It came in a blink, one I almost missed. I was farther up than I normally played because my player had fallen back to accept the puck from his goalie. He bobbled the pass, and it slid toward me. I pushed forward and slapped the puck back at the goalie, who had just settled into his defensive stance and wasn’t ready for a shot to the top right of the goal.
It sailed in. The blue light spun, and our hometown crowd went wild.
My back was turned to Medvedev, and my arms were over my head—how many times had I made a goal? Not that many, and this was the first time I’d made the game-winning shot in the winning game for the Stanley Cup. So it was a moment to celebrate.
Then Medvedev barreled into my back, his stick high against my ribs.
Coming to in an utterly silent arena that had been filled with cheering moments before proved scarier than the hit itself. Way scarier. “Am I dead?” I asked. “Broken? What did I break? Can I walk?”
Dr. Hutchins skimmed his hands over my legs, then my neck, though I got the sense he’d already checked that. “Move your fingers,” he said. “Good. Toes. Excellent. Legs. Arms.” He heaved a huge sigh. “No signs of spinal injury, but we’ll strap you just in case.”
“Medvedev is toast, Cruiser,” Cormac said. “I’m going to make it my personal goal to ensure that piece of shit doesn’t get any play time. If you hadn’t had your arms up already, you would have landed on your fucking nose.”
I’d never seen him so angry.
“And probably lost all of his teeth,” Maxim growled. He glared at Medvedev, who was getting reamed by his captain. The guy shot me a malevolent look that earned him a finger wag and an even louder chastisement.
“I’m okay,” I groaned. I felt like I’d been hit by a freight train plus a bulldozer. “Maybe not okay. But I didn’t bust my head.”
“We’ll let Dr. Hutchins decide that,” Coach Whittaker said. He squatted next to me. “You with me, Lennon?”
“Yeah. I’m here.”
“Can you tell me what day it is?”
“Game Five of the Championships.”
“And where are we?”
“Wildcatters Arena, which is quiet because they all think I’m halfway to dead.” The joke landed flat, but then again, so was I.
“Let me out there. Let me out there,” Vivian screamed.
I turned my head and winced. “Vivi.” She had to be terrified. The last time she’d seen me like this, I’d been the dumbest of dumbasses and pushed her out of my life. My heart hurt as I realized how scared she must be. “Vivi, I’m okay.” My voice was too quiet. I couldn’t catch my breath.
I tried to sit up. Everything hurt. It hurt bad. I couldn’t take a full breath.
“Tell her it’s not my head.” I gritted my teeth. “But I think I punctured my lung.”
Chapter 36
Chapter
Vivian
* * *
I screamed the moment I noticed the player bearing down on Lennon—about a half second before the unethical piece of shit slammed into my man from the back. Lola sat in front of me, and she’d jumped up as I did. We’d both run down the stairs at breakneck speed, even before some fans began booing.
My heart pumped too fast and my vision swam as I’d gripped and released the handrail to keep me steady. After what had seemed like hours, but was probably under a minute, I was at the boards—held back by security.
“Get out of my way,” I yelled.
“No can do, ma’am,” the guard said, puffing up his chest.
Lola got in his face, which brought more security to our location.
“Lennon! Lennon!” I screamed. “Let me out there. Let me out there. I’m a nurse. I’m his fiancée. Lennon!”
