Page 86 of Hockey Wife

The medics were in there now, and people were stepping aside into the aisle to make room, which gave him his first unobstructed view. Her hand was at her forehead and the unmistakable, oily hue of blood was staining her fingers.

Someone nudged him from behind. O’Malley. “Is that Georgia?”

Keep her name out of your mouth.

The medics would take her somewhere and get her checked out.

Bleeding. Maybe blinded.

She was standing. That had to be a good sign. And then the crowd groaned again because Georgia had lost her footing, or perhaps fainted, and she was half-carried out of the row and into the aisle. The usual hockey stick taps from the players accompanied her exit, with the crowd clapping to encourage a quick recovery.

Back to hockey, people!

Fuck that. With a desperate pivot, he skated back to the boards and hopped over.

Coach eyed him. “Shift’s not over, Banks.”

“Is for me.”

Coach looked flummoxed.

“That’s his wife who got hurt, Coach.” O’Malley was at his shoulder to explain.

Coach opened his mouth, whether to give or deny permission, Banks had no idea. He was already heading to the tunnel.

Georgia did not consider herself accident-prone. Sure, she’d landed in hot water plenty of times but that was usually engineered by her own hands.

And then she met Dylan Bankowski.

Within hours of knowing him, she was married.

Within days of knowing him, she should have been divorced.

Within months of knowing him, she was embedded in this drawing room farce, playacting at husband and wife.

Now she was holding a lump of gauze to her forehead, surrounded by several people who were probably very concerned about litigation.

“I’m so sorry about this,” she said to April. “You should go back to your seats.”

April barked out a nervy laugh. “Like we could leave you alone!”

“Dylan would kill us if we did,” Sandy added, which didn’t make Georgia feel better.

She had been cheering Banks’s goal like everyone else and had just stood when she felt like she’d been shot. Instinctively she’d touched her stinging forehead, only to find wetness. With her hand covered in blood, she sank to her seat, and then all hell broke loose.

Georgia, is it your eye? Did it break your nose? Why aren’t you speaking, crying, howling?

Shocked into silence, she’d spent the next minute protecting her eyes from the dripping blood. There were so many people, and she could barely breathe with all the attention. By the time the medics arrived, the adrenaline was starting to wear off and dizziness was setting in.

“Where are Connie and Trish?”

“We told them to stay put so as not to overwhelm you,” Sandy said. “We’re keeping them updated. Or we would, if we could get some medical assistance!”

On cue, someone entered with an authoritative air and now proceeded to examine her more closely.

“Georgia, is it?”

“That’s right.”

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