Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Hudson

My teammates blasted puck after puck at the net during warm-up drills, but nothing got past me. I was on fire for Game One of the second round of playoffs on home ice, laser-focused and in tight control. Colorado didn't stand a chance.

A commotion in the stands niggled at my mind, but I pushed it aside. I couldn't allow anything to break my concentration on the next puck from my teammates. And the next. Until a panicked shout of "Beck!" rose above the din. Beck's head snapped around to the ruckus and he swore, "Oh, shit." His jaw clenched. He raced to me and threw up a snow shower as he slid to a stop and dropped his stick to the ice. Grasping my shoulders, he cautioned, "Keep it together, man. I've got your back."

"What—" My gaze rose to the disturbance in the stands. Fuck . Something was happening in the comp seats. A crowd had gathered right where Whitney and Gramps sat. My stomach dropped. The arena's EMT made his way down the aisle to their row .

Was it Gramps? Or Whitney? My stomach knotted and my breath stalled. Gramps popped out of his seat, gesturing to the EMT to hurry.

Oh, my God. Whitney was having another seizure. I didn't even think. I skated off the ice, my eyes glued to the scene. Skate blades sliced the ice behind me.

When I reached the bench, Coach Roberts growled and stepped in my way. "Where the fuck do you think you're going? Get back out there."

I pointed to the stands. "That's my wife up there, having a seizure." From this vantage point, I could see her lying on the concrete, Hope cradling her head. "Put Joonas in goal. I'm leaving."

"It's a ten thousand dollar fine if you leave, and I'll bench you for the next game."

My stomach twisted. I didn't care about the fine, but I hated to let my teammates down.

A heavy hand landed on my shoulder. "Go," Beck rumbled. "We support you."

I turned, and the entire team had gathered around us. Chase nodded, and Derek's brows drew together in concern as he gazed into the stands. Luc tapped his stick on the ice, followed by the rest of my teammates. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joonas gearing up. Assistant Coach Barr shouted, "Get the EBUG!"

My chest swelled. My teammates—my friends—had my back. I raised my stick in thanks and hustled down the tunnel toward the locker room. Coach's yell, "Talbott!" echoed down the corridor, but I ignored it. My only goal was to reach Whitney.

I stripped in record time, and an equipment manager gathered my gear for me. I didn't bother dressing in my suit, which would garner another fine, but hastily pulled on sweats and sneakers. I ran up the stairs, two at a time, and flung open the door on the concourse level. I skittered to a halt. Shit. A teeming throng of fans blocked my way.

I weaved my way through the swarm as quickly as possible, excusing myself. People called my name, and I acknowledged them with a wave or a greeting, but I didn't stop. Panic roiled in my chest, spurring me on.

I reached the mouth of the aisle above the bench, where a dense clog had formed. I pushed my way through the crowd and past a waiting ambulance gurney guarded by an usher.

"Sir, you can't—" the usher began.

"That's my wife," I shouted as I passed her. I hurtled down the stairs to Whitney's row, where Hope stood hugging herself. The EMT blocked my view of Whitney's face.

"How is she?" I was a pro athlete used to shutting down all emotions and performing at top speed, yet my heart thundered out of control and my breath hitched.

"She stopped jerking, but she's in and out of consciousness." Hope's brows knit in concern.

"She probably will be for a while." I squeezed her shoulders, hoping to comfort her. "Thanks for taking care of her."

"I felt so helpless," she said, her voice trembling.

"I know." That feeling of powerlessness was seared into my memory. "But you did the right thing by holding her head so she wouldn't hurt herself."

With an EMT at her feet and one at her shoulders, the two men lifted Whitney off the floor. My protective instincts kicked in. She was mine to take care of. I growled, "Give her to me."

"Sir, we can't allow you to?—"

"I'm her husband, and I'm not asking permission." I snatched her from their arms and clasped her limp form to me. I peered down into her sweet face. "Wake up, baby." She didn't respond, and a band tightened around my chest.

Gramps hobbled to my side, his face deeply lined and ashen. "She opened her eyes, asked for you, then passed out again." He placed Whitney's purse and glasses in her lap.

A sense of urgency gripped me, but I had to take the time to ask, "How are you, Gramps?"

"Don't you worry about me. Take care of Whitney." He pointed up the stairs.

I turned to Hope. "Would you make sure Gramps gets to his car after the game?"

"Absolutely. Now, go."

"Right this way, sir."

I followed the EMT.

Ushers held back the crowd as I climbed the stairs, my heart lodged in my throat. I placed Whitney on the gurney, reluctant to let her go. They strapped her down and rushed her to the elevator and out to the ambulance, where they loaded her inside. I didn't even ask if I could—I simply climbed in with her. On our way to the ER, the paramedic attached a blood pressure cuff, inserted an IV line, and hooked her up to oxygen. I retrieved Whitney's insurance card and rattled off her medical information when asked.

Whitney's eyelids fluttered open. "What's goin' on?" She slurred her words.

My heart leaped, and I placed a soothing hand on her shin. "Whitney, it's me. Hudson."

"Hudson?"

"That's right, baby." I rubbed her leg. "You had another seizure."

"What happened?" Her eyelids slid shut. I'd lost her again. I sat back on the bench, my heart heavy.

The following two hours were a replay of her previous seizure. Whitney floated in and out of consciousness, confused, repeatedly asking the same questions. She didn't recognize me, tearing my heart apart.

I called Gramps, but he didn't answer his phone—he probably couldn't hear it ring because of the arena's noise. I called Hope and gave her an update on Whitney's condition.

"How is Gramps?"

"I'm sitting beside him right now. He's pretty shaken up."

"Give me that phone," Gramps muttered in the background. Hope must have passed it to him, because his voice was louder when he growled, "I'm fine. It's Whitney I'm worried about."

"How's your heart? Your blood pressure?"

"My ticker has never been better," he grumped. "What's happening with Whitney?"

I repeated my update of the situation, that Whitney was in and out of consciousness. "I'll call again when we're home."

"Be sure you do." The background noise levels rose, drowning out Gramps.

I'd been so wrapped up in Whitney's condition that I'd almost forgotten about the game. I raised my voice. "What's the score?"

"The Blazers are winning three to two in the second period," Gramps shouted. "I'll talk to you later."

Hope came on the line. "Can we do anything for you? Do you need us at the hospital?"

"No, thanks. I'll text you when she wakes up."

"M'awake." Whitney tripped over the words.

I startled at her voice. "She's awake now. I've got to go." I ended the call.

Whitney's eyelids slowly opened, and I hastened to place her glasses on her face. Her gaze roamed the cubicle. "Oh, no. What happened?"

"You had another seizure, baby," I said gently .

Her eyes became shiny with tears. "Why? I ate dinner and took my medication."

"I don't know." My jaw clenched. "But we'll find out."

"Hudson," she whispered, her voice shredded. "You didn't bargain for this. I'm?—"

I held up a hand. "Let me stop you right there. I don't regret a single minute of our marriage." I took her hand and met her gaze, hoping she could see the sincerity in my eyes and the depths of my feelings for her. I'd fought it, but I couldn't help falling in love with my wife. Her generosity, kind and nurturing nature, and romantic heart melted the ice of my resistance. I couldn't live without her in my life. "I love you, Whitney." My voice was low and brimming with honesty.

Her breath hitched. Then her eyelids slid shut.

My stomach sank. Had she heard me?

When Whitney regained consciousness, I didn't have a chance to ask her. The ER doctor hustled into the cubicle and discharged her with instructions to follow up with her neurologist—again. For all the good he'd done during the first follow-up appointment, Whitney wouldn't be seeing him. Instead, I'd ask the team's neurologist to recommend an epilepsy specialist. I'd pull whatever strings were necessary to get her in as soon as possible.

Whitney dozed as I drove her home, but she roused when we arrived. I wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her unsteady steps into our apartment.

As soon as we were inside, she collapsed against me, pressing a hand to her head. "Headache…body aches…" she mumbled.

I assisted her into a kitchen chair. Grabbing the bottle of Advil and a glass of water, I watched her down two tablets.

I helped her shower and tucked her into bed. Mr. Darcy curled up next to her, and she fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I dropped my head into my hands, my heart lodged in my throat. I hated seeing her like this. Thank God we were married, and I could help her receive the proper care. But that wasn't the only reason I was glad we were married. She made me happier than I'd been since Julianna left me.

Hell, maybe even before Julianna left me. I couldn't remember loving Juliana as deeply as I loved Whitney.

I rose to my feet and moved to the living room. It was past his bedtime, but I'd promised Gramps I'd call.

He answered on the first ring. "How is she?"

"Recovering. She's sleeping now, which is what she needs."

"Why didn't you tell me she had seizures? Especially after she had trouble at dinner the other night?" Hurt threaded through his voice.

A pang of guilt hit me in the chest. "We thought they were under control and didn't want to worry you."

"Instead, I was unprepared when my granddaughter fell out of her seat," his voice cracked, "and started convulsing on the concrete!"

My gut clenched. "I'm so sorry, Gramps."

"I'm just sorry I couldn't help. But Hope knew what to do." He muttered, "You told her ."

"Hope is her emergency contact when I'm unavailable," I explained, my voice gentle.

"Okay. I get it. The important thing is, what are you going to do for Whitney?"

I clenched my fist. "I'm going to get her the best care possible."

"That's my boy. I'm proud of you, but Coach didn't look happy that you left. "

I rubbed my temples, knowing I had consequences to face later. "No. I'm going to be fined and benched for the next game."

"Nuts. But that's what you do for the woman you love."

The truth settled in my chest and found its home in my heart.