ChapterTwenty
Noah
The last thing I remember is Stan's stick getting tangled in my legs.I think I may have passed the puck off, but that's foggy.I just know I hear someone say my name.
"Noah?"She sounds scared—terrified.
Taylor?
No.Lucidity floods back, even if it's foggy and vague and slow—Taylor is gone.The voice isn't hers.
Morgan.
A terrified Morgan is nearby.
On the ice?Why?
My eyes feel heavy, and it's a fight to get them to open.When I manage it, I see a multiplicity of Morgans rotating and wobbling above me."Wha'happened?"I hear myself say.
"You hit your head," Morgan says.She holds up two fingers…four…three?“How many fingers?"
"A concussion amount," I mumble."Fuck.Did we win?"
She sniffles."Carter got the goal, so it's two-to-one you guys with less than sixty seconds on the clock."
"Stucking Fan.Wait.Huh?"My brain isn't firing on all cylinders, and that didn’t sound right."Fucking Stan."
I see the man himself hovering behind Morgan—he's a beanpole of a man with an adorable little beer-and-pie belly, wearing a voluminous mustache that droops down his chin like something out of a Civil War movie."Noah?I'm sorry, man.I'm so fuckin' sorry."He tries to squeeze past Morgan to get to me, but receives an elbow to the ribs from Morgan for his troubles.
"Hey, back the fuck off, stick-boy,” Morgan snaps.
I can't help but laugh, which hurts my skull and the contents therein."Hey, easy there, killer.I'm okay."I peer at Stan."Stan didn't mean to do anything, didja?"
Stan is pale as a sheet under his helmet."N-no.I'm sorry.I…my stick got tangled."
I reach for Morgan's hand and get it…after a couple of misses."Hey.Breathe."
She glares down at me."You're still flat out on the ice and can't focus on me.Don't tell me to relax."
"I said to breathe.Not the same."I tap the end of her nose on the first try."See?All good."
Everything is still a little blurry around the edges and the world is still a little wobbly underneath me as I roll over, groaning, and work to my hands and knees.I have to pause there for a second to let the spinning abate, and then manage to get to my skates.
And whooo boy, staying on my feet is a trick.Mack and Carter are on either side of me, holding my arms while Doc Llewelyn shuffles toward me.He shines a penlight in my eyes, which feels fantastic.Tells me to look this way, that way—the usual concussion protocol.
“You got your bell rung alright," he says to me in his deep, gravelly voice, "but you'll be fine.You know the drill, Cap."
"Not my first time," I admit, as I reach the bench.
Morgan is right behind me, unclipping my helmet and probing my head with gentle fingers.
I pivot once inside the box and sag to the bench, snagging Morgan's hand and tugging her down onto my lap."Babe, I'mokay."
She searches me with crazed, panicking eyes.“You were unconscious for several seconds, Noah."Interestingly, she doesn't fight or protest being pulled onto my lap in full view of all of Tomlin Falls.
"I mean, it doesn't feel great, and I'm not exactly about to start jumping for joy or anything, but I'm fine."I tap a fingernail on my helmet, still held in her hands."That's why we wear these."
"How many concussions have you had?"
