“We’ll talk when you get home. Call me if you need anything.”
As Aaron turns, we hear shouting and then a chilling crash.
The music abruptly stops, and whistles sound all at once.
I turn my head and follow the players’ eyes as they stand up from the bench. A hushed silence falls over the crowd, replacing their previous roars of excitement. My chest tightens and time seems to stand still as I watch in terror.
On the ice, a player lies motionless, encircled by a small crowd of hockey players. Coach’s voice echoes, shouting and gesturing for space.
“Oh my god,” Via chokes.
“Fuck.”
“Who’s injured? Is it Dominik?” someone shouts from behind me.
No, it can’t be. He was on the bench, wasn’t he?
“Dom!” That’s Aaron. My brother shouts Dom’s name repeatedly.
I’m on autopilot. My legs are moving on their own as I pass through the crowd. I’m running down the steps, trying to get closer to him. My only concern is to make sure Dominik is okay and it’s not him on the ice.
I just need to see him. Look into his eyes. For my own sanity.
As I reach the plexiglass, I press myself against it and try to get a better look. Two men dressed in matching navy blazers suddenly emerge from the other side, carrying a red stretcher.
The other players disperse, and I finally see him.
Dominik is not okay.
He’s lying on the ice with a pool of blood around his head.
The world becomes a chaotic blur. The commotion of whispers and shouts makes it impossible for me to understand what’s happening. I’m paralyzed, unable to take my eyes off what’s happening before me.
This can’t be real.
Someone is calling my name, but I continue to push through the crowd without stopping. I’m pulled back just as I’m about to enter through the side door. I attempt to break free from thefirm grip that binds me, but I can’t. I scream, my voice filled with unrecognizable desperation. I just want to be with him, to reassure him that everything will be fine. Why won’t they let me do that? I just want to know he’s okay.
I plead, but no one listens. Agony overwhelms me, tears blurring my vision.
“Let me through! Dominik! Dominik!”
He’s not moving.
His eyes are closed. Those beautiful eyes that always search for mine in the crowd, they’re closed, and no matter how hard I scream his name, they don’t open.
As I watch Dominik’s lifeless body being gently lifted onto the stretcher, a chilling silence settles around me. The bright stadium lights cast a harsh glow on the scene, while the distant sound of the crowd’s murmurs lingers in the air. Surrounded by players shielding him from the prying eyes of the crowd and the relentless cameras, I feel a part of me crack open.
“No! No! Let me go. I need to see him,” I scream.
I am trapped in a nightmare where time moves both painfully slow and incredibly fast, and there is no escape.
Dominik is gone.
He’s just gone.
Everyone is frozen in a state of shell shock as the arena staff blur around me. They clean up all the blood, pretending like it never happened. Like Dominik wasn’t just lying there a minute ago, completely lifeless.
What if he doesn’t wake up?
