Perfect Love (Perfect Series Book 2)

by Amanda Cowen

Please don’t look at me. Please don’t –

  My insides go utterly still when Cash’s blue eyes find me. He doesn’t move a muscle, and in an instant his face changes from a healthy red glow to a nauseated pale white. I watch his gaze shift from me to Aiden standing at my side. Jealousy burns like a fire in his eyes, and a snarl of unease curls around my gut. His stick drops from his glove and it crashes onto the ice. His teammates swirl around him, his fans cheer for him in the crowd, but the only thing he is focused on is me.

  “Watch out, Brooks!” someone screams from the crowd.

  My eyes snap over to Jenkins, the defender from the Hackers, slashing his skates at full force toward Cash. Instinctively, I scream out Cash’s name. He spins around to face Jenkins who rams his entire body into Cash, smashing him headfirst into the boards. Cash goes down with crashing noise.

  My heart stops, my vision blurs. A collective gasp spreads through the arena. The defender continues to throw punches at a motionless Cash sprawled out on the ice, until the referees’ grab Jenkins by the arms and yank him off of Cash.

  The impulse to trample down the steps, push open the gate, and run onto the ice, seizes me. My pulse is racing, my skin clammy and flushed.

  “Holy shit!” Aiden gasps in complete disbelief, “Did you see that guy sucker punch Cash Brooks?”

  I begin to tremble at Cash lying so still on the ice. Complete silence falls over the arena until all I can hear is my heartbeat. Jenkins is escorted off the ice as he spits and yells in Cash’s direction. Two referees drop to Cash’s side. My mind is swirling, my vision is blurring, and my legs feel like they may buckle. His body is limp, lifeless, and lying there on the cold ice with Cash. Tears prick my eyes, and within seconds the Tornadoes trainer opens the bench gate and jogs across the ice. The arena remains completely silent as the trainer bends down at Cash’s side. He looks back at the bench and waves for backup.

  “Is that a stretcher?” I ask in horror, feeling a quake inside my stomach.

  Aiden grabs my hand. “He’s going to be okay. Athletes get hurt.” Aiden says, nonchalantly. “You’re not worried about him are you?”

  The thought of Cash hurt unearths a torturous unwanted anxiety in my soul. Anxiety that I thought would never plague me again. Anxiety that now grips me by the tummy and squeezes me like a fist.

  “Of course not,” I lie.

  As they carry him off the ice, I sink back into my seat. Tears prick my eyes, and Aiden sits down beside me. The crowd explodes in cheers and screams and the game picks up right where it left off as if nothing happened.

  “Quinn, relax.” Aiden touches my chin, gazing down at me sweetly. “This type of shit happens. It’s hockey.”

  ___________

  “How was the game?” Nadia asks as she waves down the bartender. She shifts on her stool, crossing her legs, and tilting her head to look at me. Her long hair falls over one shoulder. “Did you two have fun?”

  Nadia hasn’t stopped prying since the second we walked into the bar. Her expression offers nothing but polite interest, but her stream of questions has me back on edge. After what happened to Cash during the game, my mind is a tangled worried mess and my heart is and pounding painfully. Coming to the bar afterward with Aiden to meet up with our classmates somehow feels like I am betraying Cash. Like I’m not doing the right thing. Or I’m not where I’m supposed to be. Cash getting thrown into the boards and knocked unconscious keeps replaying over in my head.

  “What an intense game!” Aiden tells everyone and pours himself a beer from a nearby pitcher. “Cash Brooks got knocked the fuck out.”

  Taking a sip of my drink, I try not to make eye contact with anyone. I’m worried—no, I am terrified—that he’s not okay. It’s all my fault he was knocked unconscious. I saw the look on his face. The emotion in his eyes when he saw me with Aiden.

  Nadia jerks her head in my direction. “Is he okay?”

  Aiden shakes his head. “Don’t know. He got carried off by a stretcher.”

  “Hmm, I see,” Nadia says, carefully.

  My phone buzzes on the table, and I’m relieved to have an interruption so I can leave this conversation. The number isn’t one I recognize, but the Tornadoes Dark Room on the caller ID catches my attention. I stop breathing as I click to the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello. Am I speaking with Quinn Ashby?” a male voice says.

  My heart drops as I glance around the table at my classmates, watching me.

  “Yes, this is Quinn,” I reply and push away from the table.

  “Hey, Quinn, this is Gordon Keating. Assistant Trainer for the Santa Anna Tornadoes,” he says. When the line falls silent, I rise to my feet, my heart racing. “Cash Brooks listed you as his emergency contact.”

  I feel faint and brace myself against the wall. “Oh God.”

  Aiden’s expression falls as he catches mine across the table.

  “I’m not sure how to tell you this, but Cash was knocked unconscious tonight during a game in Boston. He’s been taken to the Dark Room in the arena where the team physician will be conducting a thorough evaluation on Cash, including a SCAT 2 exam.” As he continues to speak, my heart begins to tear apart piece by piece. “He’ll also be required to perform small motor skills tests to help determine the severity of his head injury.”

  I want to vomit. The only thing I know is that this isn’t good. I need to move, but before I can manage to put one foot in front of the other, Nadia is at my side, her hand curled around my arm.

  “Quinn, are you alright?” she asks, but I ignore her.

  “Is he going to be okay?” I say into my phone.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any other information on his condition right now. We can fly you to Boston.”

  “I’m in Boston,” I breathe out. “I live here.”

  “Are able to come down to the arena to meet with the physician?”

  I open my mouth, and then close it again, shaking my head. “Doesn’t Cash have another emergency contact you could reach out to?”

  “No Miss, you are the only person he has listed,” he assures me. “When can we expect you?”

  I pull out of Nadia’s grasp. “I think I’ll probably leave right now.”

  I click off the call, my hands trembling. Regardless of what has happened between us, I need to know whether or not he will be okay.

  “Who was that?” Aiden asks, his tone concerned.

  “I n-need to go,” I say, placing my drink on the table next to me.

  Aiden looks flabbergasted. “Where are you going?”

  “Back to the arena.” I say over my shoulder as I weave through the bar.

  “Wait. What?” He calls out after me, but I’m already running to the nearest exit. Behind me, his feet pound on the wood floor, my name echoing throughout the bar.

  “Quinn!” he yells at the top of the steps as I bust through the exit. “What on earth do you mean you are going back to the arena?”

  “Cash was seriously injured.” I turn around and catch my breath. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”

  “Who called you?” he asks, miffed.

  “The Tornadoes trainer called me. I’m Cash’s only emergency contact.” My lip begins to tremble. There are too many things I have to figure out now: How fast I can make it to the arena from here? Why, if Cash has a wife, am I his only emergency contact?

  “What do you mean you’re his only emergency contact?” Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and then exhales opening his eyes again. “Doesn’t he have anyone else? A family member? A friend? You’re going to run to his aide even though he broke your heart so bad I found you a mess in a hotel room six month ago?” He drags a hand through his hair. “And yeah, I know it was because of him. Vaughn told me, okay. I never said anything to you because I respected your privacy. But we’re finally together, Quinn. And now you’re going to ruin that by running to a man who destroyed you?”

  I hold up my hands to stop him. “This isn’t about y
ou, Aiden. He was knocked unconscious, and the team physician is running tests on him right now. Yes, he was the one who broke my heart… things happened… but I can’t not go to him when he’s alone and injured. I’m not running to him. I am going because he doesn’t have anyone else and—”

  “Why can’t you make the trainer find someone else?” he interrupts in a tight whisper. “Fuck, Quinn, you aren’t even giving us a chance. I’ve wanted to be with you forever. More than anything. You need to know that. Please don’t go to him.”

  “Aiden, stop this. We’ve kissed and cuddled, but that’s it.” I shake my head, and I can see in his eyes he correctly reads my gesture to back off. “I have to go to him. I know it sounds crazy. Hell, it even sounds crazy to me,” I say in a whisper, and I hate that I know where this is going. “I love you as my friend, Aiden and I don’t want to hurt you. But I need to go to make sure he is okay.”

  Aiden slams his hand against the brick wall outside.

  “Don’t go! You’re making a huge mistake!” he shouts. My chest squeezes at the earnest vulnerability in his expression. “Are you still in love with him?” he asks.

  I don’t answer. Instead, I walk through the parking lot and toward my car.

  “You are,” he shouts.

  I don’t respond. I pull open my car door, slam it behind me, put the keys in the ignition, and drive out of the parking lot.

  I have to go to Cash.

  Chapter 10

  Cash

  A flash of light beams into my eyes. Loud voices call my out name. My body is cold, weak, and sore. I can’t open my eyes. I’m fighting in and out of consciousness.

  “Brooks, can you hear me?”

  A familiar voice echoes stridently into my ears. Lights find my eyes again. My brain is trying to wake me up and break me out of this darkness, but I can’t snap out of it. I hear footsteps patter up to my side. Pain swells in my chest, and panic beats in every sharp and staggered breath. My mind flashes to the memory of blue and red lights blinding me in the reflection of a shattered windshield. My head pounds with the memory of sirens wailing in my ears, my heart seizes with anxiety.

  Cory. His name races over and over in my mind.

  I frantically push through the painful memories poisoning my mind, letting adrenaline rush through my veins and take over each jagged movement.

  “Brooks, come on. Wake up.”

  I groan out in pain, agony throbbing all over my limbs and head. The memory of swinging my entire body toward the passenger seat as I griped Cory by the shoulders replays in my mind. The vision of blood covering my hands and his entire body crushed, bone and flesh swallowed by the dashboard jolts me awake.

  My eyes flutter open, to a foggy silhouette of Kenny Prete, the Tornadoes trainer, standing over me. My panic washes away at the sight of his familiar face. He shines a tiny light between my now open eyes.

  “His pupils are unequal,” he says over his shoulder to someone I can’t quite make out behind him. My vision is fuzzy and blurred, and I need to blink a few times to regain my sight. When I sit up, an intense nausea washes over me. Panic rushes up my spine as I roll over onto my side and vomit uncontrollably into a bucket on the floor. I choke, cough, and sputter as I heave. The intensity of it rocks my entire body.

  “Ah fuck,” I slur and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

  The room feels like it’s spinning. My head is pounding. What the fuck happened to me?

  “Cash, do you know what stadium you are in?” Kenny asks.

  He waits for me to acknowledge him…with an answer, an eye-flicker, or maybe even an I don’t know.

  “Jesus, Kenny, give me a second,” I reply, still feeling like I’m going to vomit. I take a deep breath and lay my head back on the cushion. “I’m in Boston. Dougall Energy Centre Arena.”

  “What month is it?” he asks.

  I stare at him, offering no response. It takes a second for me to remember. “February,” I finally breathe out.

  He sighs with what sounds like relief and continues, “Who was the opposing team?”

  “The Boston Hackers,” I tell him.

  “Do you remember the hit?”

  “No,” I reply without looking up at him.

  “Nothing at all?” Kenny studies me, tapping his foot on the floor.

  My brain pauses for a moment.

  Suddenly everything comes crashing back in waves. My heart stops. Part of me hopes it’s an illusion, a desperate one. But deep down I know what I saw. I remember the moment I felt my heart explode in my chest. There was no mistaking Quinn in the crowd. She was there. She was actually there. She was at my game. With Aiden.

  “Cash? Do you remember something?” he asks, breaking the silence.

  I remember celebrating my goal, and absorbing the cheers from the fans. I remember the second I scanned the crowd and how surreal my world felt when I saw her. The noise drowned out and the faceless fans faded away. I soaked in the sight of her. Quinn completely stunning, with her long brown curls swept to the side and cherry red lips. For a brief moment, I thought I was dreaming. Fear and apprehension flashed fleetingly in her eyes when they met mine. My eyes shifted to Aiden beside her, and rage simmered inside me as I dropped my stick on the ice.

  The next thing I remember was complete darkness.

  “I remember,” I say, and take a deep breath. “I was hit from behind and went head first into the boards.”

  But mostly, I remember Quinn.

  ______

  As I lay in the dark room on my backside, waiting for Dr. Henderson, the team physician, to give me his diagnosis, I mentally prepare for the night ahead. Little to no sleep and a long and tiresome plane ride back to California, alone. Regardless of my diagnosis, I know I will be benched as a precaution, just not for how long.

  I flex my jaw back and forth, and it moves with a resounding pop. Did that fucker Jenkins punch me when I was down?

  What a dick.

  A knock on the door startles me. Great. Here comes the bad news.

  The door pushes open a crack, and I see Dr. Henderson with his hand on the knob, talking to someone over his shoulder. I squint at them, trying to clear the fuzzy blur wreaking havoc with my vision.

  Her face appears, and my chest seems to cave in on itself. She sees me immediately, her expression transitioning in a millisecond from unease to relief to tight concern.

  “Quinn,” I manage to say.

  She reaches up and fiddles with a pendant around her neck. Is that what I think it is? Are those one of the labradorite stones I sent her? Hell, it is. Maybe not all is lost between us after all.

  We stare at each other in a palpable silence. She looks very nervous. I don’t like that she looks so nervous.

  “Thank you, Dr. Henderson,” she says softly and shakes his hand.

  “I’ll be back shortly with your results,” he says to me, and closes the door behind him.

  “Hey,” she breathes.

  I feel a flash of panic, worried that Quinn’s an illusion and somehow I’m dreaming or hallucinating from the injury. But when she takes a step forward, I know I’m not imagining anything.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, and slowly sit up.

  She pauses and glances past me toward the exit on the far wall. “Gordon called me.” Her gaze shifts back to me. “Apparently I’m your emergency contact.”

  “And you came?” I watch her carefully.

  Quinn remains quiet and fidgets with the pendant necklace around her neck. She always fidgets when she’s nervous. I confirm the gem stone on the pendant—labradorite. Okay, I’m sure not dreaming. And my vision is totally fucked up right now. Is it possible I’m seeing things? Christ. Maybe these painkillers are stronger than I thought.

  “You were hit really hard…” She trails off and lets her sentence hang for a moment, suspended in the air while she walks over and sits down on the chair farthest from me. “I was at the game tonight. I saw when Jenkins slammed you head first into the boa
rds. I saw you lying there unconscious, and…I came because I needed to know you if you were going to be okay.”

  “I’m glad you came.” My hands are shaking, my pulse racing. “Nice necklace.”

  “Thank you.” She blushes tucking the necklace into the front of her shirt.

  For a beat, my eyes meet Quinn’s and I wonder if she knows what I’m thinking, that I wish I could’ve given those stones to her myself on Christmas morning, just the two of us. I’ve ruined any chance of us being together, whether I want to accept it or not.

  She blinks and looks out the window, her jaw flexing. “Do you remember anything?” she asks, all business, no smiles.

  I nod. “The last thing I remember is seeing you in the stands, thinking I was dreaming. That it couldn’t possibly be you, watching me, with Aiden.”

  Standing she slowly approaches me as if she’s either going to hug me or punch me. “Why am I listed as your emergency contact? Why not your wife?”

  I can’t look at her. I want to tell her everything so badly, but not like this—trapped in the team Dark Room with my head pounding and my mind foggy. I’m scared to explain everything to her in my current state.

  My heart can’t take her leaving me again. Why I am the biggest, most self-absorbed asshole of all time?

  “Quinn, I told you I can explain.”

  “Is she really your wife?”

  I stop and look up at her to see her bottom lip quiver as she stares down at me with sad distrustful eyes. Is that the real reason she came here? To finally hear me out? Just the memory of that night at the airport, of her finding out the truth, my worlds colliding and crashing down all around me, Daniela’s smug smile and how quickly it all unraveled . . . it rocks me. I never thought I would ever feel such excruciating heartbreak. I love Quinn so much it makes me reckless.

  “Well?” she asks.

  “Quinn…” I sigh, and run a hand through my hair. “I don’t even know where to begin.” I think how all I really want is to beg her to forgive me. To stay with me. To not give up on me. But I feel so damn dizzy, and my mind is a clusterfuck of confusion, clouded with nausea. I want to tell her everything, but I don’t even know if I can manage in my current state.