feel such excruciating heartbreak. I love Quinn so much it makes me reckless.

"Well?" she asks.

"Quinn..." I sigh and run a hand through my hair.

"I don't even know where to begin." I think I really want to beg her to forgive me. To stay with me. To not give up on me. But I feel so damn dizzy, and my mind is a clusterfuck of confusion, clouded with nausea. I want to tell her everything, but I don't even know if I can manage in my current state.

"Where is she now?" she asks, tone sharp.

"I am getting her out of my life. I promise."

She scrunches her nose. "This was a mistake. I came to make sure you were okay. And you are, so I should go."

"Quinn, please. Don't go," I plead, unable to control my reaction. I use every ounce of willpower not to pull her into my arms.

She stands before me, and I clench my hands into fists as her familiar sweet scent crashes into me.

So many nights, I drank myself numb, fighting to accept that she would never walk back into my life.

My world.

And now here she is.

And I never want her to leave.

I take a deep breath, but the pounding in my head gets louder.

"I want answers, Cash, and I know right now is not the time or place to ask for them." She sighs. "I'm glad you're okay, but I should get going."

"Quinn, please." My voice sounded so desperate I barely recognized it.

"I'm so ashamed of the mistakes I've made and the lives I've ruined. Please believe me when I say that I wanted to tell you everything. I've always told you it's not what you think, and it's true. It's complicated. I took Daniela under my wing because she was the closest and only thing I had left. I never wanted to burden you with my past. I never thought I would fall so in love with you. I've been so alone for so long..."

Quinn frowns and won't look directly at me. "You lied to me."

"I was trying to protect you," I say simply.

"No, Cash. You purposely hid her from me. You deceived me. I'll never be able to trust you. Even if I want to, I can't."

What the fuck does that mean? The pounding in my head grows stronger.

"You can trust me. You don't know Daniela. You don't understand." I watch her intently, but my head is pounding.

"Then you should have made me understand," she says.

A hard knock on the door breaks our stare. Dr. Henderson pushes open the door and walks in, holding a clipboard.

"Your test results are in," he says, glancing down at the clipboard. "After all the tests we ran, it's conclusive. You have a very severe concussion."

"Fuck." I groan and rub my face. This is going to mess with my game.

"What does that mean?" Quinn's slight frown is back, and she won't look directly at me. "Is he going to be okay? How long will he be unable to play hockey?"

"Rest is the most appropriate way to allow a brain to recover after suffering a concussion," Dr.

Henderson says.

"Cash will need to physically and mentally rest. This means avoiding general physical exertion, including hockey or vigorous activities until he has no symptoms. This rest also includes limiting activities that require thinking and mental concentration."

"I've had a concussion before," I grumble. "I know the drill."

"You'll need to be off the ice for at least two weeks." Dr. Henderson looks directly at me. "And you will need to be monitored for at least the first forty-eight hours."

"No." I shake my head, "I'm fine."

"Cash, like you said, this isn't your first concussion," Dr. Henderson says, patronizing me in his most professional tone. "For at least forty-eight hours, someone needs to monitor your progress. Resuming hockey too soon increases the risk of a second concussion and of lasting, potentially fatal brain injury. Multiple concussions put you at a greater risk of developing progressive impairment that limits your ability to function. You cannot and will not return to play hockey while signs or symptoms of a concussion are present."

"What type of symptoms?" Quinn chokes out.

"After a concussion, the levels of brain chemicals are altered. It usually takes about a week for these levels to stabilize again. Since Cash came to, he's already experienced nausea, blurry vision, slow response time, headaches, dizziness, and thinking difficulties."

Quinn frowned but didn't say anything.

"Kenny had Gordon booked you and Miss Ashby on the next flight to Santa Anna on my recommendation that you fly back home where you can be comfortable to get adequate rest in your bed."

I don't look over at Quinn, but I can feel her eyes on me. It's tough not to meet her gaze.

"I'm a student at Harvard. I live here in Boston. I'm sorry, I can't just pick up and leave," she says with a panicked look.

"Your flight has already been booked, Miss Ashby," Dr. Henderson replies. "Cash can't be left alone for at least two days. Someone needs to be with him."

She looks like she's about to cry, and I'm afraid to ask her if she's okay. My hope that she might even consider returning with me to California for forty-eight hours keeps me quiet. Seeing her hands knotted tightly in front of her bothers me. I wish she would give me a second chance to explain everything, but I can't expect her to leave her life here in Boston for me, especially after everything.

"If she doesn't want to come, she doesn't have to," I say, unable to stop myself. My need to protect her takes over. "I can hire a home nurse to stay at my place for the next few days."

She tilts her head to the side and looks at me.

"I can try to arrange for a home nurse on short notice, but I can't guarantee anything," Dr. Henderson says.

"Wait," she breathes out. "Don't have him call yet."

"Are you considering going?" Dr. Henderson asks, hopeful.

"I-I don't know." Quinn rubs her face and moves away from me again.

"Why don't I give you a few minutes to talk it over," Dr. Henderson suggests.

Dr. Henderson leaves the room and slowly closes the door behind him. I watch as she tucks her hair behind her ear, and I wonder what she could say that wouldn't make this any less awkward.

"About what you said. How Daniela was the closest thing to the family you had left. I, uh, I don't know what to think of that. I know you've just suffered a terrible blow, and clearly, right now is not the time to discuss anything that could cause you mental strain. I don't know if I can discuss it, Cash. We're not together anymore. I'm at Harvard. I'm trying to move on with my life."

"You mean with Aiden," I say, voice low.

"I'm torn." She sounds nervous again. "I wish things didn't end the way they did. I wish you didn't lie to me. And I wish things were different, but they aren't. I want us to... I wish I could find a way to forgive you... I don't know. That sounds so hopeful. After everything. As crazy as it sounds, I don't know if I can leave here knowing I left your well-being in the hands of some home nurse..." Her voice trails off.

I can tell she's struggling internally with the idea of returning to California with me. I can't have her leave me again without her knowing the absolute truth once and for all.

"Please don't leave and return to Aiden," I whisper, not wanting to sound too desperate. "Tu me manqué." I watch for her reaction.

Her sad smile comes a little too slowly to put me at ease. "What does that mean?" She bites her bottom lip, watching me too.

"Well, in French, we don't say 'I miss you,'" I look into her eyes. "We say 'tu me manqué.' Which means 'you are missing from me.'"

Dr. Henderson knocks once on the door and then walks inside. "Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"Yes," Quinn says quietly.

"Do I need Gordon to cancel your flight, Ms. Ashby?"

"No," she says, watching me carefully. "I'm going with Cash to Santa Anna."