Always Only You by Chloe Liese (z-lib.org).epub

and says, “Don’t worry, Frankie. Ren’s unbustable. He’ll be fine.”
I watch Ren’s skates disappear from view as he’s wheeled away. “I hope so.”
I’ll be the first one to admit that for the rest of the game, I do a rare shitty job
at in-game social media. I’m distracted, my fingers slower than normal. I keep
fucking up tweets, and my pictures are shit. I use the wrong hashtags, and I can’t
stop glancing over my shoulder, hoping Amy comes out and ends my worry
before I give myself an ulcer.
She doesn’t.
Though I’m worried about Ren, this isn’t my first season up close with
professional hockey, and I know that in all likelihood, he’s going to be okay. If
something unthinkable happened, I’d know by now. I comfort myself with that
bit of rationality as I focus on the post-game necessities. We won, though only
because of the goals Ren gave us.
“Frankie,” Rob calls from his side of the locker room.
I weave my way through the guys, careful not to catch my cane on a rogue
skate lace or piece of clothing. When I get to Rob, I feel winded with anxiety.
This has to be about Ren. At least I hope it is. “Yes?”
“He woke up,” Rob says.
“Concussion?”
He sighs. “Seems so, yeah.”
“Shit.” That means Ren’s out for the next few games, at least.
“Hurt his shoulder, too, but he’s okay.”
“His shoulder? Does he need surgery? Is he—”
“Hey. Take a breath. He’s all right.” Rob gently squeezes my arm. “See?
Behind that grumpy front is a soft heart that cares about us.”
I scowl at him. “Don’t let word get around.”
Rob grins. “Your secret’s safe with me.” When I make to turn away, Rob
stops me. “I actually called you over because he asked for you.”
“What?” Ren asked for me?
“Just go see him. Humor the guy. He’s with Amy, and he’s comically
disoriented.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
He chuckles as he yanks off his jersey. “Come on. He’s always so wellbehaved.
Ren unfiltered is a rare treat. You should be thanking me.”
Grumbling, I stroll down the hall, take a few turns, and find my way. Ren’s
propped up on an angled mattress, an IV, which I hope is just saline, in his arm.
Amy’s chatting with Coach. They don’t notice when I walk in. But Ren does.
“Francesca.” He flashes a big, wide grin. Like a Loony Tunes big, wide grin.
Holding up the arm that’s not bound in a sling, he waves.