Chapter 108: I’m Okay

KNOX’S POV

The ringing came first.

It was a piercing, metallic whine that vibrated behind my eyeballs, drowning out every other sound in the universe.

Then came the cold... freezing, wet ice pressed hard against the left side of my jaw and temple.

Every breath tasted of copper and salt, from where I’d bitten the inside of my cheek when I hit the boards.

My left shoulder and ribs hurt like hell, burning with a throbbing ache that shot down my side every time I tried to breathe.

Slowly, the muffled roar of the arena started coming back.

Whistles were blowing over and over. Up by the glass, people were shouting, and I could hear Bear yelling in total fury as he slammed some Boston player into the boards.

"Don’t move, Knox. Keep your neck straight."

Two firm hands grabbed my helmet, holding my head flat against the ice.

I blinked, trying to clear my vision. The bright overhead lights in the ceiling were a blurry smear of white.

Marty, our head athletic trainer, was kneeling right over me, looking stressed. Behind him, Doc Campbell was clicking a small penlight.

"Sheridan, do you know where you are?" Marty asked, leaning in close.

My jaw felt tight and sore. I spat a little blood onto the ice next to my cheek. "Briar Arena," I croaked. My throat was dry. "Did... did Jake score?"

"Shut up about the game," Marty snapped, though he looked relieved that I was talking. "Look at the light. Left to right. Don’t turn your head."

Doc Campbell shone the light into my eyes. The brightness sent a sharp pain straight to the back of my skull, making my stomach turn.

Then I heard the sound of wheels rolling over the rubber mats by the Zamboni gate.

Through the blur, I saw two campus EMTs running onto the ice with a bright orange plastic spine board.

No way in hell.

I was the captain of this team. There were six thousand fans watching, not to mention the NHL scouts from Chicago and Montreal sitting in Section 104. I was not getting wheeled out on a stretcher like a dead body.

"Get that thing away from me," I grunted, gritting my teeth against the pain in my ribs.

"Knox, you hit the glass at full speed," Doc Campbell warned, keeping a hand on my chest. "You were out cold for ten seconds."

"My fingers and toes work," I told him, wiggling my hands in my gloves and kicking my skates against the ice. "I can feel everything. It’s just my head and shoulder. I’m skating off."

"Sheridan..."

"I’m skating off, Marty."

Coach Brennan skated over, stopping right beside us with a spray of ice. His face was dead serious.

"Can you stand, kid?" Brennan asked quietly.

"Yeah."

Marty took a deep breath and grabbed my right arm, while Brennan took my left, making sure not to bump my bad shoulder.

"On three. Take it slow."

They hauled me up.

The second my skates took my weight, the whole arena tilted sideways. The ceiling swung around, the ice felt like it was dropping out from under me, and my stomach jumped into my throat.

I clamped my jaw shut, digging my blades into the ice and waiting for the room to stop spinning.

Over the loud speakers, the referee’s voice boomed: "Boston number twenty-four, Colin Oliver. Five-minute major for boarding, and a game misconduct."

The home crowd erupted. The entire student section was on their feet, screaming, while the guys on our bench banged their sticks against the boards.

Marty and Brennan kept their arms locked under mine, helping me glide slowly across the ice toward our tunnel.

As we crossed the center line, I forced my chin up, fighting through the dizziness to look toward Section 106.

I found her immediately.

Nora was standing right against the glass.

Her sign was lying on the concrete floor by her boots. Both of her hands were pressed flat against the plexiglass. Her coat was open, her purple scarf was hanging loose, and her face had zero color in it.

She looked completely terrified.

Seeing that look on her face hit me harder than Oliver’s hit ever could.

I caught her eyes through the scratched glass. I couldn’t shout over the noise, but I gave her a small, clear nod to let her know I was in one piece.

Then Brennan guided me past the gate and into the tunnel. The metal door shut behind us, cutting off most of the crowd noise.

They walked me straight into the main exam room under the stands. The room was bright and quiet, smelling of rubbing alcohol and medical tape.

"Sit down," Marty said, helping me onto the padded exam table.

Two assistant trainers grabbed shears and cut the laces off my shoulder pads, carefully sliding my sweat-soaked purple jersey off. When the pads came off my left shoulder, a sharp spike of pain made me suck air through my teeth.

"Deep bruise across the shoulder and collarbone," Doc Campbell said, gently pressing around the swelling. "Nothing feels broken, but it’s going to be swollen and bruised tomorrow."

Marty wrapped thick elastic bandages around my chest and shoulder, packing two bags of crushed ice against the bruise. The cold was a huge relief against the throbbing heat.

Doc Campbell pulled up a stool and checked my eyes again with the light.

"What day is it?"

"Friday."

"Who did you pass the puck to?"

"Jake on the wall."

"Count backward from one hundred by sevens."

I made it to seventy-nine before the pounding in my head made it too hard to focus. Doc clicked the light off and sighed, making a note on his chart.

"Mild concussion," he told me. "You’re done for the night, Knox. Concussion protocol. Go home, rest, no screens."

"Doc, there’s three minutes left," I said, frustrated. "It’s a 2–2 game..."

"You’re done," Brennan said firmly from the doorway. "You gave us twenty-four minutes of great hockey, Knox. You took a hit to make a play. Now let the boys close it out."

Right then, the loud arena goal horn blared right through the concrete walls.

BWAAAH! BWAAAH! BWAAAH!

A second later, the whole building shook as six thousand people went wild upstairs.

Marty looked up at the small TV mounted in the corner of the room showing the live game feed. On the screen, Jake was jumping against the glass, mobbed by the rest of the team as the scoreboard clicked to 3–2.

A big grin broke across Marty’s face. "Jake buried it," Marty said, clapping the table. "Your hit wasn’t for nothing, Captain."

I leaned back, letting out a long breath. The boys finished the job.

"I’ll handle the press conference," Brennan said, tapping my knee. "Doc, get his papers ready."

Brennan, Doc Campbell, and Marty stepped out into the hallway to finish the paperwork, leaving the door cracked open.

I leaned forward on the table, resting my elbows on my knees and putting my face in my hands. My body felt like it had been hit by a truck, and my head was pounding with every heartbeat.

Then I heard voices outside in the hall.

"Miss, hold on, this area is players only..."

"I don’t care," a familiar, shaky voice said. "I’m going in."

I lifted my head.

The door pushed open, and Nora slipped inside. She shut the door behind her and leaned her back against it, breathing hard like she’d sprinted all the way down from the stands.

Her hair was a little messy, her cheeks were red from the cold air, and her coat was unbuttoned.

The second she looked at me, sitting there in my compression shirt, covered in ice packs and bruises... all the fight went out of her.

Her lip trembled.

"Knox," she choked out.

She walked straight over to the table and stepped right between my knees.

Her hands were shaking as she reached up, her cool fingers touching the side of my jaw and moving up to my cheek. Her touch was so gentle and careful it made my throat tighten.

"You idiot," she whispered, her voice cracking as tears gathered in the corner of her eyes. "You didn’t move. You were just lying on the ice."

"Hey," I said softly, though my voice sounded a bit rough.

I raised my good right arm and wrapped it around her, pulling her close.

She didn’t hesitate. She stepped right in, burying her face into my neck, her hands gripping my shirt like she was scared I’d disappear if she let go.

I rested my forehead against her shoulder, closing my eyes and breathing in the scent of vanilla and cold autumn air. My ribs hurt, and my head was pounding, but holding her here in my arms made the world stop spinning.

The scouts in Section 104 didn’t matter... the NHL draft didn’t matter... none of the noise or pressure mattered. All that mattered was this girl, shaking in my arms, holding onto me like I was the only thing that counted.

"I’m okay, Nora," I whispered against her hair, pulling her a little closer. "I’m right here."