Page 237 of Risking the Pucking Defense

It will take an hour and a half.

That’s…that’s more than I’ve driven in years.

It’s crazy. It’s⁠—

It’s Hayden.

With determination shooting through my body, I push aside all my fears, or at least I try, and I put the car back into reverse and carefully edge my way out of my space.

Less than thirty seconds later, I’m pulling onto the main road.

My heart is in my throat, my fingers are already cramping from how tightly I’m holding the wheel, and I’m sweating profusely.

But I’m doing it.

Refusing to let any thought enter my head other than my need to get to him, I focus on the road ahead of me, and the directions on the screen and in my ears.

You’ve got this, Caldwell.

Go and get your man.

66

HAYDEN

Nothing but pure anger surges through me as I’m helped off the ice by our medical team while the guy who took me down makes his way to the penalty box.

This isn’t how tonight was meant to go.

I should be out there with Rett. It was my chance, and I fucked it up.

I didn’t even get to play a whole period before being forced to stop. I didn’t even get the chance to argue, seeing as the ice is painted with my blood.

I don’t spare a thought for the state of my face. I know it’s bad. It hurts like a bitch. My only concerns are the game, and Hailee, who is no doubt watching that at home. There are my parents, too, of course.

I look toward where I know they're sitting a beat before I disappear down the tunnel. Mom’s face is pale, all the blood drained from it, and Dad’s expression is tight with worry.

I can only imagine how much stress my playing hockey has brought them over the years. Dad often jokes that I’m the reason he’s bald. But I think it’s possibly not that far from the truth. Between my sport of choice and Rylee’s illness, his hair didn’t stand a chance.

I give them a nod, not that I’m sure they’ll be able to see it from here. I just need them to know that I’m okay. That they don’t have anything to worry about.

My girl, on the other hand …

“Can I go and get my cell?” I ask, despite knowing what the answer will be.

Eddie Phillips, our team doctor, barks out a laugh.

“Give me thirty minutes, and I’ll have you back out there. Anyone who’s worrying will see that you’re okay,” he tells me as he leads me into a room and demands I get onto a table.

My chest heaves, my face hurts like a motherfucker, but it’s the concern that’s twisting up my stomach that I can’t ignore.

Hailee is going to be freaking out.

It won’t matter that she’s seen this kind of injury time and time again.

Eddie steps up to my side again, his team right there with him, ready to get me patched up and back out there to finish the job.

I suck in a sharp breath as he releases the dressing that was pressed to my face to try and stem the blood flow, and I close my eyes, not wanting a front-row seat to what’s about to happen.