Page 25 of Pucked Into Position

“Yes!” I scream, jumping to my feet alongside Tucker. My hands slam against the glass, and I catch Ryan looking my way. I can’t see his mouth, but I would bet anything he’s grinning.

A second later, I catch myself and slowly sit back down. A sharp pang of humiliation settles in my stomach. I’m supposed to be angry with him.

I am angry with him.

Yet my body refuses to cooperate. Every nerve is on fire, desperate to be closer to him.

When the opposing team commits a blatant, dirty tripping foul right in front of the net, I find myself leaning against the glass, booing so loudly my throat scrapes. Brenda joins me and when I glance over, Tucker just shakes his head.

I’m still hurt, my heart broken into a million jagged pieces of glass, but watching him play makes me feel like I’m on fire. Every nerve tingles with anticipation and excitement.

The minutes tick down toward the end of the second period. The Lone Stars are locked in a brutal 1-1 tie with the opposing team, and each play grows increasingly aggressive as the players slam into the boards, desperate to make the final play that wins the game.

I watch, holding my breath, hands over my mouth, as Ryan protects the home net from the incoming opposing forward. Then, in a chaotic scramble right in front of the crease, my world flips.

Two of the defensemen get tangled up with the opposing forward at full speed. Like a collapsing wall, the group of players slam directly into Ryan, blindsiding him. His head snaps back and his helmet hits the ice with a sickening crack that echoes over the roar of the crowd. He lands hard, sprawled out on the ice. Not moving.

“Get up. Get up,” I mutter.

He doesn’t.

My heart stops, and my ears ring. No, that’s not right. The ref repeatedly blows the whistle. The area immediately falls dead silent. I can’t think. I’m pressed against the edge of the box, trying to control my breathing. I forget that I’m supposed to be leaving Ryan after this. All I can think about is that he has to be okay.

The world narrows until all I see is Ryan. I watch his chest, but I can’t see if he’s breathing or how injured he is.

The EMTs are on the ice and without thinking I turn and bolt from the family box.

“Lana!” Tucker calls out, but I don’t stop.

I sprint down the corridor, practically throwing myself down the stairs to get to the atrium. My lungs burn as I fly past the security guards, flashing them my family pass. They shout after me, but one of the regulars quickly steps out of the way to let me into the restricted tunnel down to the locker room.

“Thank you!” I manage to huff out as I pass. Blood pounds behind my ears, and my chest aches.

He’ll be okay. He has to be okay. I repeat it over and over like a prayer in my head. I can hear muffled shouting just before I push through the heavy doors into the medical review room.

“I said I’m fine!” Ryan roars loud enough for me to hear, his voice booming off the walls. He’s sitting on the edge of a PT table in his undershirt and pants, his jersey and gear resting on a table behind the doctor. His chest heaves as he angrily shoves one of the medic’s hands away from his face. His hair is wild and damp with sweat, and he looks like he’s ready to murder someone.

“It was barely a hit,” he growls. “Now give me my helmet back so I can get back out there before the third period starts.”

“Ryan, sit down and look at the light,” the team doctor commands. “You took a massive hit to the—”

“I don’t care about the hit! We’re tied, and I’m not sitting out when we’re having the best season of—”

“Ryan.” My voice is small, breathless and ragged from running, but my hunk of a hockey player freezes and gapes at me like he’s just seen an angel.

“Lana?”

The med team takes a step back at the doctor’s instruction, and I take a small step forward. Ryan’s chest heaves, his jaw is tight with fury and adrenaline. But the second he registers that it’s really me, the fire in his hazel eyes dims to a candle flame. His shoulders slump and a look of raw regret flashes across his features. My heart breaks again at the desperation in his face.

I step forward, my sneakers barely making a sound against the rubber floor mats. I completely ignore the coach and medics hovering nearby, focusing only on Ryan. When I’m less than a foot from him, I turn my head toward the doctor.

“Is he okay?” I surprise myself with how steady my voice is despite the terror humming through my veins.

The doctor sighs and runs a hand over his face. “He took a severe blow to the back of his head when he hit the post. His pupils are sluggish, and his balance is off. He clearly has a mild concussion.”

“So he can’t play?” I ask softly.

The doctor’s eyes soften and he shakes his head. “He wants to go back out there, but medically, there is no way I am clearing him to get back on the ice tonight.”