Best Of Both Worlds (Colorado Black Diamonds #4)

Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

GRAHAM

“ A re you going to go see Noah?” Jasper asks as we make our way out of the arena.

“Yeah.”

“Do you think they’ll let you see him?” Dax asks from next to me.

I shrug. “I don’t know. But hopefully I can.”

“If you can, tell him we’re all pulling for him, yeah?” Jasper tells me as he claps me on the back.

“Sure thing.” I nod at him before heading to Noah’s truck.

Considering that we rode here together, it’s the only means I have of getting home. I hated fishing through his locker to grab his keys.

But here we are.

The entire drive to the hospital, dread clings to me. I haven’t been able to turn off the moment Noah went down on the ice. It keeps replaying in my head.

The way he dropped.

The way he didn’t move.

The way he was carted off the ice.

I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

And for it to happen to Noah?

I have to pull the truck over to take a minute to breathe. To let the moment of wanting to get sick pass.

Fuck.

You can do this, Graham. Suck it up and go check on Noah. He would do the same for you if the roles were reversed and you were in the hospital.

Another deep breath.

Okay. I got this.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Pulling it out, my parents’ names light up the screen.

Mom

Tenley called. They’re on their way to Nashville, but put you on the approved visitors list for Noah. He’s in the ICU

Dad

Let us know how he’s doing.

Graham

Okay

ICU? God. That can’t be good.

Dad

How are you holding up?

Mom

It’s always hard to see a teammate and friend go down like that

Graham

I’m okay. Promise.

Mom

Love you, Graham

Love you too, Mom

Locking my phone, I shove it into my pocket. That sick feeling is back.

It’s a lie. A bald-faced lie because Mom’s words have a lead weight dropping into my stomach.

A teammate and friend?

If Noah was simply a teammate and friend, I don’t think I’d be feeling what I’m feeling right now. Putting the truck back into drive, I head toward the hospital.

No sense in delaying this any longer. It won’t get easier the longer I wait.

The rest of the drive goes by in a blur. I have no idea what is waiting for me on the other side of the hospital door.

The thick smell of disinfectant hangs heavy in the halls. I follow the signs toward the ICU where a nurse is waiting at the desk just beyond the elevator doors.

“Hi. I’m here to see Noah Fields.”

“Are you on the approved visitors list?”

“Yes. Graham Fisher.”

She taps away on her keyboard as I take in the wide-open space. Glass doors are pulled tight with curtains to hide the patients from prying eyes. Machines are beeping as nurses flit between the rooms.

“The doctor is in with him now, but if you take a seat, we’ll let you see him once they’re gone.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

The nurse points to a bank of seats behind me and I sink into one of them.

More waiting.

More worrying.

More time to think.

Every time I shift, the hard plastic of the seat beneath me groans. With every blink, I’m back out there on that ice, seeing him go down.

Is Noah going to be okay?

I’ve seen some pretty hard hits playing hockey, but that one? It has panic taking hold inside me and not letting go.

“Mr. Fisher?”

I glance up, seeing the nurse, a bulky man who could dwarf me, stopping in front of me.

“That’s me.”

“You can see Mr. Fields now. He’s not awake, but if you’re quiet, you can stay in there with him for a few minutes.”

“Okay. How’s he doing?”

“He took a pretty bad hit to his shoulder and has a concussion. We’re going to keep a close eye on him, but he’s stable.” I follow him down the hallway where he points to a door on the left. “In there.”

“Thanks.”

The lights are dim when I enter and pull the curtain back. The muted light above his bed casts Noah in a soft glow.

It has my stomach sinking further seeing him laid up like this. His arm is in a sling, stabilized on his chest, with a cut across the bridge of his nose with a butterfly bandage covering it.

The normally larger-than-life Noah looks small.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

Grabbing the chair next to the bed, I drop down into it. It’s a bit more comfortable than the plastic chairs in the waiting room, but I’m painfully aware that it’s too small for my frame.

Time seems to move too fast, but not fast enough. The beeping of the machine is the only sound echoing around the room. A nurse comes in to check on him, but leaves almost immediately, seemingly happy with everything.

I’m not. I want to shout after her to come back so I can ask how he’s doing. Get a better update than the one I got when I first came in.

Noah stirs.

“Noah?” I drop my hand on the edge of the bed. “Can you hear me?”

I stand and move closer as he lets out a soft moan.

“Graham?” his voice croaks out.

“I’m here, Noah. I’m here. It’s okay.”

I want to reach out and touch him, but I don’t know where. I don’t want to cause him any more pain than he’s already in.

Scared brown eyes squint against the light as they search the room for the sound of my voice.

“Don’t try to move.”

Noah reaches out a hand, the one closest to me that’s not in a sling, but before I can take it, a nurse comes strutting in. I fly back, knocking the chair I was sitting in over.

“Fuck,” I mutter, setting it upright.

“The patient needs quiet,” the older nurse chides me.

“Sorry,” I whisper back.

Glancing over at Noah, his eyes are shut again. A pained look rests on his face.

Fuck. Fuck.

The last thing I want to do is anything to cause Noah any kind of physical pain, but based on the reaction I just had, I might have caused him a different kind of pain.

“Mr. Fields needs quiet and rest. You can come back and see him tomorrow during visiting hours.”

“Okay.” I look at the nurse, voicing my question to her. “He’ll be okay, right?”

This time, when she looks at me, her face is softer. “You never know with concussions and the brain, but he’s been waking up off and on. That’s a good sign.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

I nod at the nurse before taking one last look at Noah. He’s out again.

My heart is in my throat as I leave. I have no idea what is going to happen.

But I have a feeling that everything just changed.

For both of us.