Page 34 of The Love Comeback (Glaciers Hockey #3)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Kade

I love you.

All I hear is Ella’s voice on repeat in my mind. My head throbs like a sledgehammer taking blows to my temple. A groan escapes my lips, and as my eyes flutter open…

Everything is too freaking bright.

“Easy.” I hear Nate’s voice, though I don’t immediately pick him out in my spotty, strained vision. “You gotta stay still, Kade. You took a massive hit to the head.”

“Am I gonna die?” I chuckle, but abruptly end it with a groan as pain sears through the side of my brain. This is not what I had planned for the game.

I love you.

I hear Ella’s voice in my head again. It’s jarring, knocking the breath right out of my lungs. And as my eyes finally focus, I see my brother sitting right beside the hospital bed.

I open my mouth, unable to stop thinking about her. “Was Ella here?”

“What?” Nate makes a face.

“Was Ella here?” I repeat myself, unsure of how to further clarify it through the haze in my mind. “Did she come to see me?”

Something flickers across Nate’s face. “She wanted to. She tried to go with you in the ambulance.”

“But?” I can hear the unspoken qualifier in his voice.

“Hospital policy. Family only in the trauma unit.” He sighs. “She was pretty upset when they wouldn’t let her come.”

The three words swirl around in my head for a few moments, leaving me to process just how hard I must’ve crashed. I mean, that’s what happened, right?

“You were blocking, and Lopez took you out,” Nate clarifies. My confusion must be clearly written all over my furrowed brow. “Ella was there when you were loaded onto the ambulance.”

“Oh,” I say, hearing her words once more in my head. Did she really say them? Or is it all just wishful thinking? I mean, I did take a good hit to the head .

“Mom and Dad are still trying to figure out how to get off the cruise ship. Apparently, the cruise line doesn’t consider your situation an emergency.”

“Good to know,” I mutter, trying to say it with humor, but failing. I shut my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as the heart rate monitor beeps steadily, filling the silence that settles between my brother and me. “How long have I been out?”

“In and out for about three hours now. This is the most coherent you’ve been.” He checks his watch. “It’s just after midnight.”

Three hours. The game feels like it happened both yesterday and ten minutes ago. Time isn’t making sense yet.

“The team?” I ask.

“They finished the game. Won 3-1.” Nate smiles. “Cam scored two after you went down. Said they were for you.”

I try to nod, but the motion sends another spike of pain through my head. Before I can ask anything else, the door opens and a doctor walks in, followed by what appears to be a resident. The doctor is older, with salt-and-pepper hair and glasses that magnify his alert eyes.

“Mr. Santos, good to see you back with us. I’m Dr. Fitzpatrick.” He approaches the bed, pulling a penlight from his pocket. “I’m going to check a few things, okay? Just try to relax.”

I brace myself as he shines the light directly into my eyes. The pain is immediate and intense, like someone hammering nails into my brain. I can’t help but flinch away .

“Sorry about that,” Dr. Fitzpatrick says, noting my reaction. “Photosensitivity is common with concussions. Can you follow my finger without moving your head?”

I try to track his finger as he moves it from side to side, up and down. My vision blurs at the edges, and nausea rises in my throat again.

“Doing good,” he encourages, though I don’t feel like I’m doing anything well at the moment. “Can you tell me your full name?”

“Kade Antonio Santos,” I reply automatically.

“And what day is it?”

I have to think about this one. “Thursday. No—Friday now, I guess, since it’s after midnight.”

He nods approvingly. “Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital.”

“That’s right. And do you remember why you’re here?”

“Hockey game. Player collision.” The words come out clipped as I try to manage the growing discomfort.

“Good.” He makes some notes on his tablet. “You’ve sustained a moderate concussion, Mr. Santos. The CT scan didn’t show any bleeding or fractures, which is excellent news. But we’ll need to keep you for observation at least until tomorrow.”

I close my eyes, absorbing this information. A concussion. I’ve had them before, but this one feels different. More intense .

“How long until I can play again?” The question feels automatic, programmed into me after years of living and breathing hockey.

His expression turns serious. “That’s not something we can determine right now. Concussion recovery isn’t linear, and in your profession, returning too soon can be dangerous. We’re talking weeks, not days.”

Weeks. The word settles heavily in my chest. We’re heading into the most critical part of the season, and now I’ll be watching from the sidelines. A year ago, that news would’ve devastated me. Now, though, my first thought is of Colton’s games—will I be well enough to see them?

The doctor continues his examination, checking my reflexes, asking more questions about my symptoms. I answer mechanically, but my mind keeps drifting back to Ella. To the words I think I heard her say. To the fact that she’s not here now.

“The dizziness and nausea should improve over the next few days,” Dr. Fitzpatrick says. “But the headaches might persist longer. You’ll need to avoid screens, bright lights, and, of course, any physical activity that could risk another impact.”

I nod slightly, careful not to move too quickly. “When can I have visitors? Non-family visitors?”

He glances at his watch. “Regular visiting hours start at 9 AM. Once we move you to a regular room, you can have visitors during those hours. ”

Relief washes through me. Nine hours. I just need to make it nine more hours, and then maybe Ella will come. Maybe I can see for myself if what I think I heard was real.

As the doctor and resident leave, Nate settles back into the chair beside my bed.

“You really care about Ella, don’t you?” he asks.

“I do.”

For a minute, Nate doesn’t respond—he just stares at the floor.

“Kade,” he starts, then stops. “I’m sorry.” He says it like an apology he’s owed me for years.

I peer over at him. “For what?”

He shakes his head, mouth twisting. “For never taking you seriously about her. For treating it like some high school phase you were supposed to grow out of.” He drops his voice, “I should’ve known better. I’m sorry.”

I can see the genuine remorse in Nate’s eyes, and a weight lifts off my chest at his admission. It’s like a validation of the emotions I’ve been grappling with for a decade.

“It’s okay.” I offer a small smile as I shift on the uncomfortable hospital bed, trying to get my pounding head under control. “I forgive you.”

Nate gives a small nod, his eyes flickering with relief. “You love her, Kade. It’s written all over you.”

“I do,” I admit softly. “I’ve never stopped.”

The words hang in the air between us .

“Well I hope it all works out for you two,” Nate finally says. “You deserve it.”

“Thanks, man.” I smile at him. He looks exhausted, his usually impeccable appearance rumpled from hours of waiting.

“You should go home,” I tell him. “Get some sleep. I’ll be fine.”

He shakes his head. “Mallory is bringing me a change of clothes in the morning. I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”

The stubborn set of his jaw reminds me so much of our father that I almost laugh, but even the thought of laughing makes my head throb harder. “Thanks,” I say instead.

“Besides,” he adds, a hint of his usual dry humor returning, “someone has to be here to make sure you don’t do anything stupid, like try to check yourself out and go to practice tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I murmur, though the thought of leaving had crossed my mind. Not for practice, but to see Ella. To ask her if she really said those words.

I settle back against the pillows, letting my eyes close again. The pain medication they’ve given me is starting to take effect, dulling the sharp edges of the headache to a more manageable throb. I should try to sleep. To heal.

And that’s exactly what I do.

When I wake up again, hours later, the room is empty. Nate is gone, probably to get coffee or talk to the doctor. My head still hurts, but the fog has lifted somewhat. The disorientation is less intense.

That’s when my phone rings on the bedside table.

I hope it’s Ella.

I reach for it, wincing as the movement sends another jolt of pain through my skull. I can barely make out the word “Mom” on the caller ID through my blurry vision. I’m not sure I have the energy for this conversation right now.

But I know she must be worried sick. The game was televised; they would’ve seen me go down.

I answer, pressing the phone gently to my ear. “Hey.”

“Kade!” My mom’s voice comes through, high with panic. “Oh my gosh, it’s such a relief to hear your voice. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Mom,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the splitting headache. “Just a concussion. No bleeding or fractures.”

“Thank goodness,” she breathes. “Your father has been beside himself with worry. We tried to get the cruise line to let us off the ship, but—”

“There’s no need for that,” I assure her. “I’ll be fine.”

“Let me talk to him,” I hear Dad say in the background, followed by the rustle of the phone changing hands.

“Son.” His deep voice fills my ear. “What’s the prognosis? How long will you be out?”

No “how are you feeling?” or “are you in pain?” He just goes straight into how it affects hockey. Some things never change .

“The doctor says it could be weeks,” I reply, bracing myself for his reaction.

“ Weeks ?” The alarm in his voice is immediate. “But the playoffs are coming up. The team needs you.”

“I know, Dad.” I stare up at the ceiling. “But if I try to come back too soon, I could do permanent damage.”