The tunnels of the arena are orderly and oddly quiet when we enter. A breeze from the rolltop at the end of the hall shows the open back doors of an ambulance, red lights casting ominous specters against the floor-to-ceiling images of the players on the walls. Security has almost all non-essential staff and team personnel sequestered out of the way, a path from the ice clearly designated. The media have their cameras loose at their sides, but there isn’t any action. Just a somber stillness. A quiet before the storm. It would be unsettling if I didn’t have something else to focus on.
I’ve seen Nicky take a puck to the chest almost a hundred times. What happened on the ice isn’t new; it’s his job, what he’s good at. But everything that came after…
Violet’s hand wraps around mine, squeezing in silent support. I squeeze back, grateful for her presence. Andy stays near, their fingers flying across the phone that has reappeared in their hands. Glenn and Derek, heads of security, part the remaining personnel and wave us through, toward the end of the tunnel and the waiting ambulance.
“Is it better or worse that we can’t see what’s happening?” Violet shudders out the question, her shoulders mimicking the tremor in her voice. She’s keeping it together, but barely. Tears silently escaped over the curves of her cheeks when we fled the box upstairs, and now she hastily wipes away another, offering me a grimace. “Bea, how are you?—”
“This isn’t about me,” I cut her off. There’s a firmness in my tone. It isn’t unkind, but hollow. Detached in a way I know is meant for survival, not destruction. I don’t have the luxury of crying. I look at my watch again.
Nine minutes.
“Here they come,” Andy announces somberly.
As one, the whole of the press corps, including Andy, lifts their lenses to the doors of the ice. Two paramedics hustleforward first, making a beeline for the ambulance. One jumps into the driver’s side, and the other climbs into the open bay. Behind them, the gurney carrying Nicky, still strapped into his skates but stripped to the waist of every other piece of equipment, is jogged down by another pair of paramedics and Doc. Wires flow from Nicky’s red chest to the Lifepak monitor next to him on the stretcher. His face is covered with an oxygen mask, but I can see the discoloration of his lips and the deathly pallor in his skin. Robbie and Cal bring up the rear, a collection of Midnight players in their wake, instinctively following their goalie to try and protect him, just as they would on the ice, but stop when the padded mats don’t extend up the tunnel.
“We can take one with us,” one of the paramedics states as they load Nicky into the ambulance. Every fiber of my being is screaming to go with them. To keep my eyes on Nicky and hold his hand. Violet shifts next to me, her arm looping around my waist to propel me forward, but I dig in my heels.
“Robbie, I think you should go. Keep me updated,” I say. Robbie nods once, even as shock seems to be etching permanently into his features. There isn’t time to argue, only time for action. “Cal, stay with the team. They’ll need you, and someone needs to talk to the press. I’ll call Ava.”
“I can call,” Cal reassures. Robbie climbs into the ambulance, the flurry of activity continuing, Nicky at the center as he is cared for. I drown it out, focusing instead on what has to happen. How we all have to move forward while putting our trust in the medical professionals trained to handle something unthinkable like this.
“Bea, I really think you should go,” Violet whispers, squeezing me around the middle. Every fiber of my being is screaming to go with him. To keep my eyes on Nicky and hold his hand. But I can’t.
“No, I have to issue a statement on Nicky’s behalf,” I tell her, my mind already spinning through the different sources to send it to. I hear the ambulance doors close, and turn my back on them. I refuse to watch it drive away. It’s too painful, unfathomable. I can’t watch because I know it will drown me in a sorrow I can’t fully name. Instead, I look for Andy. They’re now met by Patrick and Julia, speaking in low voices in a circle, cameras dropping as the ambulance rumbles out of the mouth of the tunnel. I step up to them. “You arenotto go to the hospital underanycircumstances, do you hear me? I will ensure you are given updates before the rest of the press so you can prepare whatever you need, but I will not have you on-site while he is under care. Tell me you understand.”
“We have a job to do as well, Bea,” Andy replies. “And we can do it without getting in the way.”
“Miss Farrow said no.” Suddenly, off my left shoulder, Glenn and Derek appear. Two unflappable masses of imposing power, backing me up. It doesn’t even matter who said it because I know it won’t be challenged. Andy frowns and fixes me with a glare.
“First updates. Still photos when possible,” they list off. Until this moment, I’ve enjoyed working with Andy; they’ve been caring and compassionate. But as they push for things they have no position to negotiate, my irritation grows with each glimpse of the hard-nosed journalist and storyteller underneath. I cling to that simmering rage, stoking it because it’s better than succumbing to the dread and worry and fear that threaten from the other half of me. The half who’s riding in an ambulance to Yale New Haven Hospital, the Level-1 trauma center closest to the arena.
I don’t respond, walking down the tunnel, loosely following Cal and the players, ignoring the gathered press. I pull my phone out of my pocket, unsurprised to see notifications from every sports network and even a few national news outlets. Thereare a few texts from Ava, asking that I call her as soon as possible. Vaguely, I feel Violet brush up next to me, her silent support unwavering as we make our way to the locker room and offices. Before Cal disappears into the locker room, he hands me something small and metallic. I curl it into my palm, intent on finishing my check-in with the seemingly endless number of notifications. I scroll through the rest of the alerts, clearing them and preparing to set my phone on “do not disturb” when a new text pops up on screen, and I freeze.
Ms. Margaret
Natalia is asleep. She didn’t see it.
There’s more in the message, but I don’t bother reading it. My fist uncurls from the item in my palm. It’s Nicky’s necklace. The silver chain with beads and oblong dashes. My fingers play over the different textures, his voice drifting in from a memory of our first morning together in bed.
“What does this mean?” I toy with the chain dangling down as Nicky leans over me to kiss me. It’s a soft, sweet press of his lips. My curiosity keeps me from following them to where he relaxes back into the mattress.
“It’s Morse code of Natalia’s name,” he answers, fingers playing over the shapes. “I wanted a way of keeping her close to me without everyone else knowing what it meant. I like having her next to my heart.”
I know what my next move is, and it isn’t the locker room.
“What is it? Did you hear from Robbie already?” Violet asks, the worry in her voice nearly palpable. But a different concern rises to the surface, and all my careful control breaks.
“No, it’s not Robbie,” I say. My body turns without thought, toward the hallway that will get me to my car the fastest. Violetgrabs my arm, halting me and asking the unspoken question with a tilt of her head. “I have to get to Natalia.”
CHAPTER 16
NICKY
“The sedation is a precaution. We want to ensure his levels and indicators are where we want them to be before we begin to wake him up. His body has undergone an incredible trauma—even if this outcome is borderline miraculous. It’s going to take time to heal from it, and this gives him the best chance.”
There’s so much blackness. No light. No glow. Nothing. But it feels so peaceful. I can rest. It feels like I’m floating.
“His mother is listedas his next of kin. We’ve notified her. She would like to remain informed. However, she does not hold medical power of attorney. As far as medical decisions and Nikita’s care, that’s you, Cal.”
