I answer. "Hello?"
"Tucker? It's Mel."
My stomach drops. Sloane’s friend wouldn’t call me to shoot the shit. She would have had to work to get my number. "What's wrong?"
"Sloane's in the hospital." Her voice is careful, measured. "She had bleeding and cramping. They brought her in by ambulance."
The locker room disappears. The noise of my teammates fades to nothing.
"What hospital?"
"Magee Women's. Tucker, she—" Mel hesitates. "She knows you haven’t been playing, and she’s really hurt. She wouldn't let me call you. I waited as long as I could, but you need to know."
Hospital. Hurt. Sloane.
"Are the babies okay?"
"So far, yes. They're monitoring her. Preeclampsia, they think."
"I'm coming. I'm leaving right now."
"Tucker—"
I hang up. Stand. My hands are shaking.
Coach is across the locker room, talking to the assistant coaches. I walk over, my gear still on, skates still laced.
"Coach. I’m leaving.”
He turns. "What?"
"Sloane's in the hospital. The mother of my children. I have to go."
His face hardens. "We're in the middle of a game."
"I know. I'm sorry. But I have to leave. Now."
“She’s getting help at the hospital. Tucker, if you walk out of this arena, there will be consequences."
"I don't care." My voice is too loud. Other players arewatching now. "My family is in the hospital and I'm going to them. Fire me if you want."
Coach's jaw works. He looks like he wants to argue, to threaten, to make me stay.
Then a voice behind me: "Let him go."
I turn. Grentley is standing there, his expression unreadable.
"Grentley—" Coach starts.
"Mayhem can step up. Turner can take his spot." Grentley looks at me, and for the first time since this whole mess started, there's no hostility in his eyes. Just understanding. "Go."
I stare at him. Josh Grentley, who has every reason to want me to fail, just vouched for me.
"Thanks," I manage.
He nods once. "Don't fuck it up."
I'm already moving, stripping off my gear as I go. Jersey, pads, skates. I'm down to my base layer in seconds, grabbing my phone and wallet.
