Page 112 of Puck Happens

“Liv, baby, come back to me,” I said gently slapping her cheek gently, all while the rage roared inside me.

“Dillon, back off,” Coach tried to tell me. “We should get a doctor.”

“Don’t you fucking touch her! Nobody fucking touches her. Do you understand me? Who did this?” I shouted at those who had dared to skate closer. “Who put that video on the fucking Jumbotron?”

Liv’s eyes were still closed but she was coughing and trying to breath at the same time. The fall probably knocked the wind out of her. I gathered her in my arms. There was no blood. Arms and legs didn’t look out of position. Her right cheek was red under her eye. She’d fallen on that side of her face, but it didn’t look broken or too swollen.

She’d fainted and it had knocked the wind out of her. That was all.

“Liv,” I whispered to her. “Baby, open your eyes.”

She shook her head in a jerk. “Can’t watch,” she croaked.

“I know, I know. I’m going to get you out of here.”

She was poised to have a meltdown and I knew the last place she would want to do that would be in front of the team and the coaching staff.

“Listen to me,” I said, bending down to her ear. “I have to pick you up.”

“No,” she said, pushing her hand weakly against my chest. “No!”

“I’m going to pick you up and take you off this ice. Liv, you can’t skate on your own.”

She curled up into herself. Right there on the ice in front of me. Tight in the fetal position. I had no idea what was going through her head right now, but it wasn’t good.

“Come on, baby. You know I’m stubborn. We’re going to get you off this ice.”

“You’ll drop me,” she whispered.

I bent down over her, as close to her ear as I could. “I swear on my life I will not drop you, Liv. You trust me. I know you do. Please, Liv. I. Will. Not. Drop. You.”

I must have gotten through, because she didn’t fight me when I slid my arms under her body. Instead she curled into my chest, her arms circling my neck. Just like she’d done that night she’d fallen asleep on the couch.

More careful than I’d ever been in my life, I got up onto my skates and slowly, like my life depended on it, took her off the ice.

Gary had a medical kit in his hand on the home side bench. I waved him off. We were going directly to a hospital to see if she had a concussion.

“Dillon, talk to me. What the hell happened?” Coach McKay was following us to the locker room.

I didn’t bother with an answer. I needed to change into sneakers and get her stuff too. She wasn’t talking now, just had her face pressed into my neck. Her body felt like dead weight and it made me murderous.

I turned before I reached my locker and looked at the coach, who seemed perplexed by the whole thing, rather than angry.

“You find out who did that,” I told him coldly. “Find out whose idea it was to play that video-”

“Dillon, be serious. They only thought it was a joke,” Coach said, cutting me off. “They couldn’t have known how she would have reacted.”

“How did all those kids in the stands like it?”

I saw Coach realize the PR nightmare this little joke had brought his way.

“You find out who did that,” I repeated, as serious as I had ever been in my life. “Or I don’t play tomorrow.”

Coach opened his mouth only to shut it when he saw my expression.

“Now leave us alone. She doesn’t want anyone to see her like this.”

“We’re not done talking,” he said, and left the locker room.

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