I try to find my voice, but nothing comes out but a choked sob.
“I’ll drop Ani and Wyatt home and circle back.” Travis is the voice of reason through the clouds blocking my brain.
“I’ll keep you posted if that’s okay?” Eloise introduces herself to my boyfriend’s mom, offering to be her helpful self and swaps numbers while Ani puts Wyatt in the rear-facing car seat in the back of their SUV.
Travis offers me a smile I’ve seen on both his son and grandson’s faces. “Raffi told us what seat you have, and we got one too. It’s new, too, not off one of those buy and sell places. You can’t ever tell if a seat has been in an accident before or not.” He nods somberly. “Microfractures.”
If my body was responding to me, I’d probably laugh. It’s so sweet of them to be so invested in Wyatt the way they are. But right now, I’ve got nothing.
They drive away as my tears continue to fall. Somehow Eloise gets me into Penelope’s car. She turns the heat up to high before she pulls away from the sidewalk, slipping her hand into the free one on my thigh as I stare blindly out the window.
“It’s going to be fine. He’s going to be okay.” I’m not sure who needs the reassurance more, me, or Eloise herself as she chants in the back seat.
As we pull into the parking lot of the hospital, my whole body trembles despite the heat. He has to be okay. I need him. Wyatt needs him. He’s going to be just fine.
Right?
CHAPTER 37
Victoria
On our way into the emergency room, it occurs to me they won’t let me see Raffi because I’m not family. Why didn’t I beg Travis to come with me?
We check in with the reception desk, then take a seat in the waiting room. Eloise is staring at her phone, tears trickling down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking.
“What happened?” Penelope moves to comfort her. I would, I should, but right now I can’t. My legs jitter and bounce as my stomach roils and twists.
Eloise shakes her head, sending a pointed glance my direction.
“It’s okay. Whatever it is.” It can’t be worse than what I’m currently living through.
“It’s about a hockey injury.”
If I wasn’t already chilled to the bone, I’m sure a chill would roll through me. “It’s fine.” I’m not sure it is, but I don’t want her to feel like she can’t talk in front of me.
“A hockey player in the UK has just been pronounced dead. There was a freak accident on the ice. A player’s skate slashed a player from the opposing team’s throat.” She’ssobbing quietly as she struggles to get the words out. “He essentially bled out on the ice, in front of the fans of the game. Both teams formed a circle around him, and they brought out shields.”
She’s reading from her phone. “There’s a video circulating of the incident, but I can’t.” She drops her phone into her lap. “I don’t want to see it.”
This isn’t what I need to hear right now. It’s terrifying enough that Raffi is in the hospital. And it's not like I need any additional evidence to prove to me that he should quit playing hockey. But my stomach sinks, and my heart squeezes.
I can’t even imagine how much of a bizarre confluence of events it is for a hockey player to pass away at a game, but it doesn’t fill me with confidence about my boyfriend. The one I currently know little about as I sit in the waiting room.
Twisting my hands on my thighs doesn’t help. Neither does pacing.
The girls talk in hushed voices about the fallen player in the UK league. He was originally from Minnesota, a former NHL player with the Pittsburgh Penguins, Adam Johnson. If it didn’t already feel like I had belts strapped across my chest, it would probably be even harder to breathe. I don’t have words for how tragic it is. Is there somewhere local to lay flowers, or sign a book of condolences, or somewhere to donate money? I feel so fucking helpless. I need to do something. But what?
Head hanging in my hands, body bent forward, I wait. It’s all I can do. When someone knows something, they’ll come and find me.
At some point, I stretch out over a few seats and fall asleep.
Sometime later, someone’s rousing me from my nap. Apollo de la Peña’s concerned eyes are heavy on my face. “You hanging in there?”
I nod, but my insides have disintegrated, my outsides are trembling, and I’m going to cry again any second.
“I spoke to the doctors.” Travis’s voice comes from behind Apollo. He must have arrived after I fell asleep. “He’s okay. Still out cold. Couple stitches on his forehead, concussion is likely.” He winces. “But he should recover.”
Tears are pouring down my face as I sniffle through his words. “Th-thanks for letting me know.”
