Out of the Blue {Jonathan Toews}

Chapter 26

{Jonathan}

I grabbed Christine's crutches from the backseat before helping her out of the car and handing them to her.

"Thanks," she said, adjusting herself. She was wearing a big black boot where she had broken her foot.

"You gonna make it okay?" I asked her, putting my hand on her back as we made our way towards the arena.

"I'll be fine, Jon," she replied with a tired grin. The hospital had given her pain pills but they weren't much help. The pain got to her and she was always tossing and turning at night. Plus, this was her first outing since the surgery. We were up 2-0 in the second round against Colorado.

"You sure?" I asked. I was honestly worried about her and I hated seeing her tired and in pain.

"Babe," she said, "I'm alright."

"Okay," I replied, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. She smiled at me and crutched inside of the door I held open.

"I'll see you soon," I told her.

"Go kick ass," she said. I grinned and kissed her before heading down a different hallway. I heard her and Dayna talking as I pushed my way into the locker room.

"How's Chris?" Pat asked as I walked in. I smiled.

"Sore, but better," I answered. I sat down at my stall and began to put my gear on.

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During warmups, I scanned the crowd before I found where Dayna was. Chaun looked freaked out and there were people surrounding the section. And there was only one person missing. Christine.

"Shit," I muttered.

I felt like I couldn't move as I saw paramedics come and load her up onto a stretcher, her body limp.

"What the fuck is going on?" I yelled, skating over to the bench.

"Tazer, what's wrong?" Randy, the trainer, asked.

"The fucking paramedics just loaded Christine onto a stretcher! What the fuck is happening?" I asked, shaking my gloves off and throwing my helmet down to the ice.

"I don't know any more than you, Toews," he replied calmly.

"I need to go," I said, stepping onto the bench.

"No, you need to stay here," Randy said, stopping me by putting his hands on my chest.

"Randy, I'm leaving."

"No, you're not," he told me through gritted teeth. "You're going to get your ass back onto the ice."

I was fuming. Part of me was telling me to knock him over and leave. Instead, I picked up my gear and skated to center ice and surveyed the team taking shots at Crawford. Patrick Sharp skated over to me. He was the guy I looked up to in the locker room. He always had something useful to say.

"What just happened?" he asked.

"I don't know. I looked up into the stands and all of a sudden my unconscious girlfriend is being taken away by a stretcher and Randy won't let me leave," I explained, looking down at my skates. I heard Sharpie scratch his beard.

"I know this sucks, but you just have to play through it. If it were my wife, I would want to leave too. But, that can't happen, and you're just going to need to clear your head and push through for her, and us. Play this for her, okay? Get her a win to wake up to," he told me. I looked up at him, tears beginning to form in my eyes.

"Thanks," I said. He patted me on the head before he skated away.

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The first two periods were atrocious. Absolutely awful. I couldn't shoot right, I couldn't skate right, and it was just and overall disaster.