Page 98 of Worth the Shot

I huff out something that isn’t quite a laugh. “Only you would ask that right now.”

He smiles—God, or tries to. It comes out crooked and painful, but it’s there.

And that alone feels like a miracle.

A tech drops a clipboard, the clatter making him flinch, and his breath hitches as his eyes squeeze shut. He’s hurting, really hurting, but he’s awake. Awake is everything. Before I can say anything else, the trauma bay doors slam open again. This time it’s not EMS.

It’s them.

Miles is first, his jacket still in hand like it never made it on, hair soaked in sweat like he sprinted here straight from the ice. Shayne’s right behind him, ripping into the room before the doors even finish swinging. Wes barrels in next, jaw clenched so tight it looks painful. And Coach follows last, face pale beneath the fluorescent lights, like he’s aged ten years in forty-five minutes. They freeze when they see him. Miles swears under his breath and it’s quiet, gutted. Shayne’s eyes flick to mine, looking for something. Answers, reassurance, anything. Wes just stands there, fists curled, pulse visibly hammering in his throat. Coach’s arms hang at his side like he forgot what to do with his hands. Brennan tries to turn his head toward them and groans.

“Shit…hey, guys.”

Miles steps closer, voice cracking. “Jesus, Halesy. You scared the hell out of us.”

Shayne drags a hand over his face, pacing a step because he doesn’t know where to put his panic. “You didn’t move for almost three minutes. Three minutes, man. Trainer thought—” He cuts himself off.

Wes is the one who finally closes the distance. He rests a hand carefully on Brennan’s shin. “You gotta stop taking pucks to the face, buddy. That’s my job.”

Brennan attempts a laugh but chokes on a wince instead. “Gotta…keep you employed.”

Coach clears his throat, eyes softening when he looks at Brennan. “You did good, son. The guys finished it out.”

Brennan exhales shakily, relief, pride and pain all tangled as one.

I squeeze his fingers gently. “You’re gonna be fine.”

He shifts his gaze to me again and it’s slow, heavy and full of something that nearly knocks me off my axis. “As long as you’re here,” he says, voice low and rough, “nothing else really matters.”

The guys all whip their heads toward me like synchronized swimmers.

Miles raises a brow.

Wes smirks.

Shayne tries not to grin and fails.

Coach pretends not to see anything but absolutely sees everything.

And Brennan, concussed and half-broken, still manages to find me like I’m the only thing in the room.

His breathing evens out under the meds as the machine hums softly behind him. The team murmurs low conversations with the doctor. The adrenaline bleeds out of the room slowly, leaving something else in its place that’s quieter but far sharper. He’s awake, he’s here, and he’s going to be fine, and for the first time since those doors crashed open, my lungs finally unlock and I can breathe. So, while Brennan is occupied, I slip into the hallway and inhale like I’m surfacing from underwater. I know technically I can go home—my shift ended hours ago—but the thought of leaving him here overnight makes something cold settle under my skin. He’ll be okay, I know he will. But I won’t. Not unless I’m close. So I head to the locker room and grab the emergency, comfortable clothes I keep for nights like this. The ones where my patients need me more than I need my bed. I peel off my scrubs and notice they’re stained with Brennan’s blood. I try not to look or think about it as I shove them into the laundry bin.

When I return to his room, Coach steps out just as I approach.

“Hey, Delaney, can we chat for a sec?”

He looks…nervous. Out of place. Like he’s not sure where the line is with me, and he doesn’t want to cross it.

“Of course, Coach. What’s up?” I smile, so he knows it’s safe.

He rubs the back of his neck, exhaling. “Listen, I know this is a big ask. But if he wakes up disoriented or scared, he listens to you more than any of us. If you can stay close, at least until neurology reassesses, it might save us all a hell of a fight.”

“Oh, I’m not leaving him,” I say, no hesitation, and his shoulders drop in relief. He squeezes my shoulder gently, like a silent thank you.

“Hey, Collins?”

“Hm?” I turn back.