Page 108 of Bombshells
“Did I, though?” A wave of despair passes through me. The reality of what’s just happened to me is finally starting to sink in. “If they put me on an extended concussion protocol, they’ll need another goalie.”
“That could happen,” he agrees gently.
“If they love that other goalie, then I’m out, Dad. There’s no budget for a third goalie. I’ll be back in Ontario wondering what happened.”
“Oh, honey. I hope that doesn’t happen. But it’s too soon to worry about that.”
It isn’t, though. “There are no guarantees in hockey,” I mumble. It’s something he tells his players all the time.
“True.” He lets out a sigh. “Let’s just wait and see.”
That’s what a father says when he doesn’t want you to panic. But pro sports waits for no man. Or woman. Injuries disrupt careers all the time.
I can’t believe that skater was so careless as to slash me like that.
I can’t believe I have a gash so impressive that I bled all over the rink. And I may have a concussion.
And I really can’t believe that I might have just played my last game for Brooklyn. It was a shutout, and I didn’t even get to finish it.
That last thing stings the worst. And that’s saying something, coming from a girl with a lot of new stitches in her body.
And then there’s the idea so terrible that I almost can’t think about it. If I get cut from the team, I’ll have to go home. I won’t have a work visa anymore.
Anton will be here in Brooklyn. And I’ll be in Ontario, alone.
My eyes burn behind the mask. “When can we get out of here, Daddy?”
“Soon, pumpkin. Bryce is blowing up my phone with questions. What am I allowed to tell him?”
“Whatever. I don’t care,” I grumble. My phone is probably blowing up, too. My teammates will be worried.
And Anton, too. Even if he won’t say so, I believe in my heart that man cares about me.
“Hey now,” my dad whispers. “What’s the matter? You don’t know how long you’ll be on the bench. And it’s not like you to panic.”
“I’m not ready to be done,” I croak.
“With hockey?”
“With Brooklyn. There’s a guy.”
My dad laughs. “Ah. So how come I don’t know about this yet?”
“I…” Love him. “I really like him. But I don’t know if it’s mutual.”
“We’re not talking about Bryce, are we? I didn’t get that vibe this week.”
“Nope. He and I are just friends. But I have a type, I suppose. Hockey players with commitment issues.”
“Oh honey. I’m sorry. There are a lot of those, though. So which one is this?”
“It’s one of Bryce’s teammates.”
“Is that awkward?”
“He thinks so. Or maybe it’s just an excuse. I guess I’m going to find out soon enough.”
And I must be correct, because the door swings open, and another doctor enters the room. “Hello, Miss Hansen. Let’s take a look at that head of yours. I’ll need you to answer a few questions.”
