Page 117 of Cross Check

“It was? I had no idea.” I wince when pain radiates across my forehead. “I’m not sure if my headache is from dehydration, hunger, the alcohol still in my system, or depression.”

“Probably all four.” She leads me to the living room and guides me to the couch. A blanket gets draped around my shoulders. The curtains are pulled shut and a lamp is turned on. “Do you have anything for breakfast?”

“Eggs, maybe? But they might be expired. Haven’t been to the store in a week. Now I understand why Hudson has a personal chef: so he doesn’t have to figure out what to eat after a goddamn tragedy.”

“I’ll take a look. Stay right here.”

Like I have anywhere else to go.

Amelia disappears. I stare at the floor and try to process what’s going on.

She’s here. In my house. She flew across the country because I called and said I wanted to see her. That I needed to see her. My aching heart sputters in my chest, and I know no one, not a single fucking person for the rest of my entire existence, will ever mean as much to me as she does.

I’d rather be alone forever than try to replicate the way I feel about her with anyone else. There’s no possible way they could compare, and when she reappears holding a glass of water and two Tylenol, it’s the first glimpse of light I’ve seen in hours.

“Here.” She hands the offerings my way, rubbing my shoulder when I down the entire glass of water after swallowing the pills. “Are you warm enough?”

“You don’t have to do that,” I mumble. The pounding in my head is unrelenting. I could sleep for three days. I also want to throw up. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Amelia fluffs the pillows behind me. I sink back, the exhaustion and grief nearly suffocating me. “It’s okay to be weak for a minute, Grant. To let someone else take care of you. You’re strong all of the time, and this doesn’t change that.”

“I’m not strong enough to fix what happened. Everything I’ve known for the last five years is gone. I’d give up the Cups, the money… all of it if it meant Riley didn’t get hurt.”

“I know.” Amelia sits next to me. An arm over the back of the couch, her feet crossed on the cushions. It hits me how perfect she looks in here. Like she should be here every day. “The bad news is you can’t turn back time. The good news is he’s alive. You can put all your energy into the what-if’s, or you can focus on that fact. And one day—maybe not soon. Maybe not for a while. He’s going to be back to his old self, and he’s going to need you to help him get there.”

“Yeah,” I croak. “I guess that’s true. It’s scary how fast things can change, isn’t it? Life doesn’t care if you’re a Stanley Cup champion or a random guy from Alabama. When things are supposed to happen, they’re going to happen, and people are going to get hurt in the process.”

“None of us are making it out of here alive. What you choose to do with your time, especially in the face of pain and suffering, is what is most important.” Lia leans back. When she struggles to find a comfortable spot for her legs, I lift her feet and put her calves in my lap. Her smile is the nicest thing I’ve seen since I hoisted that trophy over my head last night. “You all played a great game, by the way.”

“You watched?” I ask. “I thought you might have caught the highlights on SportsCenter.”

“Of course I watched.”

“I’m glad.” I drop my hand on her shin. My fingers move over her sweatpants, and silence settles between us. “How long are you staying?”

“As long as you need me. I didn’t buy a ticket home yet. We have a meeting with management next week to debrief the season, but other than that, there’s nothing that needs my attention back in Denver.”

“The spare bedroom is made up. If you want to stay.”

“Is that okay? I don’t want to be in your way while you process everything that’s happened.”

“Amelia.” My palm moves to her knee. Natural, like I’ve done this a thousand times, but I don’t linger. I drop my hand away and sigh. “Winning last night was great, but having you here is even better. I can get you a hotel room if that would make you more comfortable. Just let me know⁠—”

“No,” Amelia interrupts. “The spare bedroom is perfect.”

“Okay. That’s decided,” I say. Weak and vulnerable with no handle on my emotions, I start to cry again. I’m torn between being grateful for her while being heartbroken about my best friend. This is so fucking unfair. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Her arms are back around me. “I wish it were under better circumstances, but I’m happy to help. I want to help, and that starts with food. I didn’t have a chance to look through your cabinets, but I’m going to do that now. I’m really hoping there’s some pancake mix buried in there.”

“Pancakes.” My laugh is jilted. I’m more alive now that she’s next to me. “Your everything meal.”

“I know it doesn’t help to fix the bigger problems, but it’s a step forward. Even when it’s hard, Grant, you need to keep moving forward.”

Amelia squeezes my shoulder, but she lets go before I can get too comfortable in her hold. One touch from her, and the world quiets. Her bright smile and the hopeful way her gaze tracks over my face are the first sense of relief I’ve felt in hours.

Peace, my mind whispers when I close my eyes.

That’s what I feel when she’s with me.