Dax (Arizona Vengeance 4)

“Dax is a big boy,” she replies briskly as she unlocks her phone. “He’ll just have to worry. That’s life. And it’s not fair to keep this from him either.”

I give a wan wave of my hand to indicate I have no energy to argue with her. Right now, I have to depend on Willow to get me to the hospital.

I sink onto the bench, watching as Willow calls 9-1-1.CHAPTER 28Dax“Can you go any faster?” I growl at my Uber driver from the backseat.

“We’re almost there,” he tells me reassuringly. Even though I can see he’s already going fifteen miles over the speed limit, it’s still not fast enough for me. “Just one more block.”

I do see the hospital up ahead. Oddly, my anxiety increases the closer we get.

Willow told me Regan was stable and resting well. She’s told me that several times in fact, via text as well as several phone calls over the last twenty-four hours.

There is nothing worse than being several hours away from someone I care about who is ill. In Regan’s case, her illness can lead to death. I have never felt more wretched, out-of-control, and terrified in my entire life than when Willow called me yesterday to tell me that Regan was being taken to the hospital by ambulance.

There was so little information. I really had no clue what was going on. She said Regan was coughing a lot, then got incredibly dizzy and confused while they were out shopping.

I’d known Regan had a cold. I’m pretty sure I gave it to her. Whereas mine never amounted to much more than a minor sore throat as well as a few days of a light cough, Regan’s seemed to come on strong and hold steady.

And yet, I wasn’t worried when I left her yesterday to get on the team plane to head to Dallas for an away game.

It was a cold. That has nothing to do with her blood disease. Besides, she was getting her treatment, and she was stable enough for me to travel away from her with no worries.

It’s why I cannot wrap my head around what Willow told me yesterday. All I know is things are serious when she had to take an ambulance ride to the hospital.

When I hung up the phone, I immediately told Bishop what was going on and informed him of my need to get back to Phoenix. Thus ensued a ten-minute argument where he tried to talk me out of leaving. There were a lot of F-bombs dropped, mostly by me.

Eventually, he got me to at least agree on waiting until Regan could be evaluated in the emergency room to determine how bad things were. He pointed out she could merely be dizzy from dehydration from a bad cold.

That I could not assume the worst.

So I agreed to wait. I’d stewed and fretted. And I called Willow about every ten minutes, who kept telling me that they were still going through the emergency room process.

In that time period, I had to attend a light practice skate with my team. I couldn’t concentrate, and I was an asshole to most of my teammates on the ice. Bishop told Coach Perron what was going on with me, but that didn’t earn me any concessions. As professional players, we are supposed to know how to put everything out of our head and concentrate on our jobs.

I hated to tell him, but my head was not in the game, nor would it ever be, until I knew Regan was going to be okay.

Four fucking hours before I got a solid update from Willow. As it turned out, Regan did indeed have an upper respiratory infection. But those types of things could cause an acute hemolytic crisis because of her PNH, and she needed to have a blood transfusion. Two units actually.

My immediate thought was to hang up the phone and rush to the airport to grab the next flight to Phoenix. Before I could do such a thing, though, Willow said, “Regan wants to talk to you.”

This shocked me. After all, I had thought she was probably near death’s door if she had to have a blood transfusion. As it turns out, she’d already had a unit of blood by then and sounded fairly strong.

“I absolutely forbid you to come back to Phoenix,” she had told me in no uncertain terms. “This is entirely manageable, and we caught it early. I’m going to be fine, so you are to stay there, get your head in the game, and bring home a victory.”

Those were her words. I wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, but that wouldn’t have been appropriate, of course. I’d also known I was being driven by emotion and a distinct lack of the ability to control anything. The only thing I could use for guidance was Regan’s own words telling me everything was under control and I should stay to play hockey.