Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (74)
After a long bus ride, I finally return to the empty apartment. The urge to call Elias gnaws at me, but I know his hockey game is in full swing. So I settle in front of the TV to watch him play. Away games are the worst, and they leave me feeling a pang of loneliness. Especially tonight, with the exhilaration of my performance still coursing through my veins, I would kill to share this moment with Elias, to witness the sparkle in his eyes whenever I talk about ballet.
As the game enters its third period, I search for Elias amid the chaos of players darting back and forth. A surge of relief floods through me at the sight of him coming off the bench, but it’s short-lived because the commentators recount a brutal hit against him in the first period.
As the replay flickers across the screen, my heart seizes, captured by the bone-chilling moment of Elias’s body colliding with the unforgiving boards. The sheer intensity of the impact sends shivers down my spine, as if I can feel the reverberations echoing through my bones. The subsequent fight that erupted after the hit only adds to my distress, with Aiden retaliating against the player who targeted Elias.
It’s a given with a contact sport like hockey, but I can’t help the pang of helplessness.
As the end of the game draws near, a tentative sense of relief settles over me. But just as I begin to breathe a little easier, my worst fears materialize in front of my eyes. Elias goes hurtling into the boards again, his skates fully leaving the ice in a terrifying display of momentum. Time freezes when he crashes back to the ice and lies motionless. The stadium is engulfed in a deafening silence, and so are the commentators.
My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird. I desperately strain to catch any glimpse of movement, any flicker of reassurance that Elias is okay. But then, I see his discarded helmet and the mouth guard he spit out.
I can’t tear my eyes away, even as every instinct screams for me not to look. The medical team rushes onto the ice. Then the camera abruptly cuts away. The announcer’s voice finally breaks through the scene, delivering the devastating news that Elias won’t be returning for the rest of the game.
The remote slips from my trembling fingers and clatters to the floor.
THIRTY-TWO
ELIAS
THE HIT PLAYS over and over on a loop in my mind, each replay dredging up a fresh wave of regret. I should have known better than to get cocky.
My first goal of the evening had ignited a hunger for revenge in our opponents, and when Pittsburgh’s right-winger came charging at me, I had no choice but to brace for impact.
After that, I was flying past the defense again, but as I was chasing the high of a potential goal, the second hit truly knocked the wind out of my body.
“You’re not concussed, but the bruising on your body is concerning,” our team doctor says as he flashes a light in my eyes after a baseline test. “We’ll keep an eye on it. You’ll need to rest and take ibuprofen for pain.”
Only one question hangs in the air. “Am I clear to play Friday?”
It’s our second game of round two playoffs, and the thought of missing it fills me with despair. There was a split second after the hit that fear rampaged through me. Fear that my career was slipping from my fingers again.
“No, Eli, you can’t play with bruised ribs and a near concussion. You’re out for the round, and I’ll reevaluate you for round three,” says Dr. Harris before stepping out.
My shoulders slump, weighed down by disappointment. I exhale a long sigh that causes a sharp pain to radiate from my bruised ribs.
Outside the dressing room, I can hear the muffled voices of Coach Wilson and Dr. Harris in conversation. When the doors finally swing open, Coach is there, wearing a somber expression.
The beginnings of a headache pound on my skull like a relentless drum. I place a bag of ice on my head.
“It’s not the news we were hoping for, but your health comes first,” he says. “You played a good game tonight, Eli. Let’s make sure it stays that way so this isn’t the last time we see you in the playoffs.”
A reluctant acceptance blankets me at his words.
“We’ll arrange for a driver to take you back to the hotel. Rest up, and we’ll head home tomorrow morning.” Coach’s voice is tinged with sympathy.
I exit the room, burdened by the bitter aftertaste of failure that lingers. The ache of missing not only tonight’s game but the next one gnaws uncomfortably at my core.
When I arrive at the hotel, I don’t linger. I zip up my suitcase, summon an Uber, and make a beeline for the airport. Instead of texting Coach, I shoot Aiden a message to let him know I’m leaving. Coach would never sanction my decision to fly after taking a hit like that, but being home is all I can think about. Because Sage will be there, and she’s the only one that can make this situation slightly bearable.
My first thought after being slammed into the boards wasn’t whether I broke any bones or if my vision would return. I thought of Sage.
That night when I crushed my lips against hers and drank her in like water on dying grass, her response matched my intensity. Hearing the sound of her soft moan of pleasure slipping from her lips and down my throat etched itself deep into my mind.
Her enthusiasm is not good for my imagination. Sage is my undoing, and I’m not sure I’d know how to handle all of her. I knew I fucked up when my tongue swiped across hers, and the spark of electricity made it nearly impossible to stop. It was like I could hear the clink of metal armor falling off her body and to my feet, and something in my chest clicked into place. But the realization of what she wanted and what I shouldn’t give her hit me hard.