Page 122 of One Night Only
Robbie climbs over the boards and onto the ice as the Thunder’s line changes, Happy tearing off directly for the offensive zone in time for the face off.
“Go get ‘em, babe!” Fran screams, jumping up and down.
St. Paul takes the puck, the center, Ben Harris, controlling it and striding back up the ice. My gaze flits to Dallas to see him get lower into position, his head moving in time with the puck.
Robbie comes out of nowhere like a freight train, slamming Ben into the boards with such force the entire Plexiglass wall sways violently. The puck is loose and that same right winger, Benson, apparently, secures it, taking it to the circles, but instead of shooting, he skates around the back of the goal, lining up a shot and slapping it with such force toward the bottom right corner that Dallas has to use his whole body to dive, smothering the puck before it goes in. The immediate roar of the crowd is bone-rattling, drowning out the sound of the referee’s whistle.
As the teams prepare for the face off, Dallas turns and lifts his helmet, squirting water into his mouth, when suddenly, he’s checked from behind by the Lions’ center, knocking him off his feet. He falls forward and smashes his head into the crossbar with such force, his whole body goes limp and he tumbles to the ice like a sack of bricks.
I jump up along with everyone else, but instead of anger and rage like those around me, my heart is in the back of my throat, darkness clouding my vision as I stare at Dallas’s body just lying there as all hell breaks loose around him, every single player on the ice colliding into a flurry of pushing and shoving and flying fists.
“Shit, Robbie,stop!” Fran screams.
It’s only then that I tear my eyes away from Dallas long enough to see Robbie with the Lions’ center pinned up against the boards, laying into him with punch after relentless punch, each hit harder than the last as he pummels into him, while the referees try to pull him off, the linesmen dealing with at least three other brawls. And yes, it’s shocking and scary, but my mind is still focused on Dallas because… he’s still lying there.
As if the officials are also now just noticing that Dallas is still down, a few men run out onto the ice, pushing their way through the fights, skidding to a stop and crowding aroundDallas, and I watch on, not even breathing. The fights come to abrupt stops one by one as does the screaming in the crowd, until it’s suddenly so silent that the only thing I can hear is my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Ben Harris sags to the ice and Robbie shakes off the referee, shoving his way through the throng of players standing around to get closer to check on Dallas.
A game official waves a hand in the air, and seconds later, men are running out onto the ice carrying a stretcher, securing the area and ordering everyone away as they carefully move Dallas’s body.
“Shit,” Andy mutters beside me, and from the corner of my eye I see him start to text frantically on his cell.
As Dallas is carried off, the sound of stick blades hitting the ice accompanied by the growing applause of the crowd is almost overwhelming.
“Babe?”
Feeling a hand on my arm, I turn to see Fran’s face fraught with panic, her eyes wide and red-rimmed as she stares at me. “Go,” she whispers. “You need to be down there with him.”
She’s right. Of course, she is. I do need to be down there. Dallas is hurt. Maybe even worse. He needs me. I… I glance around at everyone, everything, fully aware of Andy still standing there texting on his phone. But this is big. Bigger than me. Bigger than Andy. Bigger than my job and that stupid employee contract I signed. Dallas needsme.
Grabbing my coat from the back of my chair, I turn and step around Andy.
“You okay?” He stops me.
Breathless, I stare up at him. Hesitating, I’m at a loss for words. So I say nothing, pushing past him and running up the stairs with everything that I have.
Please, please let him be okay.
CHAPTER 51
EMILY
By the time I finally convince security to let me down into the tunnel and make it to the treatment room, Dallas is awake and alert enough to tell the officials that I’m not some deranged fan, and am, in fact, his girlfriend like I tried to tell them.
They let me in, and I pause in the doorway to find Dallas lying on the gurney, still fully geared up but with a brace secured around his neck. Tears burn my eyes as I watch on, seeing him there so still, so unlike himself, while a team of people stand around him, talking quietly between themselves. My heart breaks.
“C’mere, Goldie,” Dallas croaks, and I see his fingers waggle. “I need to see my girl.”
Sniffling, I swallow the lump of emotion that threatens me like a lead weight at the back of my throat, carefully stepping between two men, moving next to Dallas. But when I see his face, I can’t help but gasp.
His nose is undoubtedly broken, a bloody gash split straight across the bridge, both eyes already blackening, and there’s blood trickling out of his mouth, soaking through a wad of padding.
I gently envelope his hand, leaning in as close as I can without touching him or knocking his body in any way, and when his eyes meet mine and I see the hint of dimples burrowing into his cheeks and that slightly cocky smirk of his, the tears I’d been trying to hold in spill over and onto my cheeks.
“Hey, come on now,” he whispers, squeezing my hand. “No tears, baby.”
Swiping at my cheeks, I look down over his body. “Are you… okay?”
