by Meghan Quinn
A tear trickles down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away, not wanting the Uber driver to catch me crying, making me the odd story he tells his friends and family at the end of his day.
“I don’t know what my problem is. Why can’t I just let him love me? Why am I having such an issue with this?”
“Because he’s the first guy you’ve ever loved, and it’s terrifying. He’s the first guy who’s ever treated you like you deserve to be treated. The first guy to stick around. The first guy to capture your heart.”
“And he left.”
“No, Adalyn, you left.” The way he emphasizes “you” sends a fearful chill up my spine. “You were the one who left. You gave up before he even have a chance to break your heart.”
“I didn’t want to hold him back.”
“You’re holding him back now,” Racer says, fighting with me. “You’re holding him back from being the man he wants to be. Damn it, Adalyn. He wants you, he wants the baby, he wants a family . . . with you.”
Another swerve of the car. Sitting up, I say, “Sir, could you please not look at your phone while you drive?”
“Is everything okay?” Racer asks, extremely concerned.
Whispering into the phone, I say, “Yes, the Uber driver is just texting and driving. I’m actually on my way to Hayden’s game now to—”
My words are cut off when the driver misses a stop sign and sails through the four-way stop without even looking. It all happens in slow motion: the screech of wheels, me shouting “look out,” the Uber driver swerving, and the impact of another car to the driver’s side, careening the little Toyota Corolla into a small ditch to the right, hitting a fire hydrant.
Disoriented, confused, and upside down, water starts to flow into the car from the broken hydrant, and fills up quickly.
Chapter Thirty
HAYDEN
Never in my life have I played this hard. Not during the playoffs, not when being recruited, not even in college.
Each land of my skate on the ice, I push forward, skating faster, quicker, more precise. My footwork on fire, my stick handling incredible, my focus homed in on one thing and one thing alone: the puck and pushing it past the goalie.
I can’t think of last night and the way Adalyn felt in my arms again, so soft and made just for me. I can’t think about the way she called out my name when I was buried deep inside her, claiming her. I can’t think of the way she felt pressed against my body, sleeping soundly, her breaths in rhythm with mine. And I sure as fuck can’t think about the dead silence when I asked if she had feelings for Logan.
And the biggest thing of all, I can’t focus on whether or not she’s here, sitting in the stands, cheering me on.
I need to keep my head in the game, skate hard, and win this game.
Skating toward the puck, I snag it with my stick, spin off a defender and break through toward the goal, the puck juggled back and forth with my stick.
Focus, Hayden.
Haines is weak on the upper left. You’ve already scored two goals on him tonight in the upper left. Should I go for a third? Will he expect it?
No. He won’t expect me to go for another upper left.
Pushing to the right, I fake, cross the puck to the left and slip it up into the corner again. The siren above the goal sounds off, the crowd cheers, and I wave my stick above my head as I skate toward my celebrating teammates.
Gloved hands pat my helmeted head, my eyes traveling around the arena, fans erupting, the score four to two with a minute to go.
This is one hell of a game. I just hope Adalyn is here to see it.
She’s never seen me play, and that fucking stings. My entire career I’ve been surrounded by friends and family who’ve seen me play, who’ve supported me, been there for me, and the one person I want here, I can’t be sure is actually cheering for me.
The rest of the game finishes in a blur, leaving the score at a four-to-two victory for the Quakes.
Helmets off, we shake hands with each other, congratulating one another on one more win to add to our record. It’s a long season so we need to keep focused on one win at a time.
Gathering my gear, helmet tucked under my arm, I take a deep breath and follow the team in a solid line through the players’ entrance.
Staying in the back, my nerves a mess, I consider what I might do if I don’t see Adalyn waiting for me in the hallway. Hell, what can I do if she’s not there? I can’t keep throwing my heart down in front of her when she has no urge to pick it up off the ground. You can’t force someone to love you. It’s a tough pill to swallow, and I hate that it’s one I might have to.
Stepping onto the carpeted area, I lift my head to take a look around. It strikes me as strange not to see Shannon there congratulating Chris but I continue looking for my girl. Mendez and O’Brien are giving high fives to their children, while Halstrom and Bidwell are kissing their girls off to the side, giving themselves some privacy.
Scanning the area, I search for the brunette with whiskey-colored eyes and a smile that knocks me on my ass. My heart splutters in my chest, the weight of my gear feels heavier, making it harder to breathe.
But I don’t see her.
Not giving up yet, I casually stand in place, off to the side, scanning the entire area, making sure she’s not hiding behind any pillars or trapped behind security.
But the farther and farther I get into the hallway, I feel the crack of my heart as it starts to ripple through my chest. Realization starts to set in.
She’s not here.
She’s not fucking here.
Biting down on the side of my cheek, holding back the angry scream I want to expel, I make my way to the locker room. The team publicist asks me to do an interview but with one look in his direction, he sees the anguish in my eyes and, without asking what’s wrong, he gives me space and turns to another player.
Players, media, staff members all congratulate me on a good game, their praise barely touching the deep wounds busy forging a hole in my soul.
Ignoring the banter in the locker room, the media grabbing interviews with players, and the playful ribbing regularly conducted after games, I shuck my gear as quickly as possible and head to the showers where I single out a shower head in the far corner, and let the scalding water burn onto my back. My palms pressed against the tiled wall, my head dipped down, water slicing over my body, I allow myself to have a fucking moment.
I can’t believe it. I can’t believe she didn’t fucking show up. There was a small part of me, a part of me that was holding on to the summer, holding on to what we shared last night that maybe, just maybe she’d be waiting for me when I got off the ice. That maybe she loved me too.
This is what true disappointment feels like, like utter despair. When the woman you love rejects you for another man, for a man you completely despise. Beaten down and battered, feeling more empty than ever, I let the guys pass by me, their conversations hushed when they spot me. But I don’t move. I stay in that position, letting the water attempt to comfort me. But it’s no use. I’m going to have to find a way to co-parent a child with the woman I’m in love with, who doesn’t love me back. I’m going to have to find a way to accept that a man I loathe will spend every day with my child and the woman I love. Fucking hell, this hurts.
“Fuck,” I mutter, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.
Taking some soap, I lather my body and hair and rinse it under the lukewarm water now, the only guy left in the showers. When I towel off and head to my locker, the room has cleared out. Perfect, I don’t have to deal with anyone.
Approaching my locker, my phone buzzes against the wood of my cubby, but I ignore it and instead, sit down, resting my arms on my legs, hands clasped together, trying to figure out what I’m going to do next.
Why did I think this was going to be a good idea? Why did I think I could pressure her into choosing? Should I have done more? Should I have told her I loved her sooner? Should I not have given her any time or space when
she moved out here? And Logan, fuck, I never should have let him live with her. That’s the perfect combination to fall in love with someone. Friends to lovers, it’s written in all the books.
Shit.
I rub the palm of my hand into my eye as the door to the locker room slams open and a frenzied Chris comes barreling into the locker room, spotting me immediately.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks.
“What does it look like?” I answer, not in the mood for whatever Chris has to say. “I told Darryl I’m not doing any media today.”
“Have you checked your phone?”
“No.” I stand and reach to undo my towel when Chris levels with me, his eyes full of worry. “What’s going on?”
“Everyone has been trying to get in touch with you. Adalyn was in a car accident.”
The blood drains from my body, leaving me feeling lightheaded and pale as a ghost. Chris’s words hit me hard.
Adalyn was in a car accident.
“Wh-what?” I choke out, my throat growing tighter and tighter.
“Logan called Shannon, said Adalyn was in a bad car accident and is in intensive care right now at California Hospital. They’ve all tried to call and text you.”
Ice freezes over my veins, frozen as a fucking iceberg, unable to move, unable to fully comprehend what he’s telling me. “Is . . .” I swallow hard, my voice coming out in a squeak. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know, man. They have no idea what’s happening. No one will tell them anything.”
Stunned, I stand there, unable to move, unable to speak. Adalyn was in an accident.
What about the baby?
Fuck . . . the baby.
“Dude, are you going to get dressed? I can drive you over there but you can’t go in a towel.”
Sitting on the bench of my locker, I put my hands in my hair, pulling on the strands, still in shock. The world slowing around me, my last words to Adalyn trying to reach my brain. What were they? They weren’t I love you. Instead of loving her, I gave her a goddamn ultimatum.
Choose me.
Choose me.
It was all I wanted to yell and scream at her.
It’s not like I said something like I need you. Come back to me. Be with me. You are the reason why I want to be the best dad I can be, because you inspire me to be a better man.
I didn’t say anything like that.
“Hayden, man. Are you going to be okay?”
I shake my head, the room spinning on me. I grip the bench behind me, my nails digging into the wood, wanting to rip the entire thing off the wall and throw it across the room. I’m so fucking angry, I’m fucking scared, I’m fucking torn in two.
“She has to make it,” I choke out, tears hitting me fast and hard. Breaking down, I bend forward, head in my hands. “She has to fucking make it.”
From my side, Chris pats my back and hands me my clothes. “Come on, man. Get dressed and we can get to the hospital.”
Empty and split in half, I walk through the motions of getting dressed and grabbing my things before Chris guides me to his car. I barely register him driving when my phone buzzes in my hand. Adding to the top of the plethora of texts on my phone, Racer’s name pops up, right next to his multiple missed calls.
Does he know something?
I read his text.
Racer: CALL ME!
Fumbling with my phone, I hit the call button and he answers immediately.
“Fuck, man. Fuck. Do you know?” His voice is strained, barely audible.
My throat so goddamn tight, I answer, “On the way to the hospital now. Do you know how she is?”
“I know nothing. I was hoping you did. Fuck, Hayden. I was on the phone with her when it happened. It was . . .” His voice breaks and all I can hear is his sobbing. On the other end, Georgiana, his girlfriend comforts him, her whispers soft.
He was on the phone? With Adalyn?
“Why was she talking and driving? You should have known not to talk to her while she’s driving.”
“It was an Uber, man. The guy was texting and driving.”
Fury. My nerves morph into pure rage, the strength inside me building and building to the point that my hand starts to shake.
“What the fuck!”
“She was heading to the game.”
And just like that, my face blanches, the color in my skin drains and a cool chill takes over my body. She was coming to me. She was going to be with me.
And now . . . now she’s in a hospital fighting for her life. For their lives.
“Fuck, Racer.” Once again, the heartache of Adalyn in the hospital overwhelms me. I cry into the phone, neither of us saying anything but the occasional she’s got to be okay. She’s got to be okay.
Chris doesn’t even bother with parking. He lets me out at the entrance, and I sprint up to the intensive care unit where I find Shannon and Logan in the waiting room, sitting closely together, their faces red and blotchy, the weariness in their eyes unsettling.
I pause, looking at their sullen faces, their hunched-over bodies, and the worst consumes me. On shaky legs, I propel myself forward and stand in front of them. When Logan looks up at the shadow above him, he stands, and we face off but instead of male pride getting in the way, there is a mutual understanding for each other.
“Wh-what do you know?” I stumble over my words, barely hanging on by a thread.
“I have no idea. All I could find out is she’s been unresponsive.”
My world comes crashing to a halt from that one fucking word.
Unresponsive.
Trembling, my hands shaking, my legs ready to give out, I ask, “Is she breathing?”
Logan must sense my lack of control and helps me take a seat. “She’s breathing, but if she’s unresponsive, she could possibly have a head injury.”
“And what does that mean for the baby?”
He shrugs, shaking his head. “I don’t know, man. If there’s internal bleeding, they’ll remove the baby, especially if there was a rupture in the placenta. There are so many things that could have happened; I don’t want to guess.”
“No one has come out here to talk to anyone?”
Logan shakes his head, lips firmly pressed together. “No. Nothing.”
After a few minutes, Chris joins us in the waiting room and holds on to Shannon, stroking her arm and occasionally kissing the top of her head. I know she’s close to Adalyn, so getting the call at the game and then leaving to drive here on her own to the hospital must have been terrifying. Thank God Chris checked his phone before he drove all the way home so he was there for me. I wouldn’t have been able to drive here. Other than the hustle and bustle of the hospital around us, the room is pretty silent, all four of us in our own heads.
Slouching in my chair, hands crossed on my stomach, I lean my head against the edge of my chair and close my eyes, praying to whoever wants to listen to please spare my girl and baby.
Please, please let her be okay. Please protect her and wake her up. Please let me see those beautiful brown eyes again, please let me see that smile, please let me feel her lips, taste her one more time. Please . . .
Please let me be able to meet my baby.
Pressing my fingers into my eyes, I let a few tears fall before wiping them away quickly.
“Hey, she’ll be okay,” Logan says next to me. “She’s tough. She’ll be okay.” Clearing his throat, he adds, “And when she makes it through this, I want you to know, I won’t be interfering anymore. You don’t have to worry about me, man. She’s all yours, she’s always been yours.”
Tilting my head to the side, I look Logan in the eyes. Man to man. He loves her, but he’s letting her go. For me. He silently bows out, and I can’t do anything but respect the fuck out of him, especially for saying it to my face. Lending my hand out, he grasps it and we do an awkward shake side hug, putting our grievances behind us.
Tragic events bring out the best in us at times, the pleading side of us, t
he forgiving side. I’m all three right now. But mostly begging and pleading to anyone who will listen.
After what seems like hours, a doctor comes through the door and calls out Adalyn’s name. I press my hand against Logan’s shoulder as I stand. Without even thinking twice, I say, “I’m her boyfriend and the baby’s father.”
I know the rules about giving information family only, boyfriends don’t count, but the baby, that’s a different story. He must see the desperation in my eyes, because he pulls me to the side and takes a deep breath.
“The baby is okay. We have a heart monitor hooked up right now, and we’re keeping a close eye on him.”
Him.
My world starts spiraling. We’re having a baby boy. A son.
Tears spill from my eyes, and I make no attempt to wipe them away.
“There was some distress from the accident so that’s why we’re monitoring closely.”
Swallowing hard, I say, “And Adalyn?”
Looking around, the doctor questions if he should tell me or not when I plead with him, my tears falling faster and harder. “Please,” I choke on a sob. “Please just tell me.”
Sighing, he leans forward and says, “She’s in a coma. She suffered a traumatic brain injury when the car was hit. Her head slammed into the window . . . lost some blood . . . severe bruise . . . scar . . . broken wrist . . . cuts and scrapes.”
She’s in a coma. I have no idea what else he said. My girl’s in a coma.
“A coma?” I swallow hard. “What does that mean?”
“It means, we’re playing the waiting game now.”
After a few more prolific medical terms thrown my way, he says he’ll walk me to her room. Before I leave, I give everyone an update, and tell them to go home, but none of them move. Instead, they stay put and ask if I need anything.
It might not be the family I grew up with, or the friends I’ve known and loved for a very long time, but this little family of mine in California, it’s more than I could ask for at this very moment.