Page 90 of Cross Check Hearts

“Five minutes left,” I note, glancing at the scoreboard. “If they can just maintain?—”

My words die in my throat as the Coyotes win the face-off and their center immediately breaks away with the puck. The crowd roars as he charges down the ice with surprising speed for someone his size. The Aces defenders scramble to get back in position as he barrels toward our zone.

Declan glides into position at the blue line, his stance powerful and controlled. Even from this distance, I can see the determination in his body language—shoulders set, stick perfectly positioned. It’s what my father calls “defensive presence,” that ability to own your space on the ice.

The Coyotes player shows no sign of slowing down. If anything, he accelerates, clearly planning to either blow past Declan or go right through him.

It happens so fast I can barely process it.

One second, Declan is braced for impact, and the next, there’s a sickening collision as the opposing player slams into him at full speed. The sound echoes through the arena—that horrible crack of bodies and equipment violently connecting.

Declan crashes to the ice with devastating force. His helmet flies off as he goes down, the other player landing on top of him before rolling away.

And then he doesn’t move.

The arena goes silent in an instant. I’m on my feet before I realize what I’m doing, my hands pressed against my mouth and my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. The crowd collectively holds its breath as medical staff rush onto the ice.

“Oh my god,” my mother whispers beside me, but her voice sounds distant and muffled, like I’m underwater.

I can’t tear my eyes away from Declan’s motionless form as the medics kneel beside him. His face is so still, so pale against the white ice. As if I’m trapped in some sort of slow-motion dream, I watch as the medics check his vitals and try to stir him back to consciousness. But it doesn’t work, so they signal to some of the other medics, and a few moments later they’re hoisting him up onto a stretcher.

As the medics carry him toward the tunnel, the only thought pounding through my head is that I need to be with him.Now.

The second they disappear from sight, something snaps inside me. I break out of my trance and burst into motion, racing down the steps as quickly as I can. My mother shouts after me, but I barely hear her. The only thing I care about is closing the distance between me and Declan.

I race through the corridor toward the medical area, my knowledge of the arena’s layout proving invaluable. Being Coach Dunaway’s daughter has its perks—I know exactly which service hallway to cut through to bypass the main security checkpoint. A few staff members glance my way, but nobody stops me. I’ve been wandering these halls since I was a teenager, and tonight, that familiarity is my ally.

Breathless, I slip through a maintenance door that leads directly to the back corridors near the medical room. My heart hammers against my ribs as I round the final corner, praying I’m not too late to see him before they take him to the hospital.

The medical staff is too focused on Declan to notice me hovering in the doorway. I pause, briefly stunned by the sight before me—he looks so vulnerable, so unlike the powerful defenseman who commands the ice. One of Declan’s arms is dangling from the stretcher limply. Tears stream down my cheeks at the sight, making it almost impossible to see, and my throat is so tight that it hurts to breathe—because I can’t help fearing the worst. What if he’s got some kind of traumatic brain injury? Or what if he’s so hurt he can never play again?

I know logically that this wasn’t my fault, but I still can’t help thinking that if I hadn’t been in the crowd, if I hadn’t been distracting him, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe he’d still be out on the ice defending the net for the Aces. But instead, he’s lying here on a stretcher, breathing but unresponsive.

It hits me in a rush with terrifying clarity that this man has become so much more than just a fling to me. I feel like my whole world exists on the stretcher where the paramedics have him laid out.

Despite the dread in my stomach, I step closer, needing to see him. To know he’s okay. The medics finally realize I’m there when I approach, but they don’t try to stop me.

“Is he…?” The words tumble out of my mouth, but I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence. One of the medics smiles sympathetically at me and shakes her head.

“He took a pretty hard hit, but we think he’s going to be okay. We just need to get him checked for any internal bleeding or damage.”

I flinch at the medic’s words because I know that means Declan’s not in the clear yet, but at least my worst fear isn’t going to be coming true tonight. As the medics step back, I extend a trembling, unsteady hand to rest it on his, and just before our fingers touch, his eyes flutter open. It startles me at first, as though somehow my proximity has jarred him back to consciousness.

“Declan?” I breathe out, squeezing his hand. I almost can’t believe his eyes are open after the hit I watched him take. “Are you okay?”

He meets my gaze, his eyes hazy and swimming, and for a second I think he’s not really hearing me. That maybe he’s awake but not fully conscious. But then a smile slowly spreads across his face, and I feel something inside me crack with relief. He squeezes my hand back weakly.

“I am now.”

His voice is rough but unmistakably his, and those three simple words flood my system with relief. I choke back a sob and bring his hand to my mouth to press my lips against it, kissing him like I might never get the chance to do it again. Tears stream down my face as I press my forehead to our joined hands.

“I was so scared,” I whisper against his skin. “When I saw you go down like that?—”

“Hannah?”

The deep voice behind me slices through the air like a blade of ice.

I freeze, my shoulders tensing. I know that voice as well as my own. Slowly, I lift my head, but I don’t let go of Declan’s hand. I can’t. Not now.

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