Page 135 of Over the Line

I nodded. “One more game.”

I couldn’t fucking wait.

“Saints is down behind the goal line, and he’s slow to get up.”

I sat straighter as my heart jumped into my throat. The camera panned and found Liam by the boards.

It had all happened so fast. One second, the players were in motion. Then there was a whistle, the camera panned, and Liam was down.

Heart pounding, I silently begged them to show what happened. I didn’t want to see it, but I needed to. I had to know how he’d gone from skating to… that.

Is he okay? Will someone please say if he’s okay?

The camera panned to the visitors bench and showed one of the trainers hurrying out onto the ice. Then it shifted back to Liam. He’d made it to his hands and knees, which was promising, but he still wasn’t getting up. His head was bowed. His arms were shaking. Temo was crouched beside him, a hand on Liam’s back. Chris stood next to them, watching with concern written all over his face.

I held my breath as the trainer joined them. He knelt beside Liam, ducking his head almost enough to be eye-to-eye with him, a hand on Liam’s shoulder as he spoke to him. From this angle, it was impossible to tell if Liam was responding. If he was bleeding. If… fuck, there were so many possibilities.

I clung to the fact that he’d managed to get to his hands and knees. That ruled out a lot of worst-case scenarios. It didn’t rule out enough of them, though. Especially when I knew just how much hockey players could and would push through pain to get up.

I tried not to remember the defenseman several seasons ago who’d been boarded and played another intense shift before the team doctor apparently said, “No, you’re done. And you’re getting an X-ray. Now.”

The man had gotten up, played hockey, walked into the back—and the X-ray showed a fractured cervical vertebra.

I shuddered at the memory. With my son playing hockey, that incident had given me literal nightmares.

With my boyfriend struggling to get up off the ice right now…

Fuck.

The camera switched to a slow-motion replay. Liam was coming around behind the goal on the heels of the puck carrier. The puck carrier clipped the goal, which knocked him slightly off balance, and they collided, sending both of them into the boards in a heap. Liam went down first. The other guy landed awkwardly on top of him.

I sucked in air through my teeth. Even if he didn’t come away with an injury, that still had to hurt.

When the camera returned to the real-time footage of Liam, he was very slowly and very gingerly getting to his feet with the help of Chris and Temo. Then, as the crowd applauded and the players tapped their sticks, he skated just as slowly toward the bench with his arm around Chris’s shoulders. Upright, partly bent over as if his midsection hurt, but mostly moving on his own power. Definitely a good sign, even if my heart still refused to slow down.

I pushed out a ragged breath as Chris handed Liam off to another trainer at the bench. The sight of Liam disappearing down the tunnel, limping hard and leaning heavily on the trainer, had me sick with worry.

Hockey injuries were weird. Players could bounce back immediately from what looked like a disastrous collision. Or they could seemingly graze each other or the boards, and suddenly they were being carted off on a stretcher. Moving at that high of a speed on a hard surface—shit definitely happened.

It kind of made me miss the days when Chris was on a youth team. They moved almost comically slowly at that age, and the worst part about falling was getting back up on their skates. A “check” was basically two tiny people running into each other in slow motion, then dropping onto the ice on their butts or in a heap. As the kids had aged, they’d picked up speed, and the collisions and injuries got worse.

At this level… well, there was a reason they kept EMTs on site at every game.

I shuddered at the memory of a video I’d been sent on social media during Chris’s minor league days. I could still feel the visceral horror of watching my son getting wheeled off the ice. We’d still been firmly estranged at that point, so I couldn’t even call or text to make sure he was all right. I’d checked with Katie, pleading with her to just let me know he was okay since I knew they were in contact.

“I know he doesn’t want to talk to me,” I’d said. “And I respect that. But please, just let me know he’s okay so I don’t worry.”

Ironically, that had been one of the catalysts toward us reconciling. Not wanting to violate her brother’s boundaries, Katie had asked him if she could update me. He’d told her yes, but apparently it got him thinking, and he’d reached out to me himself not long after. First to let me know he had whiplash, but they hadn’t wanted to take chances with his neck. Then, later, to actually talk to me.

Even with that silver lining, I would never wish that moment on any parent.

Turned out it wasn’t so hot for a partner, either. As the game resumed, I still couldn’t relax. Was Liam okay? Was he heading to the hospital? Were they X-raying him now to figure out if he needed to go to the ER?

Could someone tell us something? Please?

The game went on. The third offensive line made a drive into the other team’s zone. One turnover later, the action was in Pittsburgh’s zone.

And still nothing about Liam.