“He skated off the ice himself.”
I shook my head. No, that wasn’t right. “What? No. He collapsed again.” My panic bled into my pitchy voice.
“He did. But then he got up, and Gauthier helped him off the ice.” She wiped a tear away with her thumb, and I sucked in a wobbly breath. “The medics will be assessing him for a concussion. But he’s awake. It’s okay, babe. He’s okay.”
The breath rushed from my lungs, and I collapsed into her arms, hugging her and Hannah tight as I fought back the terror of seeing him lifeless on the ice. Keeley rubbed my back, and Hannah gripped my hair, tugging me closer to her.
“Minns and Rune are in the box,” Keeley murmured. “Rune crossed the line and haymakered that bastard, and Minns got a few in too. They love him.”
“I’m so scared,” I whispered, my voice as broken as my heart.
Hannah pressed an open-mouthed kiss to my cheek, and I sobbed, tears spilling down my cheeks.
“Pencer, no cry,” Hannah cooed, and I hugged her tight.
Hannah patted my head, soothing me, and I laughed. “You sweet girl, I adore you.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead.
A door opened ahead, and a person in scrubs with a stethoscope around their neck walked out.
“Caleb,” Keeley called. “Can Spencer see him?”
“In a few minutes. Trisha’s running through the concussion protocol with him. They’re in the quiet room.”
“Thanks.” She turned to me and explained, “The quiet room has low lighting, and it’s insulated from the arena noise. They can only assess him if he’s awake, okay?”
I nodded, and she clasped my hand, leading me further down the corridor into the bowels of the arena. We waited and waited some more. It could have been minutes or hours—I had no idea—before the door in front of us opened, and a woman in scrubs and a doctor’s jacket walked out.
“Oh, Mr. Anderson, I was just on my way to call you. Trisha, the team doctor,” the woman said and held out her hand.
“How is he?” I demanded, skipping over the pleasantries.
“Concussed. A little woozy and headachy from the hit, but he didn’t black out. He remembers it, so that’s good. He's off the ice for what will likely be a week, but it might be two if the headache persists.”
“Okay,” I breathed, the tension draining from me, my adrenaline dropping like a stone.
“You can go in there if you whisper. He’ll be able to go home in a couple of hours, assuming he passes my next assessment. He’ll need someone with him, monitoring him, for the next twenty-four hours. If his symptoms worsen, call 911, then me.”
“If he needs to be monitored, shouldn’t someone be with him?” Keels asked and gestured to the door.
“Patrick is in there.” She smiled reassuringly and clicked on her tablet to make a note.
Keeley turned to me and squeezed my hand. “I’ll look after dinner and meet you back at your apartment.”
Without looking up from her notes, Trisha advised, “Miller can’t eat for at least six hours. Small amounts of water only until then.”
“Okay.” I pulled Keeley into my arms again and kissed her temple, then did the same to Hannah. “You get dinner, and I’ll meet you at our place.”
“Here—” Keeley fished through her bag one-handed and withdrew a pair of sunglasses. “He’ll need these for the corridors and parking lot.”
“Thank you.” I pressed my forehead against hers and centered myself. I’d been spinning out of control, panic destroying my ability to even think straight. But he was okay, or at least would be in a couple of weeks.
I tugged playfully on Hannah’s fluffy pigtail and gave her a smile. Hannah tapped her cheek with her palm. I chuckled and planted a kiss there. “Goodnight, sweet pea.”
***
The only light in the apartment was being cast by the range hood, but, together with the lights from the city, it was enough for us to be able to navigate our way around the room.
We really needed our own place. We might as well have been living out of a suitcase for the past couple of years, even though this apartment was bigger than the studio we’d had in Boston. But the house had to wait. We couldn’t sign anything until Texas was cleared—no strenuous activity or thinking was permitted until then, and that definitely included buying a multimillion-dollar home. Bray was our number one concern for the moment. He’d had paracetamol and was lying on the sofa, his eyes covered by a cold pack. He was wrapped in just his towel, droplets of water from his hair still sitting on his shoulders.
