Page 116 of Cross Check Hearts

I grab my purse with shaking hands, mumbling apologies as I squeeze past the other spectators in my row. Just a few more steps to the exit. I can make it.

I just need to lie down or go somewhere a bit quieter for a while, maybe in the family and friends lounge or something. But as I reach the end of the row and start to head up the stairs, the world tilts alarmingly. The voices of the crowd around me start to sound distant, as if they’re all underwater.

Someone nearby asks if I’m okay, but I can’t find the words to respond.

And as I start to lift my foot to take the next step, everything goes white.

Chapter49

Declan

A sudden instinctual awareness pulls my attention away from the ice, and my eyes dart out to the crowd where I last saw Hannah sitting.

She isn’t there.

My heart pounds at the realization, and my eyes scan the crowd looking for the familiar cascade of her dark hair. I spot her gripping the handrailing by the stairs on her way out of the arena. My heart clenches at the thought that I won’t get the chance to talk to her after the game, but I’m not surprised. Not after the way she ended things at her place. I’ve been distracted all night knowing she’s here, and it can’t be easy for her either to sit and watch me play.

I’m about to shift my focus back to the ice, when Hannah suddenly sways, like a reed drifting in water. Before I can even process what’s happening, she crumples, collapsing onto the concrete steps like a marionette with cut strings.

My heart lurches in my chest as a gasp rises up from the crowd around her.

We still have an entire period to play, but I don’t give a damn. I don’t hesitate. I just drop my stick to the ice and bolt into the stands, pushing past fans and leaping over seats, desperate to get to her as quickly as I can.

When I finally reach her side, she’s sprawled out on her stomach across the concrete stairs, totally unconscious and unresponsive.

“Hannah? Hannah!” I try to rouse her, gently turning her onto her back and brushing the hair from her face, but she doesn’t move, making my gut twist with fear. Footsteps thunder up the stairs behind me, and I whirl to find Coach Dunaway making a beeline for us, his face white and taut with fear.

Hannah mumbles and stirs, and I whip my head back around to look down at her, but she’s already out again. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but she needs to see a doctor immediately.

“We have to get her to the hospital,” I tell Dunaway as he kneels beside me. “She’s not waking up.”

He stares at Hannah, his expression torn. A coach can’t just leave mid-game, no matter what—we both know the rules. His eyes flick back to the ice where the rest of the team is watching, then back to his daughter, and I can see that he’s just as worried about her as I am.

“You finish the game,” I say quickly. “I’ve got this. Find an alternate for me. I’ll go with Hannah to the hospital.”

Dunaway hesitates, his eyes flicking up to meet mine. Something in my expression must convince him, because he gives a short nod, still looking pained at the idea of letting her out of his sight.

“Go. Keep me updated.”

“She won’t be alone for a second,” I tell him, “I promise.”

He nods again, and in a matter of seconds, a team of medics swarm us. The last thing I want to do is let Hannah go, because I don’t trust anyone to take care of her as fiercely as I would, but one of the medics rests a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“I know you’re worried, but we need to do our jobs. We’ll be gentle, I promise,” he says. Reluctantly, I pass her over to him, and he instantly starts checking Hannah’s pulse and other vitals. I kick off my skates without taking my eyes off the woman slumped in his arms, leaving them and my helmet right there on the stairs. The gear doesn’t matter—only she does.

“I’m riding with her,” I tell the lead medic as he and the other EMT load her onto a stretcher, my tone making it clear this isn’t up for discussion.

He gives me a slightly shocked once-over—still in my jersey and pads—but then he nods. “Alright. Let’s go.”

The medics lift Hannah carefully and begin carrying her away. I stay right beside her, taking her hand in mine and giving it a squeeze so she at least knows someone who cares about her is here, even if she isn’t conscious of it.

“I’m right here, hummingbird,” I murmur, my voice low. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I’m vaguely aware of the announcer’s voice saying something over the PA as we rush out of the arena, but the words don’t register. Once we’re outside, I help them load Hannah up into the back of the ambulance that’s already parked and waiting for us. All of them know better than to try to stop me from riding with her—and I don’t think they could hold me back if they tried.

When they’ve finished getting her situated and her gurney locked in place so it won’t move on the drive, I take her hand in both of mine again and sink down onto the bench built into the wall beside her.

My eyes burn as I look at her pale, wan face, her eyes closed as if she’s in a deep sleep. Her skin is pale, but she’s still breathing regularly, and the machines the medics hooked her up to are showing a steady, regular heartbeat.

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