Page 73 of Chasing The Goal
Darren drove like he was auditioning forFast & Furious, weaving through traffic, horn blaring, cursing at every red light.
“Hang in there, Mal,” he kept saying, glancing at her in the rearview. “We’re almost there.”
Mallory was curled against me, one hand on her belly, the other clenched in my sweatshirt. I had my arm around her shoulders, trying to steady her and failing. She was sweating. Shivering. Eyes closed. Breathing slow and shallow.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled once. Barely audible.
“You’re not,” I whispered back, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “But you’re going to be.”
The ER loomed ahead—bright, too sterile, too real. Connor jumped out before the car stopped moving, throwing open the door while I helped Mallory out, careful not to jostle her.
She barely made it two steps before a nurse appeared with a wheelchair, and then it was lights, questions, noise.
Everything felt loud.
Her hand was still in mine when they wheeled her into triage.
“Is this your husband?” the intake nurse asked as she started slapping a blood pressure cuff on Mal’s arm.
Mallory’s head lolled toward me. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Fiancé.”
My breath caught.
Thenurse nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world and moved on, but my heart hadn’t stopped pounding since we left the rink. I kept waiting for someone to tell me to leave, to get out of the way, but no one did.
Because I wasn’t her teammate or a friend or just some guy.
I was her fiancé.
At least for now.
They moved fast—blood draw, fetal monitors, vitals. Her blood pressure was low, the nurse said. She was dehydrated. They hooked her to an IV and adjusted the bed so her legs were slightly elevated. Mallory didn’t complain. She didn’t even flinch. She just lay there, staring at the ceiling like she was watching a movie she couldn’t pause.
“You scared me,” I said quietly once we were alone in the room.
She didn’t answer.
I sat beside her bed, fingers still wrapped around hers. “You always tell everyone to stay hydrated. You carry a water bottle the size of a fire extinguisher. What happened?”
“I didn’t drink enough,” she mumbled.
“No shit.”
Her lips curved just barely. “Don’t get sassy. I’m still fragile.”
“Mallory,” I said, softer now. “Seriously. Are you okay?”
She didn’t answer right away.
“I didn’t want to make a thing out of it,” she whispered. “It’s always something lately. I didn’t want to add more.”
“You passed out.”
“I didn’t—”
“Youalmostpassed out,” I corrected, leaning in. “That’s not nothing. That’s not drama. That’s your body asking for help.”
She looked away. “I’m supposed to be stronger than this.”
