She’s already shaking her head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I didn’t realize—I didn’t think that it might be rough for you here.”
My jaw clenches, the familiar urge to berate myself rising up. Weak. Pathetic. Can’t even walk into a hospital without losing it. What kind of man has a panic attack over someone else’s injury? What kind of coach?—
But no. I force the thoughts to stop. If I could control the panic attacks, I would. Beating myself up about them won’t make them go away, won’t make me stronger. It’ll just add shame to the fear.
Devin’s still looking at me with those soft brown eyes. This close, I can see the tiny freckles scattered across her nose andcheeks like stars. She always hated them, would try to cover them with makeup, but I thought they were perfect. Still do.
Her fingers ghost along my jaw, barely a touch, and I press my hand over hers. Not holding her there, not demanding anything, just... asking. Hoping she’ll stay.
She searches my eyes, and I let her. No walls, no pretense. If she wants to see every broken piece, every fear, every desperate hope I’m harboring, she can have it all. Shutting down, acting tough, pretending I’m fine when I’m not—none of that has gotten me anywhere good.
She moves closer, and I swear I can feel the invisible thread between us pulling tight, drawing us together like it’s always been there, just waiting.
“Excuse me.”
We break apart like we’ve been electrocuted. A doctor in scrubs stands a few feet away, clipboard in hand. His expression shifts from professional to recognition in about half a second—great, another hockey fan.
“You’re Richie’s coach?” He asks, though his eyes say he knows exactly who I am beyond that.
“Yeah.” I nod, trying to pull myself together. Devin and I separate but stay close enough that our hands brush. “Is he okay?”
“He dislocated his knee, but we’ve put it back in position. He’ll be just fine.”
The relief nearly knocks me over. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. A dislocation. Not surgery, not months of rehab, not a career-ending injury. Just a dislocation.
“He’ll be able to go home tonight,” the doctor continues. “Do you have a contact number for his parents?”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. “That’s his dad now.”
I answer, fielding the rapid-fire questions from Richie’s father. Jeff must have called them right after the ambulance left. They’re almost here, maybe five minutes out. WhileI’m talking, I notice a text notification from an unknown number. I’ll deal with it later.
After hanging up with Richie’s dad, I check the message:“Are you having flashbacks? It’s your fault if that kid never plays again. Maybe he could be a washed-up coach on a podunk island like you.”
My blood turns cold. This is way too specific to be a wrong number, too targeted. Someone knows about my injury, knows where I am, knows about tonight. But who would?—
“Everything okay?” Devin asks.
I shove the phone back in my pocket. “Yeah. Richie’s parents are almost here.”
The doctor heads back to work, and I collapse into one of the waiting room chairs. The plastic is hard and uncomfortable, but I don’t care. My legs feel like jelly. Devin chooses the seat right next to me, our thighs touching.
“Thank you for being here,” I tell her again, meaning it more than those two words can possibly convey.
She smiles gently. “I want to be here.”
I nod, believing her. Wishing I could just erase all the complicated history between us, all the hurt and disappointment and missed chances. Make it simple. Easy. Two people who care about each other, no baggage required.
“I'll stay and wait for Richie’s parents.” My voice sounds more normal now, less like I’ve been gargling gravel. “You can get out of here.”
She hesitates, studying me. “What are you going to do when you leave here?”
Good question. Sophie and Niall are in Boston for the weekend—some art exhibition Sophie wanted to see. The apartment will be empty, too quiet. Just me and my thoughts and maybe another panic attack waiting in the wings.
Devin must see something in my face because her expressionsoftens further. “Niall’s not back until Sunday night, right? I think you should come and sleep on my couch.”
I stare at her in shock. “Devin...”
She tilts her head slightly. “Do you really want to be alone right now?”
