Chapter 3
The medics don't have the luxury to wait.
Hands move fast around Kai.
Efficient, practiced and precise.
They slide the travel stretcher onto the ice beside him, the metal legs clattering too loud in the silence.
A medic speaks in clipped commands, another secures straps across Kai's chest and thighs, fingers careful where moments ago they had been brutal and urgent.
His jersey is still cut open, hanging loose, the captain's C half-dangling, now sopping wet with melted ice and sweat.
Kai's silent again but for small groans of pain.
A beautiful sign of life.
To be in pain means to be alive.
Cherkov knows this.
The last five minutes of the deepest psychological pain he'd ever experienced had his mind screaming 'you are alive and he is dead '.
He's watching, frozen a few feet away.
His chest still heaving, hand in hand with Mei Maddox, his vision tunnelling in and out like his body hasn't caught up with reality yet.
Kai's eyes are closed again.
Breathing on his own definitely—There's movement now, and it's unmistakable.
He slipped back into unconsciousness in the move.
On three," Someone says.
They lift.
Maddox's body rises off the ice and settles onto the stretcher.
He looks somehow smaller than he's ever looked before.
Vulnerable in a way that only Vadims had the privilege of seeing before.
The gurney starts moving.
The sea of people on the rink make a perfect split to get the stretcher off the ice as quickly as possible.
The wheels don't glide the way skates do.
They stutter and creek as they're forced across the ice, leaving shallow wet tracks behind their rattle.
The medics jog, careful not to slip while guiding Kai toward the tunnel where the bright white of the rink gives way to shadow and concrete.
Vadim follows without thinking, pulling Mei and by extension Kai with him.
He wonders briefly how they look to outsiders now.
Do they look like a family?
Do others think Kai's parents knew at all?
Do they think Vadims is like a son to them?
Maybe, after this, they would.
Perhaps, they would accept him as a part of them.
Vadim could have a real family again.
One that wasn't broken and painful.
He squeezes Mei's hand softly and allows himself to hope for a few moments, for something he'd never allowed himself to hope for before.
She squeezes his hand back twice over.
Someone calls his name.
It's Lindqvist.
He calls it once, then twice—but it barely registers to him at first.
It reminds him of where he is and who he's surrounded by.
He doesn't let himself dwell on how royally he'd fucked up by reveailing him and Kai.
He drops Mei's hand to pull off the Havenport jersey over his head.
As they pass, he glances at his team.
He observes their confused, shocked and concerned faces and he passes his jersey to Theroux, the closest teammate to him.
His eyes slide back across the silent crowd.
He blinks away.
He can hear the gentle tapping of hockey sticks against the Ice in a quiet tribute to the Lakeridge captain.
The stands start to clap softly, as though dazed but still moved and concerned.
He unclips and pulls his pads off from his shoulders letting them drop to the ice.
Vadim still follows the gurney.
His top is now only covered by the thin thermal skins cold with cooling sweat.
There's something weirdly symbolic in it for him.
That he's stripping back his layers for everyone to see.
They're watching each movement he's made, and they've watched his devastation.
They've felt the cold in his bones.
And now they've seen him unburden himself.
He feels lighter now.
His movements are unrestricted, and he's free to be just himself.
He's bared himself to the world.
They can all see his tears still steadily streaming down his cheeks.
There's nothing he can do to stop them now, but it's okay.
In his devastation, He's shown love.
He's felt love.
And that's good.
All he can focus on is the back of the gurney.
The steady rise and fall of Kai's chest, the loose curl of his fingers at his side.
He wants to grab them.
He wants to make sure he doesn't slip away again.
At the edge of the ice, they pause just long enough to maneuver the gurney onto rubber mats.
The transition feels... strange, in a way Vadim doesn't quite understand.
Maddox is no longer part of the game.
He's not the captain, the rival, the untouchable force at centre ice.
He is just a man.
A man who died and lived again.
And should he ever return to the ice his identity will never be the same again.
The tunnel swallows them.
The sound changes immediately—footsteps echo back to them, radios crackling, the distant mechanical rubble of the ambulance waits.
The confusion they've left on the rink behind them feels so insignificant now.
Mei speeds up, jogging to catch up to Kai's side as if she's pulled by gravity.
She reaches out to find her son's hand— Her face pale but fixed and steady in a way that cracks something open in Vadim's chest. Kenji is steadily pacing alongside Vadim, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed forward, moving because stopping would mean collapsing.
The medics don't slow.
They push Kai forward, toward flashing lights and oxygen and everything safer than right here.
He's loaded in the ambulance, the lead medic jumping in alongside
Vadim stands at the threshold for half a second too long, the cold air of the rink clinging to his skin, his skates still laced, his entire body screaming that he is not supposed to let Kai go anywhere without him.
However, as Mei looks to him as though to ask if he wants to be the one last person allowed to travel to the hospital, he knows that he has to nod her on to follow him.
He'd loved Kai seven years, but his mother had loved him for twenty-six.
She nods in acceptance and quickly scans her husband's face.
"Go, go.
Please, look after our boy" Kenji chokes out, waving her forward.
Then the doors are shut and they are driven away.
Kenji looks to Vadim, finally registering the state the hockey player is in. He sees that Vadim's kit is basically all off, then he looks at the Tavrian's skates.
He swipes a hand across his face, wiping away any devastation in his expression.
"Right, well we have places to be Mr. Cherkov.
You'll come with me to the hospital.
Go change out of your skates and get your belongings.
I'll meet you in the staff parking lot when you're out.
Be quick." He races through his words but Vadim catches each one.
He mumbles and nods in agreement before he sprints his way back out the tunnel and up into the guest locker rooms.
The locker room is already full when Vadim gets there.
It's crowded.
It's not loud though, which is strange and unfamiliar.
It's never quiet—not even when one of their own gets injured.
Players sit on benches with their gear still half on, gloves abandoned, helmets resting on knees.
No one is talking over anyone else, Lindqvist is discussing his view on whether they should comply if game play is started again.
They each chime in with their views.
"We've gotta finish, there's like twenty-thousand people waiting to watch a game."
"Twenty-thousand traumatised people that just saw a guy die and come back to life.
There's no way we're starting back up."
Their low murmurs die the moment Vadim steps through the doorway.
Every head turns.
No one says anything at all.
Vadim slows, suddenly aware of how insane he must look—Eyes red, hair damp with sweat and melted ice, red in the face, eyes raw, salty lips cracked and bloody.
He feels raw and exposed.
Theroux is the first to stand.
"Cap," he breathes out into the room.
He opens his mouth to speak but words are caught in his throat.
"What,- What's happening?"
Vadim shakes his head once.
He doesn't trust his voice yet.
He moves swiftly toward his stall, every step deliberate, as if moving too fast might finally knock him over.
He starts pulling things out frantically.
Phone, wallet, keys. He throws his sweats and sweatshirt he'd planned to leave later in—Abandoning his game day arrival suit.
They watch each move he makes.
"You okay, Cherkov?" Morrow asks, though his face makes it clear he knows that's the wrong question.
Theroux drifts closer, stopping just short of crowding him.
"You're going to the hospital, right?"
"We sent his mother with him.
I am going now."
"Good," Lindqvist says immediately.
"That's... yeah.
That's where you should be."
Belkin leans back against a locker, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"Don't even think about the game," he adds.
"None of that matters."
Vadim could not give less fucks about the game right now, but he appreciates what Belkin is trying to do.
He'd not thought about the game since Kai hit the ice.
Theroux clears his throat from beside him, "And, we've got the press stuff sorted Cap.
Whatever happens next—," He pauses, choosing his words carefully, "We've got it."
The room hums softly with agreement.
No one argues.
No one asks questions they already know the answers to.Vadim finally exhales.
"Thank you," he says, his voice rough but steady, still not recovered from the wailing and sobbing.
"I'll try to—" He stops, swallowing.
"I'll call when I can."
Theroux reaches out, resting a hand briefly on Vadim's shoulder squeezing in comfort.
It's solid.
Grounding.
"Take all the time you need, dude."