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“Yeah,” I say thickly, though that’s not even half the reason I’m so upset. I’ve seen brutal hits before during football games, had friends wheeled off the field just like Connor, but tonight was so different.
“I understand. The first time I got knocked out, I think my ma nearly had a coronary. It’s scary shit.”
I lean back against the wall and take a deep, settling breath, letting it out in a long whoosh. I stay that way for a long minute before Jules cuts into the silence.
“So, what do you call the things that you push around the store? Like when you’re buying groceries.”
I crack open one eye and find him grinning at me. This is one of Jules’ favorite games. He loves asking me what I call certain things and usually thinks my “southern” answers are hilarious. I muster a half smile for him.
“That’s a buggy,” I say, shaking my head.
He laughs. “Abuggy,” he says, trying to mimic my accent, but it just comes out sounding ridiculous. “I love it. Hey, Connor really will be alright. We can’t be the Sin Bin without him, yeah? So, he’ll be alright and we’ll all be carrying on again in a few days.”
I let out a long exhale, actually feeling a little better. I meet his eyes and smile, letting him know how much his kindness means to me.
“Thanks, Jules.”
“Forget about it,” he says, waving me away again. He needs to get back up to the ice, and I need to get my shit together. I’ve got to handle the Reindeer Toss event as soon as the game ends, and, as much as I’m dying to go to the hospital, I know that they’re just going to say that they can’t tell me anything since I’m not family. One of the other guys on the team could probably swing it, but they’re mini-celebrities around here, especially at the hospital. Not only has the ortho team at Seattle Sacred Heart operated on half of the players, but the guys do a ton of charity work in the attached children’s hospital.
So, when Kasey comes back with an ice pack for me, I take it and agree to stay put for just a bit longer until my color looks more beach bum and less Casper the Friendly Ghost. Then I put on my metaphorical big girl undies and do what I need to do.
I focus on the event and doing my job with a smile, though worry for Connor gnaws at the back of my mind. I somehow block out the worst of my panic while I work, and everything goes great. After what feels like decades, everything is finally done and I head to my car. I'm determined to camp out in the waiting room of the hospital whether they’ll tell me anything or not, but Rizzo catches me in the parking garage.
“Coach just heard from the hospital—Connor’s fine. Mild concussion and a cracked rib, but nothing else bad internally. A couple of stitches for a cut on his head, but it’s superficial. He’s gonna be sore as hell for a couple of days, but he’s alright.”
I close my eyes and let out a shaky breath. When I open them, Rizzo is studying me in one of those rare moments of seriousness that he has. I’ve come to learn that Rizzo plays up the cocky, ridiculous, playboy thing—and heisthose things, don’t get me wrong—but he’s also kind and caring and has a lot of depth beneath the surface. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t told Nat to run far, far away from him. There is much more to Anthony Rizzo than meets the eye.
“Are you ok, Mac?”
“I…no,” I say, honestly. “No, I’m not.” Tears well again, even though I know it’s ridiculous, and then Rizzo wraps his arms around me. I let myself cry for a couple of minutes, let myself just have a moment here to let the fear and relief all mix together in a little break down. Rizzo doesn’t seem to care, just lets me cry it out. After a bit, I pull away, sniffling, scrubbing my eyes and nose. “Sorry. It was just…a lot seeing him like that.”
He smiles and simply says, “I know,” but the way he says it makes me think he’s meaning something completely different than agreeing that seeing a friend hurt is hard. He doesn’t push though and I’m beyond thankful for that because honestly, I wouldn’t even know what to say. I need time to figure out what the hell is going on in my head and my heart right now.
“Night, Rizzo.”
“Night, Mac.”
Chapter Thirteen
Connor
Waking up in the hospital is never a good feeling, but it’s even worse when I know how worried Hattie was and how upset Olls will be when I’m not home in the morning. I know I shouldn’t complain because that hit could have turned out so much worse. I got lucky as fuck to get out of it with just a concussion, a cracked rib, a bunch of bruises, and a couple of stitches. A guy I played with in high school took a hit like that once and wound up paralyzed from the neck down.
So, yeah, I know how lucky I am. I also know that the utter terror I saw in Hattie’s eyes was nothing I ever want to see again. She’d been pale as a ghost, those stormy blue eyes wide and stark. That look…well, it made me think that maybe she felt more than just worry for a friend. And I’d be lying if I said that the thought didn’t make my heart thunder in my chest.
They’re keeping me for observation for the night but I should be released tomorrow afternoon unless anything crazy happens. I’m just about to get up and search the whole floor for a landline or a cell phone I can borrow when Rizzo comes in.
“Hey, fucker,” he says in greeting. He’s grinning but I can see the tension around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth.He was worried. Hell,Iwas fucking worried. I saw it all happening like it was in slow motion, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could possibly do except close my eyes and brace for impact. I felt the collision, felt myself being propelled backwards along with the net, and my helmet fly off. I felt a blinding pain in the back of my head and neck and then total blackness. I woke up halfway down the hallway to the training room, not quite sure what had happened at first.
“I’m assuming the words “visiting hours” don’t apply to the great Anthony Rizzo?”
He gives me an admonishing look. “Please. Like anyone could possibly say no to me.”
“Except Nat,” I point out.
“Listen, asshole, do you want food or not?” He holds up a white paper bag, shaking it a little as he comes to the bed. “If you do, then I suggest you stop pointing out things that may or may not be facts.”
I grin. “Oh fuck, I love you.” I lunge for the bag and tear into the bacon cheeseburger. He chuckles but pulls out a second one, setting it on the small table for when I’m done with this one, and then a third for himself, joining me for a midnight snack—or, more accurately, a one-thirty a.m. snack. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until the scent of the food hit me, but now I’m ravenous. I never eat right before games, so the last thing I had today was a late breakfast with Ollie this morning. Er, yesterday morning, I guess.
