23. Jenner

Chapter 23

Jenner

Straight to voicemail. Again.

Frustrated, I threw my phone into the stall assigned to me inside the visiting locker room deep within Lakers Arena in Detroit.

Evie had completely drawn in on herself after the agency cut ties with us, effectively ending our pending adoption. I couldn't reach her. And I didn't just mean on the phone. She was so deep inside her grief that she wouldn't let me in—wouldn't let me help her.

God, it killed me to see the light dimmed from her eyes. She'd lost the will to fight, which scared the living daylights out of me.

In the back of my mind, I couldn't help but wonder if she'd give up on us next. Because without the possibility of getting a baby, she didn't need me anymore. Love hadn't been enough to make her stay the first time.

"You okay, Captain?" Braxton eyed me.

"Not really." I ran a hand over my beard.

"Worried about Evie?"

"Yeah. Her phone's been off all day."

Braxton and Dakota were the only ones I'd told what happened. Usually, Maddox was my go-to confidante, but in this case, I wasn't in the right headspace to hear him say, "I told you so." He'd been against deceiving the adoption agency from the start, warning that it was going to blow up in our faces.

An added benefit of opting for my younger teammate was that his girl was back in Indy and could check up on Evie while the team was on the road. Not that Dakota had gotten my wife to open the door, but at least she'd reported back that Evie had at least spoken to her, which meant she hadn't run.

Braxton gave me a sympathetic smile. "Dakota will be headed over there soon, and the good news is we'll be home tonight, and you can check on her yourself."

"Yeah," I agreed, but something in my gut warned that there was more to it than a turned-off phone.

Over the years, I'd gotten good at compartmentalizing my private life while on the ice, and tonight was no exception.

I was fucking buzzing out there. Every time my skates touched the ice, adrenaline surged in my veins, and I pushed harder, outmaneuvering the defenders for the Michigan Lakers with ease. They couldn't stop me as I got low to avoid their checks and squeezed around them, leaving them hustling to catch up as I barrelled toward their goalie.

Suddenly, it was just me and Braxton. The puck was on my stick, and my eyes slid over to track his movements. He matched me stride for stride, and I knew he'd be ready. We'd practiced this a million times; the only wild card was Byers in the net and his reaction to our play.

My job was to get him out of position so Braxton could have the easy score. I had to make Byers believe I was the one who was going to shoot, get him to forget about my center waiting at the back door with no one to defend him.

As I got closer, Byers backed into the net, trying to predict where I was planning to place the puck so he could block it. Pulling my stick back, I gave the appearance of readying to take a shot, and he squared up, dropping into a butterfly and raising his glove.

Fuck, he made this so goddamn easy that I almost laughed.

Instead of shooting straight at him, I slid the puck over to Braxton, who held his stick hard on the ice. A tiny tap the second the rubber disc hit his blade, and it was headed straight for the wide-open net. Byers realized his mistake too late, extending his glove hand to stop it, but it had already popped the netting.

Braxton whooped, throwing both hands in the air, and I rushed over to wrap him up in a bear hug as the rest of our teammates on the ice crowded around us in celebration.

"Like taking candy from a baby!" Logan Ford, our defenseman, shouted, and that took the wind right out of my sails.

It was all the reminder I needed that I was out here playing a fucking game while my wife's whole world was falling apart.

There had to be a way to fix this. And I was going to find it.

"Jenner, can you tell us what happened out there?"

Stripped down to my skintight base layer, I wiped the sweat from my forehead before shoving my Speed ballcap on backward. The media was a necessary evil postgame, and usually, after a win, I was happy to answer their questions. But tonight, I barely managed to suffer through it, only focused on getting home to my wife.

"Care to expand on that question?" I asked the male reporter, who had his phone set to record shoved in my face.

"There was a noticeable shift in your energy level after the goal you assisted on to Braxton Slate."

I gritted my teeth. "Not sure what you're talking about." I was well aware that had been a turning point because my mind couldn't focus on the game. Before he could press further, I snapped, "I'm happy to answer questions about the team play tonight in our victory over the Lakers. As you pointed out, I played a key role in assisting Braxton with what turned out to be the game-winning goal. I'm not sure we need to deep dive into every shift played on the ice, do you?"

That had him zipping his lips and retracting his phone.

Good. Maybe the others would take the hint.

"If you don't want to talk about your piss-poor performance after playing the hero, why don't you share with our friends how your adoption is going?"

My head whipped to the side so fast I heard something in my neck pop. When I caught the smirk on Saint Booker's face three stalls down, I saw red. "The fuck did you just say?"

Bristol's soft voice called out from the back of the press pack in warning, "Jenner—"

I held up my hand to cut her off, eyes narrowing on Booker.

"Oops." He raised a hand to cover his mouth, pretending to play coy. "Was I not supposed to share that? Was it a secret?"

Suddenly, I was standing, the pieces clicking into place—the anonymous tip. But I still didn't understand why.

"It was you?"

Saint cocked his head to the side. "What's wrong, Cap? Trouble in paradise?"

Fists clenching in rage, I closed the gap between us, getting in his face. "You better start fucking talking."

Maniacal laughter burst from his lips. "Your wife messed with the wrong girl. Even I'm not dumb enough to get on Jules's bad side."

Jules. That was his girlfriend, Juliana. I knew she and Evie had never gotten along, but what the hell did this have to do with our adoption falling apart?

Before I could ask, Saint volunteered the information. "Guess they had a little run-in a few weeks back. Jules found Evie and her little posse planning a bridal shower for Coach's girl and offered her assistance. But instead of playing nice, they froze her out, telling her to take a hike. She hung around, out of sight, and when your wife excused herself to go to the bathroom, that's when it got real juicy."

Growling, I gripped the front of his shirt, but he remained unphased.

"While she was gone, the others started talking about throwing a surprise baby shower for your wife. That was the first Jules had heard about you two having a baby, but with Evie being a bigger girl, it became one of those questions—is she just fat, or is she pregnant?"

I swear to God, I was going to tear him apart with my bare hands.

"But it didn't quite add up when she watched them order a round of mimosas. So Jules did a little digging, only to find out that our beloved captain and his wife were in the market to adopt. But that's where it hit a snag. She uncovered that our golden boy had lied about his relationship with his estranged wife—or ex-wife, in this case—to apply. She couldn't in good conscience allow some poor, unsuspecting woman to give up her baby to such an immoral couple."

This motherfucker's girl had blown up our lives because of petty jealousy over team social status?

That knowledge tipped me over the edge, and I couldn't hold back any longer.

Releasing my grasp on his shirt, I pulled back my fist and clocked him square in the jaw. When it didn't provide any relief or satisfaction, I did it again.

Saint stumbled back, falling onto his ass on the seat of his stall. Murderous intent filled his blue eyes, and he pounced, knocking me off balance until we crashed onto the locker room floor, a tangle of limbs as we wrestled for position to beat the shit out of one another.

I was deaf to the commotion around us; my focus narrowed on making Saint pay.

"Hey! Break it up!" a voice boomed in the small space as hands pulled us apart.

My chest heaved, anger still consuming me, as I fought against whomever held me back.

"Let me go!" I screamed.

Maddox's scowling face filled my vision. "Not until you tell me why my captain is attacking his teammate."

"Me?" My eyes widened at the accusation that I was the one in the wrong. I reached around his massive frame to point my finger at Saint. "That asshole fucked with my family!"

Shocked, Maddox spun around, asking Saint, "What's he talking about?"

The cocky fucker simply shrugged, a smirk on his busted-up face.

Peeking back at me with an eye roll, Maddox said, "If he doesn't want to share his side of the story, I can't help him. Why don't you explain, then?"

There was a dull throbbing beneath my eye, and I hissed when I darted my tongue out, tasting blood where my lip was split. But nothing hurt more than my heart, knowing I'd failed Evie. I was the one who'd put her in Juliana's orbit when I insisted she attend games so we could be seen as a couple. If I hadn't . . . maybe we would still be on track, excited about impending parenthood.

Maddox must have seen the despair on my face because he gripped my bicep, ushering me from the room.

He found an unoccupied training room and sealed us inside.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his dark hair. "What's going on?"

Dropping my gaze to the floor, I whispered, "They found out."

His confusion was audible. "Who found out what?"

"The adoption agency. Called us in last week to tell us they knew our paperwork wasn't above board and killed the adoption."

Maddox sucked in a sharp breath. "Shit."

I dared to peek up at him, confessing, "Evie's a fucking mess, man. She's been in bed for days, won't talk to me, won't eat, won't sleep. I've tried calling her this whole time we've been gone, but she won't pick up. Dakota's been going over a couple of times a day to check on her, but she won't answer the door. It's like her heart has been ripped right out of her chest, and she doesn't know how to go on."

"Jenner, I'm sorry." His words were genuine, even if he'd cautioned us this would happen from the start.

"And if that wasn't bad enough, Saint fucking Booker saw fit to taunt me in front of the press. Come to find out, his girlfriend was the anonymous tip the agency received, telling them to dig deeper into our relationship. All because the girls wouldn't let her help plan Bristol's bridal shower."

My best friend's chest rumbled. "I should've let you kill him."

I blew out a heavy breath. "I'm glad you didn't. He's not worth it. The only thing I care about is getting home to her, so can we wrap this up and get on the road?"

Maddox nodded. "Yeah. You let me handle Saint. I've been sick of his shit for a while, but you don't fuck with your own teammates. I'm willing to bet I can get him to waive his non-trade clause by the end of the week."

"If I never see his face again, it'll be too soon," I muttered.

Tilting his head toward the closed door, he said, " Let's get you out of here and cleaned up. It's time to go home."

What did it say about me that I was terrified of what awaited me when I got there?

Every light was off when I arrived home. If Evie hadn't gotten out of bed, as I suspected, it wasn't much of a surprise.

There had been a moment of anxiety when I pushed the button on my garage door remote, but it vanished quickly when I saw her car parked in its usual spot. In the state I'd left her, it would have come as a hell of a shock that she had found the strength to get out of bed and drive anywhere, let alone back to Oklahoma as she'd done before. But I wasn't sure I would ever shake the fear that one day she would just vanish.

Moving through the quiet house, I made a beeline for the master suite. I didn't bother to stop to take off my suit jacket or shoes. Checking on Evie was my top priority.

Pushing into our bedroom, I froze. The covers were flat on the bed, indicating she wasn't in it.

Fear skittered down my spine, and I turned to check the bathroom. When that search came up empty, I dared to call out, "Evie?"

I was met with only silence in response.

Fuck. I should've never left her in the state she was in.

Stepping further into the bedroom, I was headed to check the walk-in closet next. The unimaginable began creeping into my brain when I saw it around the corner of the bed—Evie's limp hand lying along the hardwood floor.

My heart dropped to my stomach.

"Shit."

My feet couldn't move fast enough to get to her. When her unconscious body came into view, limbs splayed awkwardly, I dropped to my knees, cupping her face.

"Evie, baby. Wake up," I begged, desperate for her to open her eyes. "Please." That last word came out strangled.

Torn between needing to keep my hold on her and calling for help, I finally managed to reach a hand into my pocket and pull out my cell. Typing in the three numbers kids were taught at an early age to memorize, I pressed the speaker function before tossing it onto the floor.

When the call connected, a female voice spoke clearly on the other side of the line. "9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

"My wife," I rasped, emotion making it hard to speak. "She's unconscious."

"Okay, sir," the reassuring voice said in response. "Do you know how long it's been since she lost consciousness?"

I shook my head, even though I knew the dispatcher couldn't see me. "No. I just got home and found her like this."

"Can you check to see if she has a pulse?"

My blood ran cold, but I forced my hand to move from her cheek to press two fingers below her jaw. Relief washed over me at the faint pulsing I felt beneath her pale skin.

"Yes, but it's not very strong."

"I'm sending an ambulance. Can you confirm your address?"

"It's 528 Poplar Lane."

"Great. There's one in the area, and it should be arriving in less than five minutes. I'm going to stay on the line with you until they get there, okay?"

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. "Okay."

"The more information the EMTs have, the better. Can you tell me if you notice any signs of head trauma on your wife?"

My fingers grazed over Evie's soft face. "No, but she did take a hit to the head a little over a week ago. She was cleared of a concussion at the time and hasn't shown any symptoms since that would suggest the doctor who checked her over was wrong in his assessment."

"Good. How about any underlying health conditions?"

"No, nothing."

"Medications she's currently taking?"

I paused, eyes flicking to the bathroom, where I knew there were leftover pain meds from past injuries I'd incurred on the ice.

Slamming my eyes shut, I admitted to the woman on the phone, "Not that I know of, but she has a history of depression and was in the midst of a bad bout of it before I left on a work trip."

"Do you think she might've taken something?" There was no judgment in her tone. She was simply trying to gather facts.

"I don't want to think so, but in her current mental state, I can't be sure."

I was wound so tight I nearly jumped out of my skin when there was a heavy pounding on the front door.

"I think the ambulance is here," I breathed out.

Calmly, the dispatcher explained, "I know it's difficult, but you're going to have to leave her to answer the door. They can't help her if you don't."

The last thing I wanted to do was relinquish my hold on Evie, but I knew she needed the help of the EMTs.

Kissing her forehead, I whispered, "I'll be right back, baby."

Running down the steps, I flung open the door before turning on my heel and sprinting back up without a word to the two men waiting on the other side. They wouldn't have been called if it wasn't an emergency and would figure it out.

Following behind me, they stepped inside our bedroom, kneeling to check on Evie.

The first one asked, "You found her like this?"

"Yes."

The second one studied me instead of focusing his attention on my wife like his colleague. "What happened to you?"

"What?" His question didn't make any sense.

He tapped two fingers below his eye. "Your face."

Shit. Everything that had happened tonight prior to walking into this room had been forgotten the moment I found Evie lying there.

Not only did the memories come rushing back, but so did the pulsing pain beneath my eye socket, which had only been made worse in a pressurized airplane cabin. I probably looked like I‘d gone a few rounds with a heavyweight champion versus an asshole who'd landed two punches.

"Got in a fight," I mumbled.

EMT Number Two's eyebrows rose. "With her?" His gaze darted to my unconscious wife.

"No!" I yelled before realizing that raising my voice wouldn't make my statement any more believable. Shaking my head, I explained, "I play hockey."

EMT Number One rolled his eyes before chastising his partner. "Jesus, Kyle. You don't recognize him? He's the freaking captain of the Indy Speed, for Christ's sake."

"Sorry," EMT Number Two—Kyle—said. "I had to ask."

I ran a hand down my face. "Yeah. I get it. How about you worry a little less about me and a little more about my wife?"

He nodded. "Stay with her. We're going back down for the stretcher, and we will be right back."

I barely noticed the two men leaving but heard the wheels of the portable bed upon their return.

It took some coaxing for me to move back enough to allow them to maneuver her onto the stretcher, hook her up to monitors, and then work together to carry the whole setup down the stairs. I trailed them helplessly, barely managing to lock the front door before climbing into the back of the ambulance with the EMT delegated to care for patients during transport to the hospital.

He locked the stretcher in place and tapped on the partition between the back and the cab to let the driver know we were ready. I flinched when the siren blared, and the vehicle lurched forward, speeding down the quiet suburban streets.

Throughout the drive, I leaned forward to stroke Evie's hair, whispering that everything would be okay, hating that I didn't know if I was feeding her lies.

We came to a stop outside the emergency room of the nearest hospital, and the back doors of the ambulance swung open. The EMTs moved the stretcher onto solid ground before rushing her into the building. I had to run to keep up as they relayed all the information they'd gathered so far to a team of waiting doctors.

They pushed through a set of doors leading to the back of the unit, and when I went to follow, a woman in scrubs stepped in my path. "Sir, you can't go back there."

I gestured a hand toward where they walked further away with Evie. "That's my wife."

She gave me a small smile, nodding. "I understand that. If you can give me her name, I'll make sure someone comes out to brief you on her status."

"I need to be with her." My voice weakened, knowing that even if I tried to plow through the woman half my size, she'd call for security, and then I would never get near Evie.

"I know it's hard," she replied. "But in order to help her, our team needs to be able to focus, and it's difficult to do that with a panicked spouse in the room."

"Evie," I said hoarsely. "Her name is Evangeline Knight. Just please help her," I begged.

"We'll do everything we can for her," she promised before turning and heading toward where they'd taken Evie.

Desperation clawed up my throat as I collapsed outside the swinging doors where the love of my life had disappeared.

I couldn't lose her. Not like this.