Puck Block : A Brother’s Best Friend Hockey Romance (Bexley U)

I wince when I press the pen into my stomach and breathe out of my nose slowly. It’s the best place for me to insert it, but the skin is becoming tender, and I have the brief thought that maybe a pump would be better–if it wasn’t thousands of dollars.

“Oh no.”

I turn toward Claire. “What?”

There’s a wave of concern that travels amongst the hockey fans, and my resolve falls when I follow their line of sight.

Number twenty-two is sprawled across the ice, and my heart is right there with him. My hand flies to my mouth, and everything slows around me. Claire says something to me, and Riley rushes to the glass to get a better view, but I stay rooted in place with my insulin pen in my hand.

Ford. 

He isn’t moving.

My skin crawls.

I drop everything and make a beeline for the opening to the ice. The only thing I hear is my pounding heartbeat, and the only thing I see is Ford lying on the ice, motionless, with his helmet feet away and his stick nowhere to be found. I’m running as fast as I can, but he still seems so far away.

My foot touches the ice, and suddenly, arms are around my waist, jerking me backward. “Taytum, no. You can’t go out there!” I try to peel Aasher’s hands off my body, but he’s too steady on the ice, and his hold on me is too strong.

“Let me go,” I plead. “He isn’t moving!”

He puts my feet back on stable ground and blocks the opening. A few more hockey players skate up to help him, but their backs are to me as they watch a stretcher move toward Ford.

Aasher looks me dead in the eye, and there’s remorse there. “I know, but you have to stay back.”

“Aasher!” I’m shouting through the panic, and my stomach clenches with nausea. “Please!” Why isn’t he moving? Property of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.

“Taytum!” Emory skates over to me in his goalie gear and pulls off his helmet. “Go to the hospital. Now.”

“Is he going to be okay?” I look past his wide shoulders to get a better look. I’m paralyzed with fear, and it hurts to breathe. Ford is on the stretcher, and they’re taking him down the tunnel, out of my sight.

I don’t wait another second for Emory to answer me. I turn and race up the stairs where Claire is waiting with her keys and my purse.

“Let’s go.” She grabs onto my hand and drags me down the emptying hall. I hear the sportscasters on the TVs talking about Ford and how he was still unconscious when they placed him onto the stretcher. Sirens blare when we make it outside, and I watch in terror as the ambulance races by.

“Claire,” I choke, catching her eye.

“It’s going to be fine. Get in.”

My door isn’t even closed, and Claire is pushing her car’s accelerator to the floor.

I press back into the seat and realize pretty quickly how daunting it is to care so deeply about someone, knowing just how fragile life can truly be.

I’m frantic.

Claire drops me off at the ER while she goes and finds a parking spot. I don’t even think I shut the passenger door.

The lights are bright, and everyone is staring at me like I’m the one who needs a doctor, and honestly, I probably do.

“Where is he?” I ask the receptionist.

She gives me a dirty look. “Who?”

I sigh with frustration. “The hockey player they wheeled in here a second ago! Where is he?”

“Ma’am, you can’t just–”

I spin and head for the doors. I know exactly where to go, and no one is going to stop me from being there when Ford wakes up.

What if he doesn’t wake up?

My mouth dries even more with a wave of nausea. There’s a pounding in my head that I’m forced to ignore because suddenly there’s a security guard in front of me. “You are way too gorgeous for me to detain you. Can you please just calm down?”

I want to kick him in the balls and scream at him to move. “Are you hitting on me?!”

“What? No!” His cheeks ripen with heat. “It’s just… You’re…”

“Taytum?” I turn and find Dr. McCarthy.

It’s the first time I’ve ever been happy to see him.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “What’s going on?” His white coat flies behind him as he moves toward me. I tremble with relief.

“If I say no, will you let me go back?”

His confusion lingers, but he nods slowly. “Yes.”

“I’m not okay.” I look around at the bystanders. “It’s my sugar.”

It isn’t a lie. My sugar is all over the place lately, but at the moment, all I care about is Ford.

“Come on.” He brushes off the security guard and the receptionist who is practically lying on the desk to watch the scene unfold.

When the swinging doors shut behind us, I stop walking. “It’s Ford. He got hurt in the game, and I need to see him.”

He shakes his head, but I cut him off before he can tell me no. “You don’t understand.” I’m talking so fast I’d be surprised if he can keep up. “He gets panic attacks in hospitals! He wasn’t even conscious when they brought him in, and if he wakes up, hooked to machines, all alone? I have to be there!” I grab onto Dr. McCarthy’s arm, and he stares at it for a second before sighing.

His hand lands on mine, and he pats it. “Just sit still, and I’ll see what I can find out. Go over there.” He flicks his chin to the nurses’ station, and I hurriedly rush over.

I recognize one of the nurses from when I was here last, and she purses her lips. “Well, if it isn’t Miss I-Can-Take-Care-Of-Myself.”

Usually, I’d smile and give her some quippy comeback, but I can’t do anything except focus on my breathing.

Crash. 

Both of our heads whip at the commotion.

My ears perk. “I have to go.” I rush toward the sound of Ford’s voice.

He’s awake.

“Get some midazolam!” someone shouts.

My hair is stuck to my face, and I’m a mess of fear and anxiety, but when I slide in front of the room Ford has been placed in, I shout his name, “Ford!”

His blue eyes are wide, and he’s gasping for air. He’s shirtless, with nothing on but the bottom half of his hockey uniform.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” I enter the room as the nurses scold me, but I ignore them. I fling myself onto his body and wrap my arms around his waist. “I need you to breathe. Deep breaths.”

“I gotta get out of here.” His chest heaves, and I squeeze him tighter.

“Remember last time,” I whisper against his skin. “Breathe in and then out. Match my breathing, Ford.”

“Taytum, I need to go–” Ford sways, and I’m too small to keep him upright, so I push him toward the bed, and he falls clumsily. His arms and legs move sluggishly, and he sucks in a heap of oxygen again, gasping for air.

“I’ll stay with you, but you have to calm down or they’re going to sedate you.” Like last time.

I palm his face, and he stares up into my eyes. There is an undeniable amount of fear and anxiety there, but if there is anyone who can reach him in this state, it’s me.

I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again.

“Breathe,” I demand.

He brings his clammy forehead to mine and takes a few deep breaths. Whew. 

I eye the nurses, and I mouth, “He’s fine.”

They nod, and we all exhale deeply.

In between another deep breath, Ford asks, “Are you okay?”

I straighten my spine. “What? Am I okay?”

His arms tighten around my waist before he pulls back and stares up at me. “I looked at your levels when I went into the locker room… Then I saw you in the stands…” He looks confused. “Then I ended up here.”

Emotion chokes me, and all I do is nod against his forehead. “I’m fine, Ford. But we need to let them check you out. Okay?”

I slowly try to back away, but he doesn’t let go. “Not without you beside me.”

My heart flips. I turn to look at the head nurse, Dorris, and she gives me the okay with a quick nod.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, pushing back on his bare chest. I keep my hand pressed to his heart, because God knows he has his hand on mine.