On the Fly (Crimson Romance) (27 page)

When a US Army sergeant sang national anthem, the arena went silent, but as soon as the first puck dropped, sound came back full force. The flurry of on-ice activity was so fast and intense, it was hard to follow even standing right next to the glass. Facing elimination, the Devils seemed hell-bent on staying in through bloodshed.

Jacey shook her head. “They keep playing like this, and we’ll go the whole game on a power play.”

“Yeah, but it won’t help much if all of our best players are in the locker room nursing injuries.”

The arena went up in cheers as a Devil’s defenseman checked Dylan Cole into the glass right in front of them. Jacey rocked back on her heels and squeaked. Madden’s arm around her shoulders kept her from falling into the seat behind her. Dylan’s face smushed unnaturally, and blood spread under his cheek. Whistles blew on-ice, and a ref made two fists and pushed them away from his chest. The arena announcer boomed, “Devils’ penalty, number twenty-four Hanlan. Two minutes for crosschecking.”

Nealy jumped and screeched from behind the bench, waving her arms and spitting obscenities. Through the divider, the words, “You think that’s ketchup on Cole’s face? Where are my five minutes for drawing blood?” rang clear. The black-and-white stripes ignored her from the ice, which just seemed to incense her further. Players on the Sinners bench bowed their heads forward so Nealy didn’t accidentally hit them in her tirade.

Jacey tried to keep a straight face, but a would-be smile made her lips tremble. Madden bumped her shoulder and spoke under his breath. “Uh uh. You hold that in. You want to be on the other end of that anger? I don’t.”

She bit her lower lip hard. The first period continued in a similar, gory fashion. When it ended, two Sinners were down for the count, one with a broken hand and the other with a twisted ankle respectively. The game, tied at two, guaranteed equal fervor in the second period.

Popcorn and cotton candy vendors meandered up and down the aisles. The sweet and salty smells teased her nose, but the thought of actually eating anything brought bile to her throat. Anxiety made for a great diet.

Madden stiffened beside her, so she followed his gaze to the press section on the other side of the locker room tunnel. Linden East held up a hand — microphone free — and started toward them. Jacey’s heart rate picked up. Her temples throbbed, her face felt hot, and the urge to tackle the reporter and engage in an all out, scratching, hair-pulling girl fight hit her like a tidal wave. But it didn’t look like East was here in a professional capacity.

Madden tried to step in front and shield her, but Jacey curled her fingers into the crook of his arm, holding him back. Before either of them could tell the woman where she could stick her camera, East spoke.

“I’m sorry.” The words came out so fast they almost blended together. Madden opened his mouth to interject, but East headed him off again. “Listen. Please. Both of you.”

Jacey looked at her brother and held tighter to his arm. He still seemed as if he might spring any moment. Hard to blame him. He glanced at Jacey to confer. Nothing would be more satisfying than telling the wicked witch of the East to hop a broom out of there, but the apology piqued her curiosity. “If this is another trick … ”

“No trick. Just regret.”

Unlikely, but for a reporter, she looked surprisingly earnest and genuine at the moment.

“I’m listening.” Maybe. It would be entertaining if nothing else.

East’s face relaxed. “Thank you. I owe you both apologies, and I know it might not matter or make a difference now, but I still need to do it. Ms. Vaughn, I almost ruined your career trying to make my own. Whether or not you’re involved with Phlynn doesn’t matter. I crossed lines. I went too far, and I’m sorry.”

Numb shock spread through Jacey until she could barely feel her toes in her Jimmy Choo pumps. “Why?” The question jumped out of her mouth of its own volition, and Miss Manners winced in a far corner of her brain, but she wasn’t about to take it back.

No surprise showed in East’s expression. She must have expected it. Instead of answering, she looked at Madden, who wouldn’t meet her gaze. Genuine pain shone in East’s eyes. She blinked rapidly then focused again on Jacey. “I got an offer for a job at a national tabloid magazine. It made me realize I was making a name for myself, just not the way I wanted.”

At least she was honest. East cleared her throat, and Jacey took a step toward the center aisle, but Madden tugged at her elbow.

“No, Jace. Stay. This won’t take long.”

The reporter flinched but hid it quickly. “Madden, I am
so
sorry. You were nothing but nice to me. You trusted me, and I blew it. I’m not asking for another chance — I don’t deserve one. Just please know that I really did like you, and I will always regret how I acted.”

Madden hesitated. His jaw tightened, and he breathed hard through his nose before he forced the emotion off his face and shrugged. “It’s over. Done. But just so you know, I never trusted you. When you went behind my back, I wasn’t surprised. That was the worst part.”

East stood there expressionless for five seconds before she lowered her head and nodded. She walked away without another word.

Jacey’s shoulders fell as the tension slid from her, but after she recovered, she focused on her brother. He’d turned toward the ice to watch the Zambonis glide back and forth, laying down a fresh sheet. “Mad — ”

“I’m fine.” His tone brooked no argument.

No time anyway. Music started again, and players from both teams trudged back into the rink looking grim and smelling like week-old garbage. Jacey turned her nose to Madden’s shoulder and breathed in his familiar cologne. Not as good as Carter’s, but better than sweat socks.

If the first period was a battle, the second was more of a massacre. The Sinners stayed out of the penalty box only a fraction more than the Devils. At times, it was standing room only as players were charged with various infractions, roughing and fighting being the most popular, unsportsmanlike conduct a close second. Nealy swore like a schizophrenic Tourette’s patient off her meds.

The announcer said it best. “It’s definitely the Sinners versus the Devils, folks. No angels out there tonight.”

Jacey rubbed her face and focused on her breathing. She watched the clock tick down while the game remained tied. One minute to go in the second, and whistles rang so loud and long it sounded like a high-pitched traffic jam. The Jumbotron screen showed a pileup of players from both teams. What had she missed?

“Mad? What — ”

“Phlynn. One of the Devils jumped Cole, and Phlynn went after him. Gloves came off fast, and next thing, Phlynn was down.” Madden leaned against the glass, concern turning his face to stone.

Jacey swayed and held onto his arm. Players skated back to their benches, and as the seas parted, Carter appeared flat on the ice, unmoving. The athletic trainer hustled out and knelt beside him, checking his pulse and trying to wake him up. The trainer shook his head and motioned for the medical team to come out. The arena hushed, and the quiet made it all the more serious and terrifying.

She was two seconds from running out on the ice herself, but paramedics rolled out a stretcher, so she hung back. Her heart pounded in slow motion. The echoes resonated throughout her body, and time stopped. No one else existed as she watched the medics put a brace around Carter’s neck and carefully move him to a backboard and then the stretcher. As they rolled him toward the locker room, Carter lifted a hand as if to show he was awake, and the arena applauded. The sound brought her back to the present.

Madden’s faint voice called her name, but her legs were moving and nothing else mattered. The medics took Carter through the locker room into the quiet room, designated for players with concussions. Every arena had them now. She followed, and no one said a word. Jacey hung back against the wall while the team physician stepped in for a thorough examination.

Carter coughed and tried to turn his head away, but the brace wouldn’t allow it. The whole room relaxed a notch now that he was awake. Except Jacey. She couldn’t take her eyes off Carter, lying there so helpless. She flashed back to the first time she’d seen him break his nose in a game, but this didn’t even compare. What if it had been more serious? What if he hadn’t woken up?

The doctor shone a penlight in Carter’s eyes, asked him questions. It took a few seconds, but Carter answered in a gruff, dry voice. At some point, the medics must have left, because the next thing Jacey knew, the doctor stood in front of her and motioned with a head tilt he wanted to see her out of the room.

At first, she couldn’t move, rooted to the spot. It felt
wrong
to leave him. But that was irrational. The doctor suggested it after all. Swallowing hard, she followed and closed the door softly behind her.

Even though a wall separated them from Carter, the doctor kept his voice low. “He appears stable, but he needs a CT scan and fluids if he starts vomiting.”

Little dots blurred her vision. She leaned a shoulder against the door and blinked hard. “Will he — will he be okay?”

“Every brain injury is different. It’s hard to say how he’ll heal. There’s no way to predict it. We just need to monitor him and watch his progress.”

She nodded, lightheaded. It felt like floating outside of her body. He would be okay. He
had
to be. “I’m going with you to the hospital.”

• • •

A steady beeping pulled Carter from a thick, hazy fog. When he opened his eyes, the world blurred and moved in a way it shouldn’t, so he closed them again. Distorted voices rose around him — some close and some far. Hard to distinguish. Everything was.

Hospital. That much was clear. He must have taken a hit or a fall in the game. The game. Game Six. Did they win? Did he miss raising the Cup with his team? The beeping grew louder and faster, and he cracked an eye open to see a white figure rush close and poke at him, adjust the tubes jutting out of him.

“Just relax, Mr. Phlynn. You’re all right.”

Yeah. Easy for Nurse Guy to say. He hadn’t missed the most important moment of his life. Carter tried to raise his voice. “Game?” It came out a whisper. Not good.

“Don’t worry about that. You’re done playing for tonight. Doc’ll have to clear you for the next one.”

Next one. So they’d lost. Relief at the possibility of another chance to win the Cup with his team mingled with guilt and regret for messing up
this
game. They’d been tied. He remembered that much. If things went south, it was after his injury. His fault.

A soft, clean smell like perfumed soap wafted to him, and Jacey appeared beside the nurse, who excused himself from the room. Her strawberry blonde hair framed her delicate face like a flaming halo. His guardian angel. She looked … worried. Definitely not good.

“Carter?” The concern in her voice almost made the concussion worth it. Her fingertips trailed feather-light over his face, and he closed his eyes, drinking it in. Her thumb slid over his bottom lip. He pressed a kiss to it, and she didn’t pull back. Smiling hurt, but he couldn’t help it.

“We lost, huh?”

At her silence, he focused on her once more. It was getting slightly easier to keep his eyes open.

Jacey nodded. His apt attention must have clued her in that he needed more because she eventually licked her lips in preparation for a more thorough answer. “I rode with you to the hospital at the end of the second period, but Madden sent me updates, and I watched the rest on the TV in your room. The team went crazy in your defense. They jumped the guy who cold-cocked you and everyone who supported him. In the melee, the Devils scored one more time. Three to two.”

In spite of everything, another smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His team had jumped to his defense. Tactically stupid and careless, but it meant a lot. Then he thought about the ear-reaming the guys would have gotten from Nealy postgame, and was glad he’d missed it.

He lifted a weak hand and motioned to himself. “How bad?”

“They’re not sure yet. Your CT scan showed some damage but not as much as they thought. Still, it’s a grade three concussion. But …
when
we win, you can still go out on the ice and raise the Cup. Just not on skates.”

He made a deep sound in his throat in protest and tried to shake his head. Mistake. Nausea rolled through him and starbursts flickered in front of his eyes. He blinked it off. “Bullshit. I’ll … be fine. Playing.” His heart monitor upped its tempo again.

Jacey had her mouth open, clearly ready to argue, but she glanced at the monitor then back at him and pursed her lips. He was no fool. He had not won this argument. But her silence was permission enough — at least that’s how he chose to interpret it. If the doctor cleared him by Sunday, nothing would keep him off that ice. This was the third concussion of his career. He may be stubborn but not stupid. This would be his last season.

“Just take it easy, okay?”

No disagreement there. He couldn’t move if he wanted to. Moving brought on a slew of unpleasant symptoms, and his limbs felt like lead anyway. His eyes closed again, but he felt Jacey’s small, soft hand slide into his. Her warm fingers curled into his palm and squeezed. He held on as he drifted off, secure in knowing his tether to the world wouldn’t leave him, even if she didn’t really belong to him anymore.

Sunday, June 17th

Persistent knocking hammered her office door, but Jacey didn’t look up, refused to lift her head from her arms folded on the desk. “Five more minutes.”

“Jace, the game starts in ten. You have to go down and wish the guys luck. Tonight of all nights, you cannot back out.” Even through the door, Madden’s tone said he meant business.

Unfortunately, he happened to be right. Game seven of the Finals. They’d roast her on a pyre if she shirked her duties now. Not that wishing them luck would make up for the absence of their captain.

Still, she kept her eyes closed, hoping for a few more seconds of solace. Madden came in anyway. Jacey sat up and sighed. “What does it matter? Carter’s in no shape to play, and without him, our odds aren’t good.”