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And it wouldn't take much. One wrong move, and it'll be game over for me, both on and off the ice.
Part of me wants to run, to escape the weight of it all. But another part of me—that insane part has been chasing Gabriella De Luca since I could lace my own shoes—wants nothing more than to stay and fight for this unexpected gift.
Is it guilt? Obligation?
Or something deeper? Something more? Something I'm not sure I've even admitted to myself.
The truth is, I have no clue, and it doesn't look like I'll have answers anytime soon.
For now, though, I need to focus on getting out of this damn hospital and figuring out how to make things right. Somehow.
All I know is that the call I'm wrapping up with my manager, Tim, back in Chicago won't be the last difficult one I make.
I'll have to talk to my stepmother eventually, too. And Dad.
But for now, my focus is on getting out of here and facing the music back home.
"Shoot straight with me, Tim. How bad is it?" I ask, gripping the edge of the bed like it's the only thing anchoring me to sanity.
Tim sighs on the other end of the line, his voice crackling a bit. "Well, Jacob, let's just say if life were a hockey game, you'd be in the penalty box right now. Or better yet, double minor."
I huff out a laugh, despite myself. "Only I could manage that, huh? Guess I'm talented like that."
"Talented, sure. But really, kid, you need to keep your head in the game. And by game, I mean more than just hockey. You're gonna need to keep the lawyer and the accountant on speed dial.”
"Great, just what I need. More people to tell me how badly I've screwed up," I mutter, rubbing my temple. "Tell Alex to stock up on stress balls or something. I have a feeling I'm gonna need them."
"I'll see if our budget covers that. But seriously, keep your nose clean. George Corso is already breathing down my neck, and you know how he is. We don't want to give him any ammunition."
"I'm on it. Well, as soon as I can walk out of this place without this ridiculous hospital gown flapping in the breeze."
"Just remember, Jacob. One wrong move..."
"...And it's game over. I know, Tim. I hear you loud and clear. Thanks, by the way."
"Yeah, yeah. Just don't make me regret these sleepless nights, okay? Take care, kid."
I end the call with Tim and toss my phone onto the bedside table. Leaning back on the lumpy pillows, I flick my eyes to the TV screen hanging from the ceiling.
The Blades are skating circles around New York, and my heart leaps every time one of my teammates zips across the ice.
The team squeaked by with a win in Game Three, bringing the series to 2-1. If we win Game Four and the one after it, we advance to the next round.
It's do or die.
If we can pull this off, it's a fast track to the championship cup. My fingers itch, wishing I could grip my hockey stick instead of this stupid bed railing.
Just as I get lost watching Parker pull off a beautiful deke, something—or rather, someone—catches my eye.
There, in the seats right beside the rink, is Gabi. Her silky dark hair is unmistakable, even from this distance. My pulse picks up, and not just because of the game.
The incessant beeping of my blood pressure monitor yanks me from my thoughts louder than a foghorn in a quiet harbor.
Shit. Just what I need right now.
Moments later, Nurse Jenkins bustles in, her cheery demeanor a sharp contrast to my tangled mind.
"Well, well, someone's got their heart rate up! Watching the game or dreaming of sugarplum fairies?" she teases, flashing a warm smile as she checks the monitor.
