Page 59 of He Has Pluck

He’s bleeding profusely from a deep cut on his forearm. When I see a bone exposed, I almost lose it, but I take my shirt and press it on the cut to try and stop the bleeding as I yell for medical help. The trainer, Vicky, and the team physician, Dr. Alvarez, rush out onto the ice, heading straight for us. There’s a crowd around us; Rafe and Finn crouch down next to me to help. A couple of guys skate out from the bench.

“We don’t have time to wait for a stretcher,” Doc says. “Let’s get him to the training room and get the blood under control.”

I nod, and with Finn and Rafe, we lift him as the doc holds onto me, following and holding the shirt tightly wrapped around his arm.

“Fuck. I’m going to puke.” It’s all O’Rourke says, and Vicky puts a towel under his chin.

“Go for it,” she says. He pukes as we get close to the gate, and I swear under my breath, hoping to hell it wasn’t on camera. Shit. Who cares about the camera?

But I look up. The game is stopped, and the crowd is quieter than I’ve ever heard it, only an ominous buzz sounds. Juliette is there at the gate, filming it all, including my tears.

We step over the threshold from the ice and hit the rubber. Blood still drips, seeping through the jersey, my jersey. She follows us with the camera, and I focus my attention on O’Rourke. Although I’m aware of her and her camera, I put her aside.

Where she should have been all along.

We rush toward the locker room and get him on the training table.

Dr. Alvarez attends to him with Vicky’s assistance, and they seem to have stopped the bleeding. I’m too shaky to watch closely. Chelsea O’Rourke, his wife, comes into the room, escorted by Delaney, tears on her face, looking pale, and I go to her.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, and I don’t know what else to add.

She looks past me and goes to her husband. She holds his hand and watches him lying on the table, pale and his energy dipping from blood loss.

She whispers something into O’Rourke’s ear, and he says something about not being able to hug her. “You didn’t see the new guy do that karate kick? I think he forgot he had skates on.” He gives me a pained grin.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” I say, not caring that my voice breaks. “I lost my balance. I should have—”

“Don’t be crazy. It’s not your fault. It’s hockey. We play with sharp blades every day.” He closes his eyes.

I’ve stopped my tears, and I hope to hell no one noticed them. Except Juliette. I know she noticed.

“Take it easy, O’Rourke,” Doc Alvarez says. “Save your energy.” He turns to me and says, “You did a creditable job acting fast to stem the blood loss. Accidents happen, but your reaction was admirable.”

“The ambulance is in the shipping bay,” the equipment manager yells into the room, and we move. Two EMTs rush in with a gurney and some blood bags on wheels.

They move in, and Juliette, Finn, Chelsea and I back out of the way as they do their thing. I stop watching and hold onto Chelsea on one side, and Juliette has her other side. As soon as the gurney moves, I follow it with Chelsea and Coach to the ambulance, and I help Chelsea inside.

“Tell Rafe for me,” Chelsea grips my arm, “tell him to go to my house and get my kids and bring them to his house for the night. Can you do that?”

“I’ll tell him.”

Then she takes my hand and says, “It wasn’t your fault. It’s the game. You’re playing the game with abandon, and sometimes, people get hurt.” Her words penetrate deep like a punch in my gut because I’m not thinking of the game of hockey and her husband anymore because I’m a selfish bastard. I’m thinking of people getting hurt differently when we play games with abandon. Hockey and other games, like games of obsession and seduction, fooling with the heart and cupid’s slings and arrows, and how they can maim a guy if he’s not careful.

As they close the ambulance door, I stand and watch with Coach for a minute, and I acknowledge with a groan from deep inside me that I’ve been anything but careful since I got here.

And a month later, I’m paying the price with blood on my hands and a guilty conscience burning a hole in my chest.

Coach puts a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get back to the game, son. You need to put this behind you for now, and we need to win this game.” We walk back inside through the garage and the equipment bay, and I see Juliette and hear her on her phone talking to Ruminski. She speaks in a low voice, but I listen hard as we walk past her.

“I don’t know if we can get a camera in the hospital,” she says. She pauses and frowns and I stop. Coach keeps going.

“Go get a clean shirt, Tansem and I’ll see you on the bench,” he says. Instead of heading directly for the locker room, I head directly for Juliette and corner her against the wall as she frowns into her phone.

“You are not filming at the hospital,” I say through gritted teeth, trying to keep my wounded heart from falling apart. Does she understand what a betrayal that would feel like? Does she have so little respect for our humanity?

She covers the phone and gives me a fierce look.

“Why not? Because you said so? What if my boss tells me I bring my camera to the hospital or I’m fired? You expect me to give up my career so I don’t offend your sensitive ass, hockey boy?” Her voice shakes and I see the emotion, hear it. Fuck, I feel it down to my toes.