He wondered who had hit him. He had no memory of it.
They must be showing the footage of the hit over and over again on television.
This had never happened to Shane before. Somehow, in all his years of playing, he’d never been laid out cold.
It only takes one time.
His vision was blurry again, but this time it was because of the tears that had formed in his eyes.
The game had been almost over, right? Shane couldn’t remember, but he was sure it had been the third period. Montreal had been winning.
What if I can’t play in the playoffs?
He was two goals ahead of Ilya in the scoring race with one week left of the regular season. He could kiss that lead goodbye.
“Shane? We need you to keep your eyes open, okay?”
“Sorry.”
Ilya had to wait until morning before he could go to the hospital. His team was leaving for the airport in two hours.
He was the team captain. It wasn’t unheard of for the opposing team captain to check to make sure the player his teammate had taken out was all right.
Fucking Marlow.He knew Cliff felt bad. He hadn’t mean to hit Shane so hard, or at such an awkward angle. But Ilya still wanted to kill him.
He was given Shane’s room number by an overly interested woman working behind a desk at the hospital. She seemed to be impressed at Ilya’s display of sportsmanship.
The door was open a crack, so Ilya gently pushed it open. Hollander was elevated a bit by the hospital bed into an almost-sitting position. The room was, to Ilya’s relief, otherwise empty.
“Ilya!” Shane exclaimed. He had his left arm in a sling.
“Hi,” Ilya said awkwardly. “I just needed—are you—?”
“I’m okay,” Shane said. He smiled shyly, and Ilya knew he was happy to see him. “I mean, I have a concussion, and a fractured collarbone. I’m out for the playoffs. But...”
“Could have been worse.”
“Yeah.”
“Marlow is...he feels bad,” Ilya said stupidly. “He was very...angry at himself. And I am mad at him as well.”
Shane snorted. “It’s part of the game. I know he’s not a vicious player. We all get our bell rung eventually, right?”
Shane must have been on somegooddrugs. He was actually grinning.
“He probably doesn’t want to meet my mom in a dark alley, though,” he joked. “She’s out for blood.”
“I will warn him.”
Ilya wanted to touch him and know that he was really,reallyokay. He had barely slept last night. He’d spent the whole night sick with worry and refreshing sports sites looking for news of Shane’s injuries. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing Shane’s unmoving body on the ice.
It must have shown in Ilya’s eyes, because Shane extended his good hand and said, in a soft voice, “Hey.”
Ilya nudged the door closed and crossed the room until he was right next to Shane’s bed. He gently brushed his fingers over Shane’s face as Shane gazed up at him and smiled.
“You scared me,” Ilya admitted.
“Scared myself.”
