Page 23 of One Kind Goal

“I didn’t finish reading. Does it say he’s okay? Does it?” Morgan clamped her hand onto Brooke’s forearm.

“What’s happening?” Claire entered the library and came to sit across from them.

“Her hot hockey player got smooshed by a truck,” Brooke said.

Morgan let out a noise that could only be described as a wail. “Is he okay?”

Brooke scanned the screen. “This article doesn’t say. Let’s poke around and see what else we can find.” She clicked the keyboard as she chewed on her bottom lip.

“When was the last time you talked to him?” Claire asked.

“Last night. After his game. He said he was going to bed when we finished our call.” And that was where she’d pictured him when she’d gone to bed too, but one didn’t get hit by a truck while in bed.

“Okay, okay,” Brooke said. “This article has more details. It says he was out for a walk near his hotel after a win last night. Streets were icy. A pickup truck lost control and hit him. He was taken to an area hospital and released with a—”

Morgan’s phone buzzed on the table in front of them and she snatched it up to see Sawyer’s name on the screen.

“I broke my fucking arm,” he said before she could say a word. He held up his right arm which had a cast from his hand all the way to the bend at his elbow. “In two fucking places.”

“But other than that, you’re okay?” she asked, relieved to see him. He had a few scratches on his cheek, but was the rest of him intact?

“Other than the fact that I can’t play hockey,” Sawyer said, his jaw twitching, “yeah, I’m okay.”

“Oh, no. You can’t play. I didn’t even think about that,” Morgan said.

“It’s all I can think about.” Sawyer looked miserable.

“Really?” Brooke leaned over to see the screen. “I’d think all you could think about was the joyous fact that you’re not dead.”

Sawyer blew out a breath. “That’s what my coach said too.”

“I like him already,” Brooke said before Morgan elbowed her out of the way. “What? The man survived being hit by a pickup truck in the middle of the damn night. Shouldn’t we be celebrating?”

“I love celebrating,” Claire said.

Morgan got up from her seat and marched out of the library. She headed for her room. “Sorry about them.”

“They’re probably right. I should be a little more grateful I didn’t have my guts splattered like a bug’s all over that truck’s windshield.”

Morgan shuddered and shook that visual from her mind’s eye. “Tell me what happened.”

“One minute I was taking a stroll because I wasn’t tired,” he said. “The next minute a horn nearly deafened me. Then pain. Lots of it. The emergency room doctor thinks I used my arm to shield myself so it took most of the impact.” He ran a fingertip over the scratches on his cheek. “I still landed on my face apparently, but I wasn’t thrown or anything.”

“That’s because you’re used to large men on skates plowing into you.”

That got a little smile out of him. “I guess.”

“Are you in pain?” she asked.

“Not so much now because I’ve got some painkillers in me, but last night was rough. Not gonna lie.”

“And the driver of the truck? It was a true accident, right? No drunk driving or anything? Is he or she okay?”

“He’s fine, and it was an ice-on-the-road situation. He was going a little fast and got his truck in a skid. He couldn’t get out of it. I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Where are you now?” Morgan asked.

“Still in Minnesota at the hotel. The team is gearing up to leave, but they’re heading to Tampa for tomorrow night’s game, which I no longer have any reason to attend.” Sawyer rubbed his temple as if he had a headache. Poor guy probably did.