As she got to her feet, getting ready to leave since she wouldn’t be able to see Ike tonight anyway, an arm dropped across her shoulders and pulled her close.
“How’re you holding up, beautiful?” JB Larocque’s dark eyes searched hers.
The Ice Cats star had been an honorary member of the Badoletti and Jelinek clan since Jake had helped him out of trouble in his rookie year. Both Maggie and Tracy had a soft spot for the young charmer, too, thinking of him almost like a younger brother.
“I’m okay, thanks.” She managed a half smile, though her lips felt stiff.
“Uh-huh.” JB wiped a tear from her cheek with his forefinger. “I can tell.”
“I’m relieved. It sounded like a terrible injury. Maggie was worried, so I said I’d find out how Ike was doing for her. Though these days, she’ll hear about it more quickly through social media than waiting for me to call.” Damn it. Why did she have to babble mindlessly?
“Yeah. Hardshaw just left to update the press. They’ll be keen to air his statement, given they’ve been running the footage of the accident almost constantly.”
Tracy’s stomach churned. “That’s a highlight I don’t want to see.”
“It was bad enough being there. Scared the crap out of me.”
“I don’t know how you managed to play on.”
“We had to get the W for Ike.” JB scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “Hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
She tilted her head against his, so their temples touched. “He’ll appreciate what you did.”
He sighed heavily. “It still sucks.”
They stood that way for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Then JB straightened and dropped his arm. “I’d better hit the road. I’m wiped.”
“I’ll walk out with you.”
“Don’t you want to see Ike?” He frowned, surprised.
Tracy shook her head. “I’m not family.”
“You’re as much family as I am.”
Though she felt herself wavering, Tracy shook her head again. “I can wait. It’s more important for Karina to see him. She’s worried sick.”
“And you’re not?” There was that probing, all-seeing look again.
“Of course I’m concerned. As I would be if any of you got hurt.” She hated that her voice shook on the last word.
JB held her gaze silently, as if waiting for her to change her mind. When she didn’t, he shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
“If you’re ready to go, I’ll walk out with you.”
“Okay.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I bet Ike would appreciate you stopping by tomorrow.”
About as much as he’d appreciate being sidelined for the next few months. Maybe that’s why she was so hesitant about seeing him. She wasn’t sure he’d want her there. That thought tugged at her heart. “I...uh...should say goodbye to Karina, but I think I’ll just slip away.”
“Then let’s bug out.”
Tracy managed to hold herself together as she walked through the media throng and out of the hospital doors. JB walked her to her car before heading off to his own. Once he’d gone, she lowered her head to the steering wheel, taking several deep, shaky breaths to calm her jittery pulse.
When she got home, Tracy called Maggie to update her on Ike’s condition, fed Moppet and Poppet, then poured herself a glass of wine and sank onto the couch. She switched on the TV, hoping to watch something light.
Unfortunately, she caught the sports news, which led off with the story about Ike. Tracy should have changed the channel, but she couldn’t look away. Her throat burned as she saw the blood spurt from Ike’s injured arm. His pale face and confused expression made her heart ache. A chill went through her as he collapsed and those around him rushed to help. The network kept replaying the moment of the injury. It looked almost harmless. It wasn’t like Steeler had stamped on Ike. A quick swipe and the damage was done.
The coverage switched to the press conference at the hospital. Hardshaw kept details to a minimum, briefly summarizing what the surgeon had told them. Coach Macarty braved the barrage of questions, though he clearly looked as shaken as his players. He shut the interview down when a thoughtless journalist asked about the Ice Cats’ goaltending situation while Ike was out.
“This isn’t the time for that question. Right now, our thoughts and prayers are with Ike and his family,” he snapped before stalking away.
Finally Tracy flicked off the television. Her mind kept replaying what she’d seen in all its glory. Despite the surgeon’s reassurances, she couldn’t quite believe that Ike was all right.
Her hand trembled as she lifted her wineglass to her lips. Perhaps she’d been a bit hasty, rushing out of the hospital. Maybe if she’d seen Ike, she’d be able to move past the gruesome images etched into her brain.
It would only take a few minutes to stop by and see him tomorrow. Hopefully, he’d still be too groggy from the operation to pay much attention to why she was there. If not, she could claim that Maggie wanted reassurance. Regardless, it was something she had to do. She’d worry about any fallout later.
EVERYONE WAS LAUGHING AT HIM.
Ike tried to skate across to his crease, but he kept losing an edge and falling over. Meanwhile, the Rangers players jeered at him as they fired pucks into the open net. The score kept flashing up—rising and rising—more like a basketball tally than hockey.
The laughter grew. Ike looked up to see himself on the Jumbotron. Why was he wearing a hospital gown? The other players catcalled as they pointed at his bare ass on the screens.
Determination burned in his gut as he crawled across the ice. He would make it to his goal if it killed him. Inch by painful inch, he drew closer, until he could grab one of the posts to pull himself up. But before he could, the red pipe turned into skate blades, gleaming in the lights of the arena.
Pucks flew at him from all sides. He tried to block or catch them, but kept missing. Finally, one came at him at the perfect angle. He reached out to snatch it from the air, but as he did, his arm went back into the goal and those skate blades closed around it. He screamed in agony as they sliced his arm with the finesse of a sushi chef and the crowd mockingly chanted his name.
“Ike. Wake up.”
Ike felt himself jolt, but couldn’t move. His limbs were heavy, as if weighted down. His arm hurt like a son of a bitch. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His heart pounded furiously against his ribs. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. His eyes opened, but the bright light hurt, so he shut them again.
“It’s okay.” A gentle hand wiped a cool, moist cloth across his forehead.
The comforting touch helped push the nightmare from his brain until all that remained was the sharp, throbbing pain in his arm. He frowned as he recognized the soothing voice. A familiar scent teased his nostrils, light and fresh above the antiseptic smell.
There was no way Tracy would be mopping his brow.
“You were dreaming.” Definitely Tracy’s voice. “The nurse said the anesthetic can have that effect on some people.”
He must be dying; no way she’d talk