Page 13 of The Cutting Edge
“Is she okay, Daddy?” asks Poppy, her eyes wide with concern.
“She’s not feeling good today, Poppy. That’s why we’re helping her and checking to make sure she’s okay.”
“Are we going to check to make sure Miss Coco’s okay too? Because she has a big bandaid on her head. And remember, it was your fault.”
“Yes,” I say. “I remember.” It will be tattooed on my brain for as long as I live.
“Don’t feel bad, Daddy. Miss Coco won't be mad at you because it was an accident.”
“I hope not, sweetie.” I shift my weight to get a better hold on Mrs. Markham, who looks so feeble and fragile that I fear I might break her. “Poppy, please unbuckle your car seat. Rosie is going to take you home so I can get Mrs. Markham settled in.”
“And after you’re done checking on Mrs. Markham, you’ll check on Miss Coco, right?”
“I’m so worried about her too,” a wan-looking Ms. Markham adds.
I pause, unsure of how to respond. Finally, I take a breath and give the answer we all want me to give.
“Yes, I’ll go check on Coco.”
Chapter four
Logan
9:15isprobablytoolate to visit the hospital, but I promised my kid that I would, and if I’m being completely honest with myself, I really want to see how Coco is doing too.
Especially because I’ve sent her half a dozen texts and she hasn’t responded to a single one. This does not seem like a good sign, especially given how worried she was about Mrs. Markham.
I feel sick to my stomach with worry – she could be seriously injured. And then it hits me like a bag of pucks – she probably doesn’t have her phone with her. For fuck’s sake, they brought her to the ER still wearing her figure skates and that cute little pink skating dress. She’s probably freaking out. I know I would if someone I cared about was sick and I didn’t have any way to find out what was going on.
On a whim, I cut across two lanes of traffic and turn left at the next intersection. If her phone isn’t with her, it’s probably still at the rink. With her shoes.
The rink is only another ten minutes away, but even if I haul ass, it will probably be closer to ten before I can get back to the hospital. They probably won’t even let me see her. Maybe they’ll let me leave her stuff. Or maybe Alexis is still on duty and she’ll sneak me in. I feel a twinge of guilt after I shut her down earlier, but I’d take the hit if it meant I’d have the chance to see Coco tonight, to make sure she’s okay.
I pull right up to the front doors of the rink. It’s late and closed for all but the team, so the parking lot is basically deserted. Mashing my key card against the reader, I yank the door open and head up to the team’s practice rink first. If I can’t find her phone there, I’ll check the figure skating rink.
I wave to Marv, our Zamboni driver, who’s out resurfacing the ice, and normally I’d be dying to take a few laps when he finished – but tonight I’m focused on finding Coco’s stuff and getting back to the hospital as fast as possible.
The first place I look is where Coco and Poppy were standing when the puck hit her. My heart suddenly tightens like it’s being crushed by a vice grip when it hits me again that it could have been Poppy in the ER tonight. Or worse. A hundred-and-three-mile puck could have killed Poppy.It could have killed Coco.My chest pounds as I contemplate the worst – I mean, the rink area is off-limits during practice to avoid exactly this kind of scenario… but it was my fault that either of them was even there in the first place.
Sweet Jesus. My chest tightens like it’s caught in a vice grip. I can’t… I can’t even contemplate.
Scanning the area for anything out of place, I spot a dark bag shoved under a bench. Picking it up, I unzip it to find about two dozen protein bars, some water, and a big bag of almonds. And a jock strap.
So…probably not Coco’s.Some of my teammates are kinda gross. I know,shockingfrom a group of guys.
There’s nothing else out of place, but just in case, I call Coco’s number. I don’t hear any ringing or buzzing. Shit. I watched the paramedics put her into the ambulance, so I’m 99% sure she didn’t have a purse or skate bag with her when they took her to the ER. That leaves somewhere inside the figure skating rink.
If it’s not there, I can always call the fire department and ask if they have a lost and found.
I jog over to Coco’s rink, wondering along the way who I could call at this time of night to let me in if the door is locked. Marv probably has access; I’m pretty sure he Zambonis all the rinks in the facility.
Luck is with me, and the door to Coco’s rink is still open.
I head over to the ladies’ locker room first, which is dark until I flip on the lights, but all the lockers are either empty or locked. Hopefully, Coco’s stuff isn’t inside one of them. I try dialing her number a couple of times to check for ringing or buzzing but I don’t hear anything. Heading out to the ice, I glance over where Coco and the kids usually sit at pick-up time after class and spot a navy blue skate bag with the Olympic logo emblazoned tastefully on the side. The real deal, not some souvenir picked up at the Olympic Village gift shop.
She’s an Olympian? That’s pretty cool. I had no idea.
Calling Coco’s number once more, I can hear the stifled ringing coming from inside the bag. Jackpot.
