It took me way too long to get to the hospital from the arena to see Declan, but now that I’m here, I refuse to let anyone or anything stand in my way. I charge through the double doors to the reception desk where the receptionist glances up briefly before returning to her computer.

“I’m here to see Declan Murray,” I say breathlessly.

The receptionist runs a pen down a list, locates his name, and lifts her gaze to mine. “And you are?”

“Hannah Dunaway. The coach’s daughter.”

“No family relation to Mr. Murray?”

“Well, no, not exactly, but⁠—”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t let you through just yet,” she interrupts. “Mr. Murray’s limited to family only right now.”

I grip the edge of the desk. “I know that’s not accurate. My dad—his coach—has already seen him. I just need five minutes.”

The receptionist hesitates, studying my face, before she finally relents and gives me Declan’s room number.

“Thank you,” I breathe, already moving toward the elevators.

The ride to the third floor feels eternal. When the doors finally open, I hurry down the hallway to Declan’s room. Through the glass window, I see him lying in bed, and my heart twists as memories of his body slamming against the ice flash through my mind.

I hesitate in the doorway. His eyes are closed, face paler than usual against the stark white hospital linens. My hand trembles slightly as I push the door open.

His eyes flutter open at the sound. When he sees me, a smile spreads across his face, and my heart races.

Because he’s here, and he’s okay. Despite the devastating hit he took, he walked away with nothing more than a mild concussion. I’ve never been particularly religious, but seeing him awake and alert after such a violent collision feels nothing short of miraculous.

I approach his bedside slowly. After getting caught by my father, I hesitate to take his hand, but he reaches for mine anyway.

“How are you?” I whisper.

“Better now that you’re here,” he says, his fingers intertwining with mine. “You probably already heard, but it’s just a concussion. I’ll be fine.”

“Thank god.” My voice catches. “I’m so sorry.”

Declan frowns and squeezes my hand. “Why?”

“I feel terrible,” I say as tears threaten to spill over. “This thing between us was supposed to be a secret, and I blew that up. I was careless. This could derail your career.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, tugging me closer. “Come here.”

I lean down, and he captures my lips with his. The kiss is gentle but insistent, his hand sliding to the nape of my neck. When we part, his eyes are bright despite the hospital pallor.