Chapter 4 Then

Hey, Irina." I took my usual seat, two rows behind the Plexiglas barrier, and unraveled the scarf hugging my neck while I searched the ice for Connor. When I saw him skating in one piece, I breathed a little easier.

My friend looked over and squinted. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I've just had one of those weird feelings all morning. Not to sound dramatic, but it's almost like a sense of impending doom. I forgot about it by midday when I got busy with patients. But then it came back on the way to the arena." I sank back from the edge of my seat. "It's silly. I know."

"It's not silly. I get that impending-doom feeling all the time."

"You do?"

Irina grinned. "Yeah, it's usually about ten minutes before my two-year-old twins wake up."

I laughed. "Now, that makes sense."

"You're never late," she said. "Did you get stuck on the A train? They've been having track-switch trouble all week. I got caught for over an hour this morning."

My gaze followed Connor as he zigged and zagged, skates cutting into the ice. "No. My train was fine. My last patient was new and went long."

"Don't you have one of those timers? Like in the movies?"

"I have a clock, but if someone is upset and struggling, I can't kick them out. So I don't always stick to the hour allotted."

Irina rubbed her seven-months-pregnant belly. "Shit. I would. Hell, I'd kick this one out if I had the chance. The struggle is real to not pee my pants these days."

I laughed, and it felt good. Everything was fine. The game would end, we'd have a round of drinks, and I'd fall asleep next to my husband after celebratory sex. Yes, even after a game, he had plenty of energy. I smiled wider at the thought.

"Speaking of struggling," she added. "Misery loves company. When are you and Connor going to take the leap and start popping out little ice skaters?"

I hesitated, my smile falling away. Sharing personal information is something I'm careful to avoid doing all day long. But Irina was a friend, not a patient. She and I had sat next to each other for the last four hockey seasons. Her husband was Ivan Lenkov, one of Connor's teammates and closest friends, and Irina and Ivan had recently moved into an apartment in our building. Our lives were busy, hers with a growing family and mine with my practice, but we tried to make time for dinner at least once a month and watched all of the away games we weren't able to go to together.

"I actually went off the pill last month." I bit down on my bottom lip. "I'm excited. But nervous, too."

"Oh wow. Well, if Connor's sperm are as athletic as the rest of him, you're probably already pregnant with triplets."

I chuckled. "Don't even joke. Juggling one with our schedules seems challenging enough."

The roar of the crowd dragged our attention back to the ice. Connor was skating shoulder to shoulder with a defensive player, the puck under his stick's control with one hand while the other fended off the opponent. It always amazed me how many things these guys could do at once, all while balancing on a three-millimeter-thick blade. Connor sailed down the ice as if it were as easy as walking. I supposed to him, it was.

Seconds later, the buzzer sounded for intermission. Connor skated off the ice, following his teammates, but glanced back my way. I couldn't see his face, but I was certain he winked. Warmth spread through me, and I waved.

"You two…" Irina rolled her eyes. I hadn't realized she was watching me. "Still making googly eyes at each other."

I kept it to myself that my husband, the man I'd been with for almost a decade now, had also sent me flowers for no reason today. Deep purple and cream hydrangeas. My favorite.

I stood. "You want to go up to the Suite for the break?" The Suite was short for the Wives' Room, a place where only the wives of players or serious girlfriends invited in by a wife were allowed. It wasn't really my thing. But Irina liked it. Lately, more for the free food than the company. And there was wine in it for me.

Irina hooked her arm with mine. "Lead the way to the pigs in blankets, girl."

Eighteen minutes later, we were back in our spots. The opposing team had taken the lead, and we gripped the edges of our seats, necks craning, hoping the Steel would score again.

We didn't have to wait long. The other team got hit for a penalty, and Connor's team retook control of the game. With the score suddenly tied and their team up a man, the quieted crowd roared back to life. Irina and I jumped up. My heart was in my throat as Connor got the puck. He skated down the center, sharp edges of his blades spraying ice with every leg change. When he reached the net, he swung his stick back.

A defenseman came out of nowhere, slamming Connor from the left, hard enough to rocket him into the air.

"Connor!" His name tore itself from my throat.

The world went into slow motion.

Connor flew into the air.

Another defenseman came in from the right.

Connor flailed, trying to brace himself for the fall.

But gravity waited for no one.

He hit the ice. Hard.

One leg stretched forward and the other splayed back, bending in a way no leg was meant to bend.

My husband screamed, his wail reverberating through the arena.

The crowd went silent.

For a second, I couldn't breathe. Then I bolted down to the ice.

I might've been a psychiatrist, a far cry from an emergency room doctor. But I had gone to medical school. And I knew enough to realize we were headed straight for the hospital.