Chapter 4

When he frantically entered, and after endless minutes where all he knew was panic, when all he tasted was all consuming fear, he finally saw him.

Propped against a mountain of hospital-white pillows, he looked pale and tired, but undeniably, gloriously

alive

A bright blue cast encased his left arm from knuckles to elbow, resting on his stomach.

A spectacular purple-and-yellow bruise bloomed across his right cheekbone and temple, a violent splash of color against his skin.

It was, realistically, nothing a hockey player hadn't faced before.

They'd both had worse.

Callum had played through a broken rib.

Kirill had…