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Each time I dodge another hit or make a pass, the memory of her smile, her laugh, it's like a siren call, pulling me away from the ice.
Suddenly, in a split second of clarity, I catch a glimpse of the stands. Amidst the sea of frenzied fans, I see her.
My heart skips a beat.
She's there, right there. And for the first time, she's wearing a jersey—with my name on it.
That sight hits me harder than any check I've taken tonight.
Gabi, in my jersey, cheering me on.
It's like the universe has given me a jolt of energy.
The game rages on around me, but now, I've got a new wave of determination. This one's for Gabi, for the team, and for all of Chicago. I grip my stick tighter, ready to give it everything I've got.
I'm so wrapped up in the sight of Gabi, her smile radiating brighter than any arena floodlight, that I almost forget where I am.
Almost.
Reality slams back into me with all the subtlety of a speeding freight train.
I'm staring right at Jim "The Wall" Wallace, New York's newest defenseman, barreling directly at me. Too late to dodge, too stunned to brace myself, I feel the impact before I even have time to think.
The crunch of contact echoes in my ears, my body folding like a cheap lawn chair against the boards.
Pain shoots through me, white-hot and paralyzing.
My vision blurs.
The ice isn't just cold beneath me. It's numbing, like it wants to swallow me whole.
The rink's roar fades, replaced by a ringing that seems to come from inside my skull.
I manage to look up just in time to see Jim smirk before skating off, leaving me crumpled like a forgotten piece of paper.
Fantastic. Just fantastic.
I can hear the collective gasp of the crowd, the murmur of concern that follows. But in the midst of it all, there's Gabi's face—more worried than before, her eyes locked on mine.
Her green eyes are the last thing I see before I close my eyes and give in to the pain.
Chapter 12
Gabi
Ican't feel my hands. They're trembling so much I can barely hold my phone.
Jacob's on his way to the hospital, and I'm frantically giving the cab driver directions amid the occasional hysterical screech.
My mind races, painting horrifying pictures of worst-case scenarios.
What if he can't play hockey anymore? What if he never walks again?
I shudder, pressing my hands to my chest as if I can physically keep my heart from breaking.
The cabbie keeps glancing at me in the rearview mirror, probably wondering if I'm going to lose it completely. And honestly, I’m not sure myself.
Each minute feels like a century as we crawl through traffic.
