Tyson & Hannah
I had a love-hate relationship with hockey. I loved it for the joy it brought to my boyfriend, but I hated it for the pain that also came with it.
This game wasn't any different from any other, but the Bruins seemed a little more aggressive than usual. With two minutes left in the third period, someone checked Tyson into the boards and he didn't get up immediately.
He put his foot under him and tried to stand, but only fell back down, yelling "fuck" loud enough for the entire stadium to hear. Thankfully, his teammates were soon at his side, helping him off the ice. As I saw him being carried back to the tunnel, I got up and made my way to the family entrance hoping I'd get to talk to him.
"He's pretty angry. We're gonna need you to calm him down," a trainer told me nervously before she opened the door.
When I saw him, he was laying down on a stretcher fuming mad while paramedics fussed over him, cutting off his outfit.
"Babe?" I said as I walked over to him, too scared to reach for his hand.
He looked over me and his expression softened much to my surprise. He motioned me closer and I did so, taking his outstretched hand.
"What's wrong?" I asked, looking down at his leg that was now being bandaged.
"They think my fucking leg is BROKEN," he yelled towards the trainers.
"Hey you need to relax a little. They're just trying to help you."
"Hannah, if they wanted to help me, they wouldn't have told me I have a broken leg and may have to sit out the rest of the season," he said but calmer.
Instead of responding, I tried to relax him as much as possible, even if it meant running my fingers through his sweaty curls.
