Holding On To Love (8 page)

I looked over at Andrew and smiled, his brown eyes gleaming in the dim light. He squeezed my hand tightly. "I love you," he whispered. I love you, more, I mouthed silently.

Out of the corner of my eye, two bright headlights barreled towards us. Everything fell into slow motion. My body was completely numb. I tried to reach out to touch Andrew, who was lying motionless against the steering wheel, but I couldn't move. The winter air filled my chest and at the same time, pushed down on me with the weight of a hundred men. I tried to scream for help, but my mouth wouldn't open. Help us! Please, someone help us! I screamed silently as I lay against the deflating airbag, paralyzed. Help!

My eyelids were heavy. I struggled to open them, but I was so tired, I couldn't. My body shook violently and I groaned in pain. My head throbbed as if there were a thousand tiny razor blades trapped in my brain, slowly attempting to make their way through the thick barrier of my skull. I winced. Ouch! What the hell happened?

"Shh...shh. I've got you now...you're gonna be alright," the deep, husky voice said as he held me close to his warm body.

Oh, thank god someone heard my cry for help!

"An-drew?" I managed in a raspy, broken voice I didn't recognize as my own.

"Shh...it's okay. Don't try to talk— you're pretty banged up, but I promise you're going to be okay," the voice whispered again and I felt his fingertips gently stroke my forehead.

Sirens! I hear sirens! They're close too. Oh thank God.

I was startled by an older female voice. She sounded as if she was arguing with a man. Zac?

I slowly opened my eyes. The bright fluorescent light stung and tears streamed down my cheeks.

"Hey, sis," he said, taking my hand in his, "I'm so glad you're alright."

I tried to speak, but my throat was so dry, all I could manage was a light hiss between my teeth.

"Shh...Ally, don't try to talk. The doctor's had to intubate you so you could breath."

I reached for my mouth with a shaky hand. I didn't feel a tube, but I glanced at my wrist and saw the IV taped to it. My stomach rumbled and Zac let out a pained laugh.

"As soon as the nurse gets back, I'll ask her if you can eat something, alright?"

I nodded gently, but my head began to throb again. I squinted my eyes and let the tears fall across my cheeks. Zac squeezed my hand.

I gestured to him for a pen and paper, making circles in the air with my free hand.

He nodded and rose from his chair beside my bed.

I closed my eyes and the flash of headlights replayed in my mind.

Zac returned moments later with a pen and a small pad of paper. I gripped the pen with weak fingers as he set the pad of paper on my chest.

I slowly wrote:

Andrew

Zac shook his head and spoke, "I'm so sorry, Ally." Time seemed to stop as soon as he said it.

I torn the note off the pad and tossed it aside before writing again...

No, he's ok

Zac picked up the note pad and shook his head again. "No, Ally. He's not okay."

My heart raced in my chest and the monitor beside my bed mimicked the beats. I motioned for the pad of paper again. Zac nodded and set it back onto my chest.

I scribbled as quickly as my hand would allow...

What happened?

The monitor beeped continuously and a nurse hurried into the room. She made her way to the side of my bed with a needle in her hand. I gestured to her that I needed another minute, by holding up my index finger.

"You need your rest, Allyson. This is going to help you relax. Just close your eyes and get some sleep. You can see your brother tomorrow," she said flatly and inserted the needle into my IV drip.

My eyelids grew heavy and I struggled to keep them open, but the sedative won and I drifted into peaceful, dreamless sleep. 

I was startled by my phone, buzzing on the nightstand. I rubbed my eyes and reached over. I glanced at the screen: WORK

"H—Hello?" I asked groggily.

"Ally?" Jeanette, my editor, asked. "Did I wake you?"

I cleared my throat. "Uh—Yeah, but it's okay. What's up?" I asked. It was unusual for her to call me, especially on a Sunday morning.

"I'm so sorry. You know I'd never bother anyone on a Sunday, but I have a huge favor to ask," she said. I could sense the urgency in her voice.

"It's not a problem. What can I do to help?" I said yawning.

"Marissa came down with the flu. She's scheduled to interview a few of the Rattlesnake hockey players tomorrow night and I can't find anyone else to step in for her."

"Uh—Jeanette, I'm not a sports reporter. I don't think I'd be the right person to do the interview," I said, panicking.

"Nonsense, you'll be perfect," she paused, "Plus, Marissa emailed me her interview questions already, so all you need to do is show up at their practice facility tomorrow night. Okay?"

Crap! I've never interviewed an athlete in my life, let alone a semi-professional one. I knew two things about hockey; one- they fight a lot and two- they wear ice skates, carry sticks and chase a tiny black dot around the ice.

Double crap!

"Sure...I'll do it," I agreed.

"Great! I'll email you Marissa's questions and the rest of the details. You really are a life saver. Thank you, Ally." She said quickly before hanging up.

I sat in my bed still drenched in sweat from my nightmare and Jeanette's phone call just about put me over the edge. I leaned over the foot of my bed and unplugged my laptop from it's charger. I opened up Google, typed 'Arizona Rattlesnake Hockey' and clicked search.

Whoa! Twenty-three pages of news articles, tweets, Facebook accounts and loads of pictures. This was gonna be a long day.

I clicked on the first link, which also happened to be the team's official website. The team mascot, Ratchet the Rattlesnake adorned the 'Welcome Page' in his navy blue and green team jersey, waving graciously to the camera with large white cartoon gloves.

I scrolled down to the 'Team Info and Bio' link and clicked. I scanned the page, quickly memorizing the coach's names and the team's owner. The Rattlesnakes debuted in 2009, playing on the Southwestern Hockey League, which is sort of like the "farm team" of hockey from what I'd heard. I scrolled down further to look at my potential interview candidates. Some of the guys were incredibly young; nineteen, twenty-one in some cases. I figured most had their teeth replaced at some point or another because their smiles were almost too perfect, if that was possible.

Scrolling further down the list a familiar name caught my eye and my heart stopped.

Brennan "Brody" McCabe

Height: 6'2"    Weight: 205     Shoots: L

Born: 1/14/1989 

Position- Defenseman 

2009- Current

Player status: ACTIVE

His head shot followed. I stared at the screen with my mouth wide open. 

Shit! I can't do this. There's no way I could be in the same room with that asshole!

I considered calling Jeanette back, telling her I had food poisoning or I cut my own arm off because I couldn't face Brody.

Shit! Pull yourself together, Ally! I had to do this...I needed to do it.

"You are a professional, Ally. You can do this." I said to myself. Hearing the words aloud eased some of my angst.

I reminded myself, I had the rest of the day to look over and memorize Marissa's questions, but I couldn't tear my gaze from the gorgeous man on my screen, who was staring back at me with fierce green eyes. I recalled the events that took place at the pub last night and Brody's hot breath on my neck as he spoke, "I will find out your name...And don't think I haven't forgotten our little run-in last night." Goose bumps covered my arms and I shivered. I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the thought of him that was plaguing me at the moment, but the goose bumps continued to cover my entire body. Once again, my body was a damn traitor!

I clicked the 'x' to close the window and opened my email. I scrolled down to Jeanette's email, took a deep breath and opened it.

To: Allyson Monroe

From: Jeanette Pearson

Subject: FW: ARH Q & A Info

Ally, You rock! Here are the details and I've attached Marissa's questions. Good luck! - J

Tumbleweed Ice Arena & Events Center

4400 W Main Street, Downtown

4:00 pm - Closed Practice begins

4:30 pm - Meet with Nancy Taylor (PR) in main lobby, she has your press credentials and will go over who you'll be interviewing. She already has a copy of Marissa's questions and you'll only have an hour to interview, so make it count.

I clicked on the paper clip icon to open the attachment. Whoa! Two pages of notes and one page of questions? I guess Marissa really does do her homework. I laughed to myself. She had each section titled for possible interviewees. I read through the first section designated for the player Q & A.

1. When did you get started in hockey, what inspired you to play?

2. What's your mindset during a game, do you have any pre-game rituals?

3. How do you keep yourself conditioned for hockey during the off-season?

4. Do you have a favorite player in the NHL?

5. What do you love most about the position you play?

6. Do you have a favorite venue you like to play in?

This was going to be easy as pie. The questions were easy, but not personal, thank goodness. I let out an audible sigh and jotted down Marissa's questions in my trusty, leather-bound notepad before shutting my computer down and sliding it back into my messenger bag.

I needed to look professional, but I felt the need to spend some extra time planning my interview attire. This is where Kennedy came in. She was my personal fashionista and I need all the help I could get.

I glanced at the time on my phone and decided Kennedy would most likely be awake by now. Quietly, I tip-toed down the hallway and stopped outside her room. I put my ear to the closed door. Nothing. I tapped lightly on the door and turned the handle. I peeked through the crack in the door. Her bed was empty and I didn't hear the shower running. I closed the door and made my way towards the kitchen. As I rounded the corner, I heard two voices in the living room. One was Kennedy, but I couldn't quite make out the other voice.

I scooted into the kitchen, attempting to make my presence noticed. I opened the cupboard and reached into the back for a coffee mug, clanking the other mugs as I lifted it out. I slid the pantry door open with a loud bang and retrieved a box of green tea from the shelf.

"Ah-Hem," Kennedy said, blatantly clearing her throat.

"Oh. Hey, Kennedy. I didn't know you were awake yet. I hope I wasn't too noisy," I said quickly, a sly smirk crept across my face.

She stood with her arms crossed staring at me and I knew I was busted.

"Uh-Huh," She said.

I pulled her out of ear shot of the potential eves dropper who was sitting in our living room. "Who's here?" I asked whispering.

She smiled and chuckled. "Your brother."

"Oh..." I said confused.

She nodded. "He came here early this morning. I didn't want to wake you, so we've just been hanging out watching re-runs of Friends."

"Huh. I've been awake for a while. Just doing research for an article in my room. I didn't even hear you guys."

I shook my head, still confused as to why I hadn't heard anything. Not even a peep. I shrugged it off and chalked it up to being engrossed in my "research" for the hockey team. Weird.

I clicked the button on my electric tea kettle and waited for the water to boil.

Kennedy rummaged through the pantry, pulled out a box of strawberry frosted Pop-Tarts, tore the foil wrapper open and popped them into the toaster.

"So, we were talking and I think it would be best if Zac stayed here rather than at that shitty roach motel with the guys. We have enough room and he agreed to help with rent. What do you think?" She asked.

"Sure. Fine with me. Is he going to stay in the spare room or in the basement?"

She shrugged. "Not sure, we wanted to make sure you were okay with it first."