PEOPLE DESCEND ON HAZEL, crowding her.
“Everyone back off!” My voice booms around the arena as I hurry over at full speed. People give her space, but not fast enough. “Move the fuck back!”
“Dude, there’re kids around,” Owens mutters to me.
I don’t care. My pulse pounds in my ears as I crouch down to Hazel, looking her over, moving my hands over her limbs.
No blood. Her ankle is still on straight. It doesn’t seem like anything is broken.
“Rory, I’m fine,” she says, but she’s wincing. Hazel is in pain and she’s wincing, and it’s my fault.
I said I wouldn’t let her fall. Fear leaks into my blood, making my chest hurt.
“She needs a stretcher.” My voice sounds different. Tense and sharp and loud.
Hazel puts her hand on my shoulder, and I can feel how wild my eyes are. She puts on a reassuring smile.
“Rory, I don’t need a stretcher,” she says softly. “I’m okay. I just slipped.”
I take her hand, the one she used to break her fall, and inspect it. The heel of her palm is red. My fingers skim over the delicate bones of her wrist but nothing seems amiss. Swelling, but not broken.
“Alright.” The medic crouches beside us. “What hurts?”
“I’m okay—” she starts.
“Her ankle and her wrist,” I answer. “And probably her tailbone. We need to go to the hospital.”
She hit the ice so hard I heard her teeth clack. My mind keeps replaying her eyes going wide as she fell, the way her lips parted with worry, and my chest tightens again.
“She might have a concussion,” I add.
I don’t miss the look she exchanges with the medic. “I don’t have a concussion,” she says, “and I definitely don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“Yes, you do. You could have a fracture.” My throat knots.
Hazel is hurt and it’s because of me.
I can hear myself, I can hear how insane and upset I sound, but right now all I care about is making Hazel feel better. Making sure she’s okay. Protective instincts fire through me.
Fuck.
Behind us, the kids, parents, and players watch me lose my mind. Ward meets my eyes and arches a brow.
I look to Volkov, waiting nearby. “Call Dr. Greene.”
He makes a face. Georgia Greene is one of the team doctors, and Volkov can’t stand her, but I don’t give a shit about that right now.
“Call her,” I snap, and he frowns but pulls his phone out.
“Can you stand?” the medic asks Hazel.
“No, she can’t stand.” I’m already scooping Hazel up with care, clutching her tight to me as I slowly skate to the bench. My brain is stuck in caveman gear—make her feel better, get her safe, get her warm, and make her comfortable. Take her pain away.
“Rory.” Her uninjured hand flattens on my chest, smoothing over me in soothing circles.
She’s my whole world, and I let her fall. My teeth grit.
“We’re going to see Dr. Greene.” Off Hazel’s exasperated expression, I glare down at her. “No arguing.”
Hazel sighs as I step off the ice and head to the medic’s room.
