Page 134 of Unmanageable

Nico is leading the pack, balancing a literal mountain of grease-stained takeout bags that smell suspiciously of MSG and late-night regrets. Brick has an actual, full-sized plastic cooler strapped to his back, his sneakers thudding against the linoleum like a rhythmic, unwanted heartbeat.

Noah follows right behind them, holding a stack of rough hospital blankets with a bewildered look on his face, while Leo brings up the rear with sleep-deprived, spiky hair and a bag of coffee.

“What,” I hiss, my voice a dangerous blade, “on God’s green earth are you doing here?”

“We heard the news,” Brick says, his voice a ‘whisper’ that could be heard clearly in the next county over. “Family emergency. Code Red. Team member down. We brought the essential supplies.”

“Supplies?” I gesture to the cooler strapped to his back. “Brick, is that beer? Tell me you didn’t bring alcohol into a hospital.”

“It’s Gatorade and protein shakes!” he protests, looking wounded. “And maybe… two IPAs. For medicinal purposes. To balance the electrolytes of the soul, Scottie. It’s science.”

“It’s a hospital, not a locker room!” I whisper-shriek, stepping between them and the room door. “This isn’t a tailgate party! There are people in here who think it’s 1952, and if they see you, they’re going to assume the Cold War just started again!”

Nico steps forward, his usual goofy mask dropping away. He looks past me toward the dimly lit room where Cash is sitting.

“Let us in, Scottie,” he says softly. “We aren’t leaving him in there alone. Not tonight. Not when the ice is this thin. We’re a team. Nobody skates solo.”

I look at them.

These giant, unhinged, beautiful morons.

They look exhausted, rumpled, and entirely too determined.

They look like they haven’t slept, they probably haven’t showered, and they’ve clearly spent the last hour raiding every 24-hour establishment in a five-mile radius.

My resolve, usually as solid as a contract clause, softens into something mushy and entirely useless.

“One at a time,” I warn, though I know it’s a blatant lie as they start to shuffle past me like a herd of affectionate, oversized cattle. “And if any of you wakes up a patient, I will personally trade you to the KHL. Do not test me.”

Within twenty minutes, the small, depressing waiting area outside the room has been converted into a tactical base of operations.

Nico has laid out a spread of cold lo mein, egg rolls, and crab rangoon on the reception desk, the steam rising into the fluorescent lights. Brick is currently trying to “stealthily” reorganize the facility’s magazine rack because he claims the feng shui is depressing—he’s currently swapping a Reader’s Digest with a National Geographic.

But inside the room, a deeply uneasy silence settles over the guys.

They stand near the doorway, staring at the frail old man hooked up to the monitors, and then at Cash. Now that they are standing here, the truth is staring them right in the face, and it makes the air feel incredibly thick.

Cash is the loudest person on the roster. He is the life of the party, the guy who fills every room with absolute chaos, practical jokes, and non-stop noise.

To realize that someone that loud, someone who seemed to have zero filter, had been keeping a massive, agonizing secret like this entirely to himself makes everyone feel… unmoored.

It’s a side of him none of them can process.

Noah, who has basically been adopted into the group as their new friend while Cash and I were away on the road, shifts uncomfortably.

He awkwardly steps forward.

“Cash,” Noah says, his voice cutting through the quiet, sounding a bit stiff but earnest. “I ran the numbers on recovery rates for this specific cardiac unit. Statistically speaking, the variance is heavily in his favor. So… historically, mathematically, everything is going to be okay. Probably. Actually, definitely.”

The sheer, awkward bluntness of the math breaks the tension. Cash looks up from his chair, his eyes bloodshot, and lets out a tiny, wet laugh.

It’s the first real spark of the old Cash I’ve seen since the phone call.

“Statistically, huh?” Cash mutters, his voice cracked.

Before Noah can double-check his mental spreadsheet, Cash stands up and pulls him into a sudden, fierce hug.

Noah freezes for a split second, his arms pinned to his sides like a startled penguin, entirely unaccustomed to the casual, bone-crushing affection of hockey players.