The tension in my shoulders loosened and I shook my head with a laugh. “Should’ve known you’d take advantage of my goodwill. Guess I’m the designated candy mule now.”
“Don’t let the nurses catch you, rookie.” He settled back on his pillows. “And maybe grab me a soda while you’re at it. Hydration’s important.”
“Hydration, got it. Anything else? Some caviar, maybe? A couple of swimsuit models in white bikinis?”
He lay back on his pillows, thinking hard. “Maybe just one model for now. I’ll need both my hands if we double the number.”
We laughed, and he clutched his side when it got a little too much.
“Shit, stop doing that,” I said, forcing my own laughter down to a simmer. “I don’t want you pulling a stitch or whatever.”
He waved me off, still kneading his ribs as I headed out into the hallway, dodging nurses and the occasional gurney. The storm outside matched the pulse of the hospital, both relentless. But I felt lighter, like I’d finally started turning the page on something that meant more.
The hallway stretched toward the service elevators, the ceiling lower here, the lights a little dimmer. Rain battered the windows at the far end, each gust shoving water sideways against the glass. The vending machines stood dark except for one glowing panel, its rows half-empty, wrappers jammed where other people had given up. I checked my pockets for cash, savoring the new lightness that had replaced the weight on my chest.
This whole time I’d been convinced I didn’t give a shit about my team. That I could play my hockey anywhere and be just as good, and just as happy. Only once all this went down did it occur to me— The Surge was my team. And I didn’t want to play my game for anyone else.
Footsteps cut across the corridor from the opposite direction, fast enough to register before I placed the face.
Nicole.
She was moving with purpose, ponytail swinging against the back of her scrub top, badge bouncing at her hip. She had that look people get in hospitals during bad weather, eyes fixed ahead, body already late for wherever it was headed.
“Nicole,” I called, louder than I meant to, and winced when my voice ricocheted off the bare walls.
She turned and lifted a hand in brief acknowledgment without coming closer. “I can’t stop. It’s a madhouse tonight.”
“I just need a second.”
“There are no seconds tonight,” she said, walking backward. At least she added an apologetic look to soften the blow.
The vending machine faded from my priorities. I crossed the distance between us without thinking, my feet picking up speed to match hers. She glanced sideways, surprise flickering across her face as she realized I was keeping pace.
“If you’re going to say something,” she said, “you’re saying it on my way down to the ER.”
“Deal.”
She angled toward the service elevator and hit the call button a few times in succession. Because, as we all knew, that made them go faster. The doors slid open, revealing a broader car with scuffed walls and a flickering panel of floor numbers. She stepped inside, and I followed, earning myself a look that landed somewhere between disbelief and amusement.
“Do you have nothing better to do in the middle of a storm than follow me around at work?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I’ve been told I make questionable decisions under pressure.”
“That checks out,” she said, then added, “You’re aware this makes you look suspicious?”
“I can live with that.”
The doors closed. The car began its descent, jerking once as it picked up speed.
“So,” she said, keeping her eyes on the number panel above us. “What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait for literally any other time?”
“I’m visiting Shawn.”
Her expression changed. A sudden pause, then recalibration. She turned fully toward me. “How is he?”
“Banged up, but patched together,” I said. “He’ll live to see another game, and that’s the point. Also, he’s not mad at me for being a total dick.”
“The bigger point,” she said, and there was something careful in her voice now. “I know how much that’s been weighing on you.”
