“Matt! Get up! Matt!” I try lunging forward, moving toward the ice, but I only manage to get a single step in before an arm goes around my waist. “Stop! You need to check on him! He could be bleeding! Hurry!”
A thousand people talk to me at once, but I can’t hear a single thing from any of them. Players start getting out of the dogpile, skating off while their heads all snap up at me.
He’s down on his stomach—oh God—just like I was. Tears burst from my eyes, every pent-up emotion exploding at once.
Get up. Please get up.
My feet are suddenly lifted off of the ground, and I’m pulled backward, but I grab on to the wall beside me without peeling my gaze from the ice.
“Matt! Matt!” I’m screaming his name like a feral animal, my voice hoarse and breaking. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. But I just need to know he’s okay. “Matt!Please!”
His head snaps up, and he shoves the player off of him, bouncing to his feet. He takes all but a second to look at me before doing the one single thing in the world that could ease my worry. Shaking his gloves off his hands, he raises his arms and gives me two thumbs-up.
My heart stops, breath halting in my airway. How—how did he know? …
He pumps the thumbs-up in the air, relaxing me enough for my hand to fall from the wall. My hyperventilating returns, but a calmness has started fighting back, a tsunami of embarrassment close behind in its tracks.
Oh God, what the hell did I just do?
CHAPTER 16
MATT
She’s all I can think about. Not this game or the chance at the Cup, but wondering if she’s okay. God, she looked petrified when I saw her, fighting in Andy’s arms and doing everything she could to break free from his grasp, screaming my name.
I need to get her. Now.
Five seconds on the clock in the second period feels like five years as the ref drops the puck, and then the time runs out. The second I hear the buzzer, I’m moving, digging my skates into the ice and racing toward the bench. Some of the guys try talking to me and get my attention, but I ignore every one of them as I rip the board door open and step through.
“Where is she?” The only person I give my attention to is Carrington.
The head coach is probably not likely to know the answer to such a question, but he’s not a normal head coach.
He clicks his tongue, pursing his lips together in annoyance that I’m probably focusing my attention on Shay instead of the game. While he’s also our friend, he’s still a pro hockey coach, desperate to have a Stanley Cup win on his résumé.
“With Andy. Probably in the office.” He flicks his hand out to the side, gesturing toward the tunnel, where not only the team locker room is, but the makeshift office the Nighthawks staff is using during this away game.
I get his frustration, but I have absolutely no patience for it right now. He, of all people, knows what it’s like to have your career ended because of an injury. He should have more sympathy than anyone. Luckily for him, his final moment on the ice wasn’t as horrific as Shay’s, but that should have an even bigger impact on him.
He’s not my focus right now though. I’ll share my frustration with him later. Right now, I just need to get to her. My hands and face are barren, my gloves, helmet, and blocker nowhere to be found—I must’ve dropped them at some point on my way. But I don’t care.
My heart is in my throat, fire burning in my eyes as I scour the long hallway with no clue where to go. But then I hear it—the softest sound, but one I’m certain came from Shay. I follow it, three doors down to the right.
Ripping the handle, I throw the door open, and my heart drops to my stomach as her shattered stare locks with mine. Shay’s face is as red as her hair, tears streaked down her cheeks, which is distorted with a thousand emotions. Andy turns his head and sees me, relief drifting over him.
I step into the room, not caring for a second about the possible consequences of what I’m about to do, not caring about the game. I’ll send Huang in my place if she needs me here.
We take a step toward each other at the same time, a sob tearing through the room.
“Matt.”
“Come here, baby.” My hands snake around the back of her head, my other around her waist, and I pull her flush against me as she melts into my embrace. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Her hair’s a mess, pressed against my face as I gently rock her back and forth, clinging to her like my life depends on it. Part of me thinks it’s starting to.
“Oh God.” She winces, her words full of self-loathing. “I was worried that you—oh God.”
Screw this damn gear and these pads that are keeping any distance between us. I wish I could rip it all off right now, but I don’t want to let her go for a single second.
