Page 279 of Breaking the Pucking Rules
She hits the ice hard, her head taking most of it, and my blood runs cold.
I’m moving before I even realize, jumping the boards and racing toward her lifeless body with my heart lodged in my throat.
There’s a flurry of movement behind me, but I don’t register any of it as I drop to my knees beside her.
“Sutton, Sutton? Are you okay?”
Despite desperately wanting to touch her, to pull her to me and hold her, I don’t. I know I can’t. It fucking kills me.
But not as much as her lack of reaction to my words.
Her eyes are closed, her face pale.
Oh my god.
“Call 911. Please, someone, call?—”
“It’s okay,” someone says from behind me, and when I look back, two EMTs are racing across the ice. “We’ll take over from here.”
Unable to do anything else, I take a step back.
My body trembles as I watch them check her vitals.
Despite her pads, she looks so tiny, so vulnerable.
That’s Kodie’s baby girl.
He’s never going to forgive you.
A sob rips from my throat, my hand coming up to cover my mouth in a pathetic attempt to smother it.
The EMTs speak to each other before one lifts a walkie-talkie from his shirt and then speaks into it. I don’t hear a word. I just watch in horror, praying that she’ll open her eyes.
But she never does.
I glance over my shoulder, finding that Megan and the parents who traveled to this game are comforting the others, trying to keep them distracted, but their wretched expressions are clear from here.
“We’re going to take her in,” the EMT says, dragging myattention back to where he’s sitting alone beside Sutton. “Are you?—”
“Her coach. I’m her coach. I’m coming with you,” I say before he has a chance to continue. “I’ll call her father; he’ll meet us there,” I say, but as I do, reality settles. He’s on a plane right now, flying home from last night’s game.
“What’s going on?” Aurora’s mom says, having left her daughter with the rest of the team to join us.
Her face is pale; her eyes wide.
She brought Sutton to this game, along with Aurora and Mila.
I close my eyes briefly, thinking of the times I’d carpool with teammates for road games. The drive home with friends after a win was such a high. Being together also made the losses sweeter.
None of these girls are going to experience that today, though. Not having witnessed this.
“They’re taking her in,” I say, my voice weak. “She’s still unconscious.” My eyes drop where she’s still lying on the ice.
I want to help. I want to make it better. I want…I want everything I can’t fucking do.
“She’ll be okay,” Aurora’s mom says, her eyes also focused on Sutton’s motionless body.
God, I hope she’s right.
