Page 99 of Worth the Shot

“He didn’t just catch a puck.” He pauses and his eyes soften.

“He stepped in front of one to block a shot that would’ve nailed Shayne. Maybe not in the face, but it would have caught him. I don’t want that buried in the report.”

My heart breaks and rebuilds in a single, violent breath.

“Thank you for telling me,” I say quietly. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t go unknown.”

He nods, giving me a warm, almost paternal smile.

“I’m heading out. Here,” he hands me a slip of paper with his number, “call or text if you need anything. Anything at all.”

Then he walks down the hall, leaving me standing outside Brennan’s room with a heart that feels too full and too fragile all at once.

When Coach disappears around the corner, I tuck the number into my pocket and force myself to walk forward, one breath at a time, until I’m back at Brennan’s door. The room is dim now. The overheads are off and only the soft glow of the monitor screen is lighting his face in pale blue. The steady beep of the cardiac monitor is almost hypnotic. Comforting. Proof of life. He’s half-sitting, half-slumped against the pillows. Drowsy, eye half-open and heavy-lidded from pain meds and exhaustion, but when I step inside, his gaze drags toward me like gravity. My heart skips a beat.

“Hey,” I whisper, closing the door behind me.

His good eye blinks once. Twice. “Laney?”

Laney. Always Laney to him.

And right now, it stitches something back together inside of me.

“Yeah,” I say, stepping closer. “It’s me.” I check his IVs, his vitals, the vent settings, all the habits I can’t shake even though he’s off the machine now. He watches me the entire time, not blinking much. Like keeping me in focus is the only thing calming him.

“You didn’t go home,” he rasps.

“No,” I say gently. “I would never leave you here.”

Something eases in his face. Not pain or relief, but something deeper. He lifts a hand and it hovers in the air between us like he’s reaching blindly for something instinctual.

For me.

“I called your parents. They were watching the game, they were sick over it. Your mom wanted to get on the next flight, but I promised I’ve got you. That I wouldn’t leave your side. And I won’t, Brennan.” My voice lowers to a whisper. “I won’t.”

I step closer and place my fingers lightly on his, using just enough pressure to let him know I’m here. His hand curls around mine immediately, weak but sure. “You scared the hell out of me,” I whisper.

His bruised mouth twitches. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” my voice cracks, just a little, “but you did.”

He closes his eye again, breathing slowly through the pain, but he doesn’t let go. After a long moment of silence, his thumb rubs faintly against my knuckle.

“I don’t wanna be alone,” he murmurs, slurred around the swelling.

My heart does something dangerous. “I know. I’m not going anywhere,” I promise, pulling the chair closer to his bedside. “Rest. I’m right here.”

He exhales and it’s shaky as he manages to maneuver himself over as he motions for me to climb in next to him. “C’mere,” he breathes out. So I do. I gently fit my body perfectly next to his, my arms wrapped around him and my head on his chest.

For the first time since the trauma bay, he looks like he’s at peace. I squeeze his hand once, gently. “I’ve got you,” I whisper.

And he falls asleep with his fingers still wrapped around mine.

I wake up the next morning to the sound of Brennan shifting under me. A low groan slips out of him that’s unintentional and rough and my eyes snap open instantly. My head is resting on his chest still, his hand draped over my head. At some point last night, before exhaustion dragged me under, I remember his fingers in my hair, slow and soft, like he was comforting me. Somehow, in the midst of his brokenness, his trauma, he recognized my needs over his and truly this man never ceases to amaze me. My neck is screaming from the ungodly angle I slept in, but everything else is…good. He looks good. Well, as good as anyone can after taking an eighty-mile an hour puck to the face. I don’t even realize I’m staring until his eye opens. His smile appears immediately and even though it’s crooked and swollen, it’s there. He groans and starts to shift again. I climb out of the bed and place my hand on his arm to stop him.

“Hey—hey, don’t move too fast.”

My voice comes out soft and raspy, like I’m the one who got hit in the face with a puck. He tries to talk, “What time—” but it dissolves into a painful rasp.