Page 96 of Check & Chase
“Watch the language, Donovan,” Emma scolds. “His brain is bruised.”
“Pretty sure Mitchell’s vocabulary was ninety percent profanity even before he cracked his skull.” Donovan dumps the gifts on the bedside table: balloons, a stuffed bear wearing a tiny Bears jersey, magazines, andseveral bags of contraband candy. “From the team. Everyone sends their best.”
“How bad was it?” I ask. “After I went down?”
Donovan exchanges a glance with Emma. “Game was delayed about twenty minutes while they got you off the ice and cleaned up the, uh…” He gestures vaguely toward my head.
“Blood. You can say it.”
“There was a lot of it.” Something dark passes across his face. “Thought you were dead for a minute there, man. We all did.”
I remember nothing after the impact.
“What happened with the game?”
“We won.” A grim smile touches Donovan’s mouth. “Tyler got ejected. Five-minute major plus a game misconduct for targeting. League’s reviewing it for a suspension.”
“Good,” I spit, then wince at fresh pain shooting through my head.
“Easy,” Emma murmurs, her cool hand coming to rest on my forearm. “Blood pressure.”
Donovan watches the exchange with interest. “You’ve had quite the fan club in the waiting room. Coach, management, half the team. Your parents are flying in tomorrow.”
“You called my parents?” Panic spikes through me. “They’re supposed to be on vacation.”
“Almost dying trumps a European river cruise, Mitchell.” Donovan shrugs. “Besides, your mom would’ve murdered me if I didn’t tell her.”
He’s right, but the thought of my mother seeing me like this, broken, bloodied, my career potentially derailed, makes my stomach clench.
“Oh, and get this.” Donovan leans forward, voice dropping. “Jackson Anderson came by yesterday. Captain of the Wolves, checking on a Bear. Nearly caused a riot in the waiting room.”
I glance at Emma, whose cheeks color slightly. “Did he now?”
“He said he wanted to thank you personally. Something about saving him from a dirty hit?”
“Tyler was targeting him.” The memory flashes again—the angle of West’s approach, Jackson’s vulnerability with his head turned. “Blindside hit to the head. Would’ve been ugly.”
Emma makes a small sound, and when I look at her, the gratitude in her eyes steals my breath.
“Well, you’re the talk of both locker rooms,” Donovan reports. “Bears think you’re a hero. Wolves can’t decide if they should hate you less or more.”
“I wasn’t thinking about jerseys.” I reach for Emma’s hand without thinking, interlacing our fingers. “Just didn’t want him hurt.”
Donovan’s gaze drops to our joined hands. “Right. Well, I should get going. Practice in an hour.” He backs toward the door. “Glad you’re not dead, Mitchell. Try to stay that way.”
After he leaves, silence settles between us again, but it’s different now. Intimate rather than awkward.
“Your brother really came to see me?” I ask.
Emma nods, her thumb absently stroking the back of my hand. “Yesterday morning. You were still pretty out of it, but he wanted to be here anyway.”
“Huh. Didn’t see that coming.”
“You saved him from a potentially career-ending hit. Even Jackson can put aside rivalry for that.”
A memory surfaces, hazy and dreamlike.
Emma’s voice whispering in my ear as I was being loaded into an ambulance.“I love you, you reckless idiot. Don’t you dare leave me now.”
