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She pressed a hand to her chest, anything to hold in the heart catching at the sight of him. The moment his blades connected with the ice, he was off, scrambling for the puck and making things happen. Twice he made an assist that almost resulted in a goal, once he almost lit the lamp himself only to be foiled by the New York tender. And that was just in his first two shifts. Her man was on fire tonight.
Her man? Oh, that would not do.
By the end of the first period, the Rebels were up by two goals, one from Levi Hunt, the other from Cal Foreman, both of them with assists from Dex.
That all changed in the second period. Dex was on a breakaway, seemingly in the clear, when the New York goalie came out to cut the angle of approach. But Dex didn’t stop, and the two of them crashed into each other.
The goaltender was up in a second. Dex, on the other hand, remained flat on the ice without his helmet. Somehow, it had come off in the clash and Dex was out cold.
Ashley’s heart shot into her throat. Get up. Please get up.
“He’s going to be okay, Mom, isn’t he?”
“I’m sure he will be, honey.”
“O’Malley appears to be unconscious. The medics are on hand … and there he is. Awake and moving.”
Ashley’s heart was still clattering wildly. “See? He’s fine.” But she wasn’t. Dex was being helped back to the bench—no, taken out of the game altogether, which meant they needed to attend to him outside of the glare of thousands of people and the press.
“He’s not playing anymore?” Willa sounded distressed.
“After a hit like that, they need to run some tests. Remember when you got a baseball in the head last summer? We had to bring you into the ER to get you checked out.”
“Okay …” Willa still sounded worried. “Can I text him?”
“Maybe later? Let’s give him a chance to recover.”
She caught Maeve’s eye, expecting the usual disapproval, but she got something else instead: empathy.
“I’m sure he’s fine, Ash.”
The game restarted, but it was impossible to focus. Midway through the second period, the broadcasters announced that Dex was okay, but was being assessed using the league’s concussion protocol and would not be returning to the game.
“Hear that? He’s fine. I’ll send him a text with your well wishes.”
“Tell him I saw a Red Monarch.”
“Isn’t it kind of early in the season for that?”
“It was on TV.”
Ah. There was optimism for you. She shot off a text to Dex.
You’re supposed to stop when you get that close to the tender.
Almost immediately, she got a response.
Right? Brakes failed.
Ashley
You okay?
Dex
Fine. Just a flesh wound.
Ten seconds later, her phone rang.
