Secret Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

I walk out of the hospital with my pads in a fucking garbage bag. It was all they had to offer me, since my hockey bag didn’t make the trip with me. I’m just wearing the compression shorts and t-shirt that go under my gear, although they did offer me scrubs. Pass. I did take them up on the slides that go so well with my black socks, but only because going barefoot seemed offensive.

The whole situation is embarrassing.

One of the nurses informed me that Willow and Knox were in the waiting room. But since I was being discharged, they would let them know and I could see them afterward. The emergency department seemed particularly busy—maybe it’s a full moon—and they weren’t allowing any extra visitors in.

Fine by me. Although the thought of Willow suffering Knox’s company set my teeth on edge, and I drummed my fingers on my thighs until the doctor released me.

My head feels marginally better. Although I lost consciousness briefly—which makes sense, because I barely remember being transported off the ice—the tests came back clear. Just a little ol’ concussion.

Well, another one.

The doctor warned that it could have prolonged effects until it healed fully, and that I needed to take a break from hockey. Headaches, dizziness, nausea. I have a pamphlet of things to watch out for, as well as medications to avoid. Stuff that can make my traumatic brain injury bleed more.

I promised to read the pamphlet, but I’m not quitting hockey. Fuck that.

Willow and Knox are standing together in the parking lot. I cast a glance back at the nurse who insisted on wheeling me to the exit, but she’s already turning around and leaving me behind.

Upon further examination, they’re not really together. They’re next to each other, with a foot of space between them, but it’s clear they’re not talking.

I wave.

Willow pushes off the car and rushes across the remaining distance. I drop the bag and catch her, lifting her off her feet. Her arms go around my neck, her chest presses to mine. Her momentum spins us around, and the world tilts. I just squeeze her tighter and close my eyes, ignoring the nauseating sensation.

“I’m okay,” I assure her.

“That was a big hit,” she whispers, cupping my face when I finally set her back on her feet. “And then you didn’t get up…”

“I’m okay,” I repeat. I duck down and kiss her.

She melts into me.

My brother clears his throat behind me.

Willow pulls away slightly, frowning. Her eyes search mine.

I smile, then face Knox. The smile falls away. I don’t know that I like what I see when I look at him, but I know that he was probably terrified. We’ve had our fair share of solid hits that have landed us on our asses, or being checked out by medics in the locker room, but I can’t say either of us have ever been sent to the hospital.

“What did they say?” he asks.

“Concussion.”

Knox’s brows furrow. “Did you tell them you just had one of those?”

I wave him off. “Yeah, I mentioned it. It was in my medical history, too.”

“Okay, but—”

“No buts,” I interrupt. “I’m fine. How did the game go? Did we win?”

Knox checks his phone, then shrugs. “They’re only in the third period. We’re down by two, and the refs are calling stupid penalties.”

Fuck.

“Well, let’s go.”

Willow takes my hand. “Where? To the game?”

“Yeah. Maybe it’ll help…” I clear my throat. “BJ is letting in too many goals. He needs a pep talk or something.”

She sighs. I lean into her, hooking my arm around her shoulders.

Violet climbs out of the driver’s seat. I blink, surprised that she’s here. That she drove them. But then again, I wouldn’t have wanted Willow behind the wheel in a mad dash to follow the ambulance. That would’ve been a recipe for disaster.

I hug her and thank her quietly, so her best friend can’t hear. Because I know Violet left the game more for her than me, and I appreciate it.

She accepts my gratitude and steps back. “So… we’re going back to the game?”

“Yes.”

Knox takes the front. I cinch Willow into my side in the backseat, trying to silently convince her that I’m not going to die. Or break into a million pieces. She keeps a straight face, but she’s not fooling me. She shudders when I press my lips to her temple, and she can’t look at me now that we’re on the road.

Back at the stadium, Violet and Willow follow Knox and me into the players’ entrance. Then into the locker room, which is empty. I change into my street clothes and unload my gear into my hockey bag, leaving it on the bench.

“Okay.” I take Willow’s hand.

Violet and Knox head out first, and I stop my girl.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“It was scary,” I comment. “We’re allowed to be scared.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

“If something had happened to you—” She cuts herself off and turns away.

“If something happened to me, what?”

“I’ve never come so close to wanting to drown myself in alcohol,” she admits. “I wanted to leave the hospital and go to the closest liquor store then just sit in the dark and make myself numb. That terrifies me. The hold that dropping into that space where I just don’t care—”

“But you didn’t.” I tug her closer, ignoring the rigid set of her shoulders. “You stayed.”

“Because of Knox,” she whispers. She swipes under her eye, catching a rolling tear. “Because I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I left while he stayed.”

I chuckle. “He’s good for something, then.”

Her expression is stricken. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize, baby.” I kiss her again, stealing the sweetness of her lips, before pulling back. “Now, let’s go whip some Hawks into shape.”

“And meet my parents,” she adds.

Oh, fuck. I forgot about that.