Page 110 of What if It's Us

I round on the girls following behind. “Why didn’t you call me?” I ask them, my heart hammering in my chest. “Why didn’t you do something? Anything!”

“Ledger—” Marlee starts but Layken interrupts her.

“Ledger, I promise, I called it as soon as she doubled over. I got help immediately. She said she had a stomachache earlier today and then she started having these stabbing pains.”

“It really could be nothing,” Corrigan reports. “Could be gas, or a little indigestion.”

“Or…?” I stare at her, waiting for the worst possible scenario. “Or?”

She gives me a sympathetic glance and releases her breath. “Or it could be a lot of things. Some not so concerning and some are a little more serious. We really won’t know until we get her into the ER and have a better look.”

“I didn’t want to worry you…” Marlee murmurs. “I don’t want you to get into any trouble. Ledger, you’re still wearing your skates. What did you do, fly off the ice?”

Too late babe. I’m already panicking and fuck yeah, I flew off the ice.

As fast as I fucking could.

I lean forward and kiss her forehead, whispering fiercely, “I’m coming with you, Mar. I don’t care if it costs me the whole damn season.”

Her saddened eyes fill with tears and my chest tightens.

“Ledge…”

“I love you, Marlee Remington.” My words are sincere but urgent.

I love her.

I love her so damn much it’s killing me inside that I can’t free her of her pain. “There’s nowhere else I want to be except right here with you.”

The paramedics hasten their speed and I stay right with them, hand still clasped in hers as they roll her toward the exit.

When we pass the tunnel entrance, I hear a voice from the ice behind us.

“Dayne! She okay?” I don’t even have to turn my head to know it’s Griffin calling out to me.

Right.

Game must be over now.

Did we win?

I don’t even fucking care.

“Don’t know Griff.” I can feel the quiver of my voice and pretend to clear my throat to cover up my fear before I tell him, “I’ll let you know. On our way out.”

“You get her there safely, man! We love you Mar.”

As we approach the exit, I lift my head just in time to lock eyes with Coach. For just a moment, my asshole puckers and I fear he might read me the riot act about leaving the ice in the middle of the game, but to my surprise he doesn’t.

He nods and simply says, “Take care of your family, Ledger.”

“I will, sir.”

I don’t thank him.

And I don’t look back as we head out the door and into the ambulance.

Because I don’t give two shits about hockey right now.

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