Semua Bab SHOOTING A SHOT AT THE ICE KING : Bab 31 - Bab 39

Brielle’s POV.If the Boston Garden was a fortress of loyal, roaring fans, Madison Square Garden in the heart of Manhattan was an absolute pit of vipers.By Friday afternoon, the humidity of early June had settled thick over the city streets, but inside the arena’s underground corridors, the air was chilled to a crisp, biting edge. The New York tabloid headlines had spent forty-eight hours dragging Chase through the mud. Photos of Julian Vance lying dazed on the ice after Chase’s three-punch knockout in Game 2 covered every front page, accompanied by inflammatory text: “THE HOCKEY THUG OF BOSTON,” “BAN KENSINGTON,” and “DIRTY CAPTAIN LEADS BOSTON MENACE.”The Titans’ PR machine was working overtime to frame Chase as an out-of-control brute who had single-handedly ruined the integrity of the Eastern Conference Finals.I stood inside the visiting media center on the sub-level of the Garden, adjusting the white balance on my tripod-mounted 4K camera rig. My team from Hopkins Media had b

Brielle’s POV."Vitals are dropping," the lead paramedic barked over the roar of the engine, slapping a monitoring lead onto Chase's bare shoulder. "Systolic is ninety over fifty. We’ve got a massive deep-tissue contusion over the left thoracic wall. Possible pulmonary laceration from a fractured rib.""Hang on, Chase," I whispered, my voice trembling as I leaned down close to his ear, ignoring the steady beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor spiking erratically beside us. "Please, just hold on."His dark eyelashes fluttered, but he didn't open his eyes. His fingers gave my hand a microscopic, agonizingly weak squeeze before falling slack again.The ambulance slammed to a halt inside the underground bay of Bellevue Hospital, the doors burst open, and a swarm of trauma surgeons in pale blue scrubs swarmed the vehicle, pulling the gurney out onto the concrete floor."Thirty-two-year-old male, blunt force trauma to the chest wall, severe right-hand lacerations with visible soft-tissue dama

Brielle’s POV.The roar of nineteen thousand celebrating fans felt miles away, muffled like I was underwater.My boots skidded violently across the slick surface as I dropped to my knees beside Chase, the unforgiving cold of the ice soaked through my trousers instantly, but the freezing sting barely registered against my skin. All I could see, all that existed in my entire universe was Chase lying on his left side, his knees curled up toward his broad torso, his right hand still locked around his composite stick in a death grip while his left clutched frantically at the rigid orthopedic binding encasing his chest."Chase!" I gasped, sliding my trembling hands beneath his cold cheek to lift his face off the frozen rink. "Chase, look at me! Breathe, damn it, breathe!"His face was ghostly pale, slick with a layer of icy sweat, his jaw clamped so tight in an agonizing, silent scream that the muscles in his neck stood out like steel cords, his dark blue eyes were open but unfocused, rolli

Brielle’s POV.By noon, Chase’s private recovery suite on the ninth floor of Mass General had turned into a high-security war room.Outside, a ring of hospital security guards and private bodyguards kept the swarming press corps contained in the main lobby far below. Inside, the heavy blinds were drawn against the harsh afternoon sun, casting the room in dim, solemn shadows.Dr. Marcus stood beside the digital lightboard on the wall, tapping a stylus against a fresh set of high-resolution 3D CT scans of Chase’s chest. Sitting around the small glass conference table in the corner were Coach Sullivan, team lead trainer Dan, and our lead corporate legal counsel.Chase sat upright in bed, his upper body bare save for heavy medical gauze over his chest-tube insertion site and the thick, rigid fiberglass brace locking his ribcage in place. His face was drawn and pale, but his dark blue eyes were razor-sharp, tracking every mark Dr. Marcus made on the screen."I’m not going to sugarcoat this