Page 233 of Faking the Goal

She gives a soft little laugh against my chest, but it turns into a quiet whimper.

I pull back immediately, my hands settling gently on her shoulders as I search her face. "What hurts?"

"My side." She winces slightly. "Your very sweet, very panicked hug just reminded me that I apparently lost a fight with several stairs."

"Shit. I'm sorry."

I loosen my hands like even touching her too firmly might hurt her again, then brush the hair away from her forehead instead. My thumb lingers near her temple while I look her over once more, needing to convince myself that she's really here in front of me.

"I'm okay," she says more softly.

I want to believe her. I fucking do. But twenty minutes ago I was sitting in a study room at the library when she called and told me she'd fallen down the stairs and was being taken to the emergency room, and I swear every organ in my body stopped functioning at once. My heart didn't just drop. It felt like somebody reached into my chest, ripped the fucking thing out, and left me to drive here without it.

I take her hand and keep it in mine as I turn toward the doctor. "Can you tell me what condition she's actually in?"

The doctor gives me a calm nod. "So far, she's stable. Her vital signs are normal, she's alert and neurologically intact, and there's nothing on the initial exam that suggests a serious head or neck injury."

My grip tightens around Taylor's hand.

"Her biggest complaints are the right ankle and pain along her left side where she hit the stairs," he continues. "The ankle is swollen and tender, so we've ordered X-rays to make sure there isn't a fracture. Right now it could be a moderate sprain, but I don't want to call it that until we see the films."

I glance down at her wrapped ankle before looking back at him. "And her ribs?"

"She has tenderness along the lower ribs and some bruising starting to develop. Her breathing sounds clear, her oxygen level is normal, and she isn't showing signs of respiratory distress, which are all reassuring. We're still going to get imaging because of the fall and the amount of pain she's having. Most likely we're dealing with bruised ribs or a soft-tissue injury, but again, we need the X-rays before we can rule out a fracture."

"Anything internal?"

"Nothing on her exam right now is making me seriously concerned about internal bleeding. Her abdomen is soft, her blood pressure is good, and she isn't showing any of the symptoms we'd expect with that kind of injury. But she just got here, so we'll keep reassessing her while we wait for the imaging. If anything changes or we find something concerning, we'll order additional testing."

Some of the pressure inside my chest finally eases.

Not completely. Probably not until somebody tells me every scan is clean and I'm taking her home myself.

But enough that I can breathe.

I look back at Taylor and find her watching me.

"See?" she murmurs, squeezing my fingers. "Still alive."

I lift our joined hands and press my lips against her knuckles before I even think about doing it.

"Don't joke about that right now, trouble."

Her expression changes immediately, the teasing softening when she hears something in my voice that I can't hide.

I brush my thumb slowly across the back of her hand. "You scared the fucking life out of me."

This time she doesn't joke. She just curls her fingers more tightly around mine and lets me stay there beside her. And until somebody tells me she can leave this hospital, that is exactly where I'm staying.

Nearly four hours after I walked into the emergency room convinced Taylor had somehow managed to take ten years off my life with a single phone call, I carry her through the hockey house and upstairs to my room.

She has one arm looped around my neck, her injured ankle secured inside the walking boot they gave her before discharge, while the crutches the nurse insisted she use are tucked beneath my other arm. Taylor complained the entire way from the hospital that she was perfectly capable of using them herself.

I ignored her.

I continue ignoring her now when she sighs dramatically against my shoulder. "Ken-chan, you know the crutches weren't decorative, right?"

"I know."