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Hannah didn't see the patch of black ice on the sidewalk until it was too late.

The front tire of her cruiser bike slipped sideways, sending her crashing hard onto the frozen earth. Her right knee took the brunt of the impact against the concrete curb, and a sharp, blinding heat immediately flared through her leg.

"Damn it," she gasped, gripping her knee as tears pricked her eyes.

She forced herself up, but her right leg buckled instantly under her weight. Her bike was a lost cause—the chain was snapped, and the handlebars were twisted at an unnatural angle. Abandoning the bent metal against a nearby tree, Hannah locked her jaw and started the agonizing journey back to the hockey house on foot.

Every single step was a battle against gravity. She limped heavily, dragging her right leg behind her, using fence posts and parked cars along the street just to stay upright. By the time she finally reached the porch, her breath was coming in ragged gasps from the sheer effort.

She pushed the front door open, the warm air of the house hitting her face as she practically collapsed against the entryway wall.

"Garrett?" she called out, her voice smaller and weaker than she intended.

Heavy, frantic footsteps instantly echoed from upstairs, followed by Garrett bounding down the steps two at a time. The moment his eyes landed on her—pale, shivering, and leaning heavily against the wall with her right pant leg torn and stained with blood—his expression shifted from casual to pure panic.

"Hannah! What happened?" Garrett lunged forward, catching her by the waist just as her strength gave out completely.

"Ice," she muttered, gripping the front of his Briar hockey hoodie. "Crashed the bike. Walked back."

"You walked on this?" Garrett’s voice cracked with a mix of fury and intense worry as he looked down at her swelling knee.

Without waiting for an answer, he scooped her up into his arms, mindful of her leg, and carried her straight to the living room sofa.

"Dean! Logan! Get down here right now!" Garrett roared into the house, his voice booming with an urgency that brought both boys sprinting into the room within seconds.

"What's the—holy shit, Hannah," Logan stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening at the blood on her jeans.

"Get the first aid kit from the upstairs bathroom. Now," Garrett ordered, his eyes never leaving Hannah's face as he knelt on the floor beside the couch. "And Dean, grab a bag of frozen peas from the freezer. Hurry up."

The boys scrambled to obey, completely dropping their usual teasing banter. Garrett gently took off her winter coat and began carefully rolling up her torn denim, his hands shaking slightly until he saw the damage. It was a nasty, deep abrasion, and a massive purple lump was already forming over her kneecap.

"You're a maniac, Wells," Garrett whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he gently pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Why didn't you call me? I would have picked you up in two seconds."

"My phone died," she whispered, leaning her head back against the cushions as the adrenaline began to fade, leaving only the throbbing pain. "I just wanted to get home to you."

Garrett’s gaze softened instantly, the anger melting away into pure devotion. "Well, you're home. I've got you."

Logan sprinted back into the living room first, tossing a plastic tackle box of medical supplies onto the coffee table. "Got the kit. Do we need an ambulance, or is Graham just having his standard cardiac arrest?"

"Shut up, Tucker," Garrett snapped, though there was no real venom in it. His focus was entirely on unscrewing the cap of the antiseptic fluid.

Dean strolled in a second later, tossing a bag of frozen peas directly onto Garrett’s head. "Here's your ice, Dad. Put it on her leg before you burst a blood vessel."

"Thanks," Garrett grunted, catching the bag and gently pressing it against the side of Hannah’s swelling knee, careful to avoid the raw, bleeding scrape on top.

"Holy hell, Wells," Dean said, leaning his elbows on the back of the couch to inspect the damage. "Did you fight a lawnmower and win? Because the lawnmower definitely lost some points there."

"Black ice," Hannah muttered, wincing as Garrett dabbed an alcohol wipe against the raw skin. "And my bike is currently wrapped around a oak tree on Elm Street."

Tucker let out a low whistle, crossing his arms. "Man, that cruiser was a classic. RIP to a real one. But seriously, you walked three blocks on that? You're officially tougher than half the freshmen on our defensive line."

"She’s an idiot is what she is," Garrett muttered under his breath, though he was currently blowing gently on her knee to cool the sting of the antiseptic. "She should have knocked on a random door and borrowed a phone."

"Oh, like she’s going to invite herself into a stranger's house in Broadview," Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Great survival instincts, Graham. Top tier."

Just then, the front door slammed open again, and Tucker’s heavy footsteps echoed through the hall. He stopped in the archway, a half-eaten sandwich in his hand, his eyes darting from Hannah’s bloody jeans to Garrett’s pale face.

"What did you do to her, Graham?" Tucker asked immediately, pointing a finger at him. "If you dropped her, I'm telling Coach."

"I didn't do anything!" Garrett yelled back, exasperated. "She crashed her bike!"

Tucker walked over, his expression shifting from teasing to genuine concern. He leaned down, inspecting her face. "You dizzy? Did you hit your head, Wells?"

"No, just my knee and my pride," Hannah sighed, though a small smile tugged at her lips. Despite the throbbing pain, looking up at the four massive hockey players crowded around the sofa—all looking varying degrees of stressed, protective, and ridiculous—made her feel incredibly safe.

"Alright, clear out, you vultures," Garrett ordered, waving his hands to shoo them away as he began wrapping a clean white bandage around her leg. "Go do your homework or play video games. You're suffocating her."

"We're emotional support, Graham," Dean corrected, tapping Hannah’s uninjured foot. "Don't let him lock you in the bedroom, Wells. If you need us to smuggled you snacks, just blink twice."

Garrett carefully lifted Hannah into his arms, carrying her up the stairs to escape the chaotic hum of the living room.

He laid her down gently on the center of his mattress, immediately propping her injured leg up on two fluffy pillows. He stripped off his own oversized Briar hockey sweatshirt and pulled it gently over her head, guiding her arms through the sleeves until she was completely swallowed up in his scent and warmth.

"Comfortable?" he asked softly, kneeling by the edge of the bed to tuck the heavy duvet around her shoulders.

"Perfect," Hannah murmured, her eyelids already drooping from the exhaustion of the crash and the lingering throb in her knee. Garrett slid into the bed beside her, moving with extreme caution so he wouldn't jar the mattress. He pulled her gently against his chest, letting her rest her head on his shoulder while his large hand traced soothing, slow circles into her back.

"Goodnight, Wells," he whispered, pressing a warm kiss into her hair. "No more stunt riding tomorrow."

Hannah let out a sleepy laugh, burying her face deeper into his chest as she finally let sleep take over.

The next morning, Hannah woke up before Garrett, but she couldn't move an inch without a gasp of pure agony.

Her knee felt twice as large as it had the night before, throbbing with a hot, localized heat that made her entire leg feel stiff and heavy. When she tried to gently slide her foot across the mattress to stretch, a sharp, white-hot flash of pain shot straight up her thigh, forcing a sharp cry right out of her throat.

Garrett bolted upright instantly, his eyes wide and alert before he was even fully awake. "Hannah? What's wrong? What hurts?"

"My leg," she choked out, tears instantly welling in her eyes as she gripped the sheets. "Garrett, it's so much worse than last night. I can't even move my toes without it screaming."

Garrett immediately threw off the duvet, his face washing over with pure dread as he looked at her leg. The swelling had completely bypassed the bandage he had meticulously wrapped, leaving the skin tight, purple, and dangerously inflamed.

"Okay, don't move. Don't even try," Garrett said, his voice dropping into a low, forced calm as he gently pressed his palm against her forehead to check for a fever. "We're going to the hospital. Right now."

He didn't even give her a chance to argue about the campus health clinic. Garrett quickly pulled a pair of his own loose sweatpants over her uninjured leg, carefully bunching up the right side so it didn't touch her knee, and scooped her up into his arms with absolute urgency.

As he carried her down the stairs, the noise woke up the rest of the house. Logan and Dean stumbled out into the hallway, still bleary-eyed and in their boxers.

"What's going on?" Logan muttered, rubbing his eyes until he saw Hannah's face streaked with tears. "Shit. Is she okay?"

"It's worse. I'm taking her to the ER," Garrett said shortly, his jaw locked tight as he kicked the front door open. "Tucker, grab my keys off the counter and open the truck door for me."

Logan didn't hesitate, sprinting past them to hit the unlock button on the key fob before Garrett even hit the driveway. Dean stood on the porch, his usual smug grin completely gone, replaced by a look of heavy concern. "Call us when you get there, Graham. Let us know what the docs say."

Garrett nodded once, carefully sliding Hannah into the passenger seat and cushioning her leg with a spare sweatshirt before shutting the door and racing around to the driver's side.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room hummed overhead, making Hannah’s pounding headache even worse. She sat on the edge of the examination bed, wearing a crisp hospital gown, while Garrett paced the small curtained cubicle like a caged tiger.

"Garrett, sit down," she whispered, leaning her head against the cold wall. "You're making the floor vibrate, and it's making my leg throb."

He stopped instantly, looking at her with wide, bloodshot eyes. "I can't sit, Wells. It’s been an hour. They took the X-rays twenty minutes ago. Why is it taking so long? What if you need surgery?"

"It’s a college town ER on a Saturday morning," she reminded him gently, reaching out her hand. "They’re probably dealing with three broken wrists from the rugby team and five alcohol poisonings."

Garrett walked over, carefully taking her hand and squeezing it, though his knuckles remained white.

The curtain slid open, and a doctor walked in holding an iPad. Dr. Evans looked tired but gave them a reassuring smile. "Alright, Hannah. Good news first: nothing is broken. Your patella is perfectly intact." 

Garrett let out a breath so heavy his entire shoulders dropped. "Then why is it the size of a grapefruit?"

"Because she has a severe bone bruise and a partial tear in her patellar tendon," Dr. Evans explained, showing them the imaging. "The impact caused significant internal bleeding around the joint. That’s why the swelling and pain peaked this morning. No surgery, but you are strictly off your feet for at least two weeks."

Hannah slumped back. "Two weeks? I have orchestra practice. I have classes across campus."

"You have a chauffeur," Garrett corrected immediately, his voice leaving absolutely no room for argument. He looked at the doctor. "What do we need? Braces? Crutches? Drugs?"

"A rigid knee immobilizer for the first week, crutches, and a strong prescription anti-inflammatory," Dr. Evans replied, already typing up the discharge paperwork. "Keep it elevated, ice it twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off, and absolutely no bending that joint until the follow-up."

An hour later, Garrett was wheeling Hannah out to the truck in a hospital wheelchair. Her right leg was completely locked straight in a thick black medical brace, and a pair of aluminum crutches rested across her lap.

As Garrett helped her into the passenger seat, his phone buzzed on the dashboard. The screen lit up with a barrage of texts from the hockey house group chat.

Tucker: Status update? Do we need to prep the downstairs guest room?

Dean: Is Wells alive or do I inherit her vinyl collection?

Logan: Ignore Dean. Let us know what the doctor said, Graham.

Garrett picked up the phone, typing a quick reply while keeping one hand on Hannah's shoulder.

Garrett: No breaks. Tendon tear. Locked brace and crutches for 2 weeks. Prep the living room, we’re coming home.

The front door of the hockey house flew open before Garrett could even reach the porch steps.

Allie came sprinting out first, her blonde hair flying behind her. She bypassed Garrett entirely and dropped to her knees right on the concrete beside Hannah, her eyes locked onto the massive black knee immobilizer.

"Oh my god, Hannah," Allie gasped, carefully hovering her hands over the brace. "Dean told me you fought a lawnmower! I drove over as soon as I got the text. Are you okay? Are you in pain?"

"I'm fine, Al, just a little loopy from the hospital meds," Hannah laughed gently, leaning heavily on her aluminum crutches.

"Get out of the way, Winston, let the cripple through," Dean called out from the doorway. He was holding the front door open with his foot, a pink fuzzy pillow tucked under his arm.

Garrett kept a firm hand on Hannah's waist, practically hoisting her up the porch steps himself to make sure she didn't slip. The moment they crossed the threshold, Hannah stopped dead in her tracks.

The living room had been completely transformed.

The heavy coffee table had been pushed completely against the wall to create a wide, clear pathway. The couch was buried under a mountain of every single pillow and blanket in the house, arranged into an elaborate fortress. Next to the sofa, Tucker had set up a small folding table stacked with a massive jug of water, a bottle of extra-strength Advil, a box of cheesy crackers, and her favorite noise-canceling headphones.

"What is all this?" Hannah asked, her eyes widening.

"Welcome to Rehab Center Briar," Logan said, stepping out of the kitchen with a fresh bag of frozen peas wrapped in a kitchen towel. "Tucker did the heavy lifting, Dean provided the decorative pillows, and I made sure there's a clear path so you don't trip over Garrett's stray hockey gear."

"I helped too!" Allie insisted, jumping up to help Garrett guide Hannah toward the couch. "I brought over three different kinds of chocolate and picked up your music theory assignments from the department office so you don't fall behind."

Garrett carefully lowered Hannah onto the cushions, while Logan immediately slid the ice pack underneath her elevated ankle to keep the pressure off the swollen joint.

"See? We’re highly efficient," Dean said, proudly tossing the pink fuzzy pillow behind Hannah's head. "Though honestly, Wells, the crutches give you a very edgy, dangerous look. You should lean into it. Start threatening people who don't give you their seats in the dining hall."

"Don't give her ideas, Dean, she's scary enough with a violin bow," Garrett muttered, though the tense, panicked look that had been on his face all morning finally started to fade as he saw Hannah smiling. He sat down on the floor right next to her shin, resting his arm against her couch cushion. "Thanks, guys. Seriously."

"Yeah, yeah, don't get emotional, Graham," Tucker laughed, walking over to pat Hannah gently on her uninjured knee. "Just make sure you do everything your nurse tells you, Wells. And if Garrett annoys you, just throw a crutch at his head. We won't stop you."

By day three of house arrest, Garrett had turned caretaking into an Olympic sport.

He refused to let Hannah’s feet touch the floor. If she needed to use the restroom, he carried her. If she wanted a book from across the room, he fetched it before she could even point. He had even memorized her exact medication schedule, setting loud alarms on his phone that went off with a frantic hockey siren sound.

"Garrett, please," Hannah groaned from her pillow fortress on the couch, watching him pace into the living room with a clipboard. "The siren is giving me a headache. I can just look at the clock."

"Compliance is key to recovery, Wells," Garrett said with total seriousness, checking something off his list. He dropped the clipboard and knelt beside the sofa, gently swapping out her melted ice pack for a fresh one. "How’s the pain? Scale of one to ten."

"It's a solid four. It only throbbed when Dean accidentally slammed the front door earlier."

Garrett’s eyes narrowed. "I’m going to tape that door shut."

"Don't you dare," Hannah laughed, reaching down to run her fingers through his messy blonde hair. "You need to relax. Go to practice. Logan texted me saying Coach is going to skate you into the boards if you miss another morning meeting."

"Logan is a snitch," Garrett muttered, but he leaned into her touch, resting his jaw against her uninjured thigh. "And Coach understands. I told him my girlfriend has a partial tendon tear. He knows family comes first."

Hannah’s heart did a soft, familiar flutter at the word family. She leaned forward, wincing slightly as her knee shifted, and cupped his cheek. "I love that you're looking out for me. But I'm okay today. Look."

To prove her point, she carefully wiggled her toes and tightened her quad muscle inside the heavy black immobilizer. The swelling had visibly gone down, leaving her skin looking less like a bruised plum and more like its normal color.

Garrett watched her movement, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his hyper-focused exterior. He stood up, leaning over the back of the couch to press a slow, deep kiss to her lips. "Fine. I'll go to practice. But I'm setting a timer for your afternoon anti-inflammatory, and Allie is coming over to sit with you."

"Deal," Hannah smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him down for one more kiss. "Now go save some pucks, Graham."

Hannah braced herself as she dialed her parents' number. She knew exactly how this call was going to go—especially with Garrett currently pacing the kitchen floor within earshot, looking as nervous as if he were about to play a championship game.

The phone rang twice before her mom’s voice filled the speaker. "Hannah, sweetie! How are things at Briar? Are you practicing for the recital?"

"Hi, Mom. Everything is fine, mostly," Hannah started, giving Garrett a warning glare as he stepped closer to the couch. "Um, I had a little bit of an accident on my bike a few days ago."

"An accident?!" her mother gasped, her voice instantly dropping an octave into pure panic. "Hannah, what happened? Are you hurt? Is anything broken?"

Before Hannah could even open her mouth, Garrett stepped forward and loudly called out toward the phone. "She has a partial patellar tendon tear and a severe bone bruise, Mrs. Wells! But nothing is fractured, I promise!"

Hannah swatted at his arm, but he didn't budge.

"Who is that? Is that Garrett?" her dad’s booming voice suddenly entered the call from the background. "Hannah, what did he do? Did he drop you?"

"No, Dad, Garrett didn't do anything!" Hannah yelled back, rubbing her temples. "I hit a patch of black ice on Elm Street. Garrett actually carried me home, took me to the ER, and has been playing full-time nurse for the last three days."

A heavy silence fell over the line for a second. Then, her mom let out a long, shaky breath. "Oh, thank goodness. A tendon tear is serious, Hannah. Are you in a lot of pain? Do you need us to drive up to Broadview?"

"I’m totally fine, Mom. The hospital gave me some great anti-inflammatories, and I’m locked into a giant black leg brace for two weeks. I have crutches, too."

"She’s not using the crutches, though," Garrett interjected again, leaning over the couch so his face was right next to Hannah's. "Because I’m carrying her everywhere. She hasn't walked a single step since Saturday, Mr. and Mrs. Wells. I've got her completely taken care of."

On the other end of the line, Hannah heard her dad let out a low, approving grunt. "Alright, Graham. Good job. Keep her off that leg. If she tries to sneak out to the music building, you lock her in."

"Sir, yes, sir," Garrett replied with a grin, snapping a mock salute that made Hannah roll her eyes.

"Thank you, Garrett," her mom said, her voice softening with genuine gratitude. "Hannah, listen to him and stay put. We'll call you tomorrow to check in on the swelling, okay? We love you."

"Love you too, Mom. Bye."

Hannah clicked the phone off and tossed it onto the cushions, looking up at Garrett with an amused smirk. "You're a total suck-up, you know that?"

"Hey, I'm just securing my status as the favorite boyfriend," Garrett chuckled, climbing onto the couch beside her and pulling her into his side. "And your dad trusts me now. That's a huge win for the hockey team."

The Briar University rink was absolutely deafening, but Hannah had the best seat in the house—right behind the home bench, courtesy of Coach Rhett himself.

Her right leg was still locked straight in the heavy black immobilizer, resting comfortably on a spare folding chair Logan had set up for her before warm-ups. Her aluminum crutches were tucked safely underneath.

"You good, Wells?" Allie shouted over the roar of the crowd, handing her a massive tub of buttery popcorn. "Not too crowded?"

"Perfect," Hannah smiled, leaning back against the glass.

Suddenly, a loud thud rattled the plexiglass right next to her head. Hannah jumped, looking up to see Garrett leaning against the boards in his full Briar hockey gear. His helmet was on, his jaw tight with pre-game focus, but the second his blue eyes locked onto her, his face completely softened.

He tapped his stick against the glass right in front of her face, shooting her a devastating, lopsided grin. He pointed his stick down at her elevated leg, giving her a questioning look to make sure she was comfortable.

Hannah laughed, giving him a big thumbs-up and pointing toward the ice. Go win, she mouthed through the glass.

Garrett winked, tapped the glass one more time, and skated hard back toward the crease.

The game was a brutal, fast-paced battle against Michigan, but Garrett was playing like a man possessed. Every time a defenseman got too close to the Briar net, Garrett was there, shoving them out of his crease with an aggressive intensity that had the crowd screaming. He stopped a breakaway in the second period with a spectacular glove save, immediately skating toward Hannah’s side of the ice to salute her with his glove.

"Oh, he is so whipped," Dean chuckled from the bench, having just rotated off the ice. He leaned over the boards, looking back at Hannah. "He’s playing like if he lets a single puck in, you’re going to make him walk home."

"Maybe I will," Hannah teased.

By the time the final buzzer echoed through the arena, Briar had secured a 4-2 victory. The team swarmed Garrett on the ice, but the moment the handshakes were over, Garrett was the first one down the tunnel.

Ten minutes later, Hannah was waiting by the locker room doors on her crutches when Garrett stepped out, still half-dressed in his hockey pants and a sweaty undershirt, his blonde hair damp from a quick rinse. He didn't care about the lingering scouts or reporters in the hallway; he walked straight up to Hannah, carefully wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her neck.

"Did you see that second-period save?" he muttered against her skin, his chest still heaving from the game. "That was for you."

"I saw," Hannah whispered, running her hands down his broad back. "You were incredible, Graham. Now go put some real clothes on so your favorite patient can take you out for those victory tacos."

The hockey house was loud, packed, and smelled faintly of cheap beer and victory.

The guys had thrown a massive post-game party to celebrate the 4-2 win, but Garrett had already claimed the best spot in the living room for Hannah. He had dragged the oversized recliner right into the center of the action, propping her braced leg up on a stack of floor cushions so no one would accidentally bump into her.

"To the real MVP of the night," Dean announced loudly, stepping onto the coffee table with a red plastic cup raised high. "Hannah Wells! For surviving three whole days of Garrett Graham's aggressive nurse routine without suffocating him with a pillow!"

The entire living room erupted into cheers and laughter. Hannah blushed, raising her soda can in a mock toast. "Thank you, Dean. It was a close call on Tuesday, I won't lie."

"Hey! I am a fantastic caregiver," Garrett protested. He was sitting on the floor right beside her chair, his long legs stretched out, effectively creating a human barrier to keep the partygoers from getting too close to her leg. He reached up, leaning his chin on her armrest. "Tell them, Wells. Tell them about the hourly ice pack rotation."

"You were borderline military about it, Graham," Logan chuckled, sliding onto the couch behind them with Grace tucked under his arm. "I heard a hockey siren go off at 3:00 AM from across the hall. I thought there was a fire."

"It was time for her anti-inflammatory," Garrett said defensively, though a boyish grin broke across his face.

Allie walked over, dropping a plate loaded with pizza and garlic knots onto Hannah’s lap. "Eat up, Hannah. You need the calories to heal that tendon. And don't worry, I made sure Dean didn't breathe on these."

"You're a lifesaver, Al," Hannah said, immediately taking a bite of a garlic knot.

As the music flared louder and the team started playing a chaotic game of beer pong in the dining room, the immediate circle around Hannah’s chair stayed quiet and relaxed. Garrett shifted closer, resting his head against her uninjured knee. He looked up at her, the reflection of the party lights dancing in his blue eyes, completely relaxed now that the stress of the game—and the panic of her injury—had finally settled.

"You having fun?" he whispered over the noise, his large hand gently wrapping around her ankle.

"The best," Hannah smiled down at him, leaning over the armrest to press a soft kiss to his forehead. "Even if your friends are completely insane."

"They love you," Garrett murmured, his gaze softening into pure devotion. "Almost as much as I do."

Hannah reached for her crutches, wanting to grab a fresh drink from the kitchen before the beer pong tournament took over the entire ground floor.

"Stay put, Wells. I'll get it," Garrett said instantly, starting to push himself up from the floor.

"Garrett, I've been sitting for three hours. I can walk ten feet," she insisted, giving him a playful nudge with her toe.

She carefully tucked the aluminum pads under her arms, braced her core, and hoisted herself up. Her right leg stayed completely straight in the heavy black immobilizer, hovering an inch above the floor. She took two slow, calculated swings forward, navigating the clear path Logan had made for her.

Just as she cleared the edge of the living room rug, the front door burst open.

Three heavy, rowdy freshmen from the hockey team charged into the house, completely hyped up on the post-game win. They were shoving each other playfully, laughing loudly, and completely oblivious to their surroundings.

"Watch out!" Logan yelled from the couch, his voice sharp with sudden panic.

It happened in a fraction of a second. The biggest freshman, a six-foot-two defenseman named Miller, stumbled backward as his buddy shoved him. He didn't see Hannah standing there. His massive shoulder clipped her left side with full force.

The impact completely knocked the crutches out from under her arms.

Hannah lost her balance instantly. With her right leg locked rigid in the brace, she couldn't step out to catch herself. She went down hard, landing on her side on the hardwood floor with a painful, hollow thud. Her locked right leg twisted slightly as she hit the ground, sending a sharp, blinding spike of agony straight through her healing patellar tendon.

"Ah! Damn it!" Hannah gasped, curling inward and clutching her thigh as tears instantly flooded her eyes.

The entire living room went dead silent. The music seemed to vanish.

"Holy shit," Miller stammered, his face turning completely pale as he looked down at her. "I-I didn't see her, I'm so sorry—"

"Get the hell away from her!"

Garrett’s voice didn't just boom—it roared. He crossed the room in a single, terrifying second, his face twisted in a mask of pure fury. He shoved Miller back so hard the freshman slammed violently against the entryway wall. For a second, it looked like Garrett was about to rip the kid's head off, his fists clenched tight and his chest heaving.

"Graham, don't! Look at Hannah!" Logan shouted, sprinting over to physically throw his arms around Garrett's chest to hold him back. Dean was right behind him, stepping directly between Garrett and the terrified freshmen.

"Get them out of here. Now," Dean ordered the other guys, his usual joking tone completely gone, replaced by a cold, serious authority. The freshmen scrambled out the door without a second thought.

The reminder of Hannah broke Garrett out of his blind rage. He ripped himself away from Logan's grip and dropped to his knees on the floor beside her. His hands were shaking violently as he hovered over her.

"Wells. Hannah. Look at me, babe," Garrett pleaded, his voice cracking with sheer panic. He carefully slid one hand under her head to cushion it from the cold floor. "Where does it hurt? Did it tear again? Talk to me."

Hannah squeezed her eyes shut, panting through the white-hot throbbing in her knee. "It... it just twisted. It hurts, Garrett. It hurts so bad."

Garrett didn’t wait another second. He slid his arms under her back and knees, lifting her off the hardwood floor with a smoothness that defied his trembling hands.

"I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Wells," he murmured repeatedly against her hair, his voice raw.

He carried her back to the oversized recliner, lowering her onto the cushions with absolute precision. He immediately grabbed the stack of floor cushions to prop her leg back up, his eyes scanning her face as she gripped the armrests, chest heaving from the lingering shock of the fall.

Meanwhile, the entryway was still tense.

Miller was shaking, his back pressed against the wall, while Dean and Logan stood like an impenetrable wall between him and the living room.

"Look at me, Miller," Dean said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly calm register that no one ever heard from him. "You don't wrestle in the house. You definitely don't wrestle around a teammate's injured girlfriend. If I ever see you charging through that door like an unglued animal again, you’ll be skating suicides until your lungs give out. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, senior. I'm so sorry," Miller choked out, his eyes darting toward the living room with genuine remorse. "Is she... is she okay?"

"Go home, Miller," Logan ordered flatly, crossing his arms. "We'll handle this. Just get out."

The freshmen practically tripped over themselves exiting the house, slamming the door softly behind them. Allie immediately locked it, then sprinted into the kitchen to grab a fresh, freezing cold ice pack, rushing it over to the recliner.

"Here, Garrett," Allie whispered, handing it over.

Garrett took it, gently placing it over the side of Hannah’s knee immobilizer. He knelt on the floor, completely ignoring the rest of the party that had suddenly gone quiet in the background. He took both of Hannah's small hands in his massive palms, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles to stop her shivering.

"Look at me, Wells," Garrett begged softly, his blue eyes intense and focused. "Take a deep breath. Is it the same sharp pain from Saturday, or is it just throbbing from the impact?"

Hannah took a ragged breath, letting the ice do its work. The initial blinding flash of white-hot heat was slowly fading back into a dull, heavy ache. "It's... it's just throbbing. It twisted, but I don't think it tore anything else. The brace kept it mostly straight."

Garrett let out a breath that sounded like a sob, dropping his forehead against her hands. "Thank God. Thank God."

Tucker walked over, quietly handing Hannah a fresh bottle of water and a couple of her prescription anti-inflammatories. "The party's over, Wells. We're clearing the house out right now so you can get some quiet."

"You don't have to do that," Hannah muttered, though she looked exhausted.

"Yeah, we do," Logan said, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Team rules. Nobody messes with the first lady of Briar hockey. You rest up."

The next morning, the dull ache had transformed back into a vicious, throbbing fire.

Hannah woke up gasping for air, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the edges of the mattress. Even with the heavy black brace locking her leg completely straight, the slightest twitch of her hip sent a sharp, agonizing jolt directly through her kneecap.

Garrett was awake before she could even call his name. He sat up instantly, his eyes instantly tracking the tight, strained line of her jaw and the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"Wells?" Garrett's voice was hoarse, thick with a sudden surge of adrenaline. "Talk to me. Is it worse?"

"It's... it's so much worse," she choked out, a tear finally escaping and slipping down her temple. "It feels like Saturday morning all over again, Garrett. Every time I breathe, it throbs."

Garrett threw the duvet aside, his face washing over with absolute dread. He carefully unvelcroed the top strap of the immobilizer just enough to look inside. The swelling had leaked upward, turning the skin above her kneecap a tight, angry shade of purple-red. The joint looked completely locked up from the fluid.

"That's it. We're going back," Garrett said, his voice hard and decisive as he reached for his sweatpants. He didn't care that it was a Sunday morning. "Miller really messed it up. I knew we shouldn't have trusted that brace to handle a six-foot-two defenseman."

He carefully scooped her into his arms, mindful of how tightly she was holding her breath to combat the pain.

As he carried her down the stairs, the heavy silence of the hockey house was broken by the sound of the kitchen door swinging open. Logan and Dean were already sitting at the island, looking completely exhausted and stressed. They both stood up the second they saw Garrett carrying her down with her face buried in his neck.

"It's worse?" Logan asked, his face dropping.

"Yeah. The swelling is back up and she's in agony," Garrett said shortly, his jaw locked tight as he headed straight for the front door. "Logan, call Coach. Tell him why I'm missing the team film review this morning. Dean, open the truck."

"I'm already on it," Dean said, grabbing Garrett’s keys off the counter and sprinting out ahead of them to pop the passenger side door open.

Logan followed them out to the porch, his phone already in his hand. "Don't worry about Coach, Graham. I'll handle him. Just get her to Dr. Evans. Text us the second you know if that tendon snapped."

Garrett nodded once, his focus entirely consumed by carefully sliding Hannah into the front seat and packing the spare pillows around her leg to absorb the vibrations of the road. As he climbed into the driver's seat and peeled out of the driveway, he reached over to tightly grip her hand.

"Hang in there, Wells," he murmured, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles. "I've got you. We're going to fix this."

The doctor’s tablet clicked sharply against the metal tray as he zoomed in on the latest scan. Dr. Evans let out a heavy sigh, looking directly at Garrett and Hannah.

"I need to correct my previous assessment," Dr. Evans said, his voice dropping into a serious, clinical tone. "We just got the official reading back from the radiologist on the secondary X-ray. The impact from the fall didn't just aggravate the tendon. You have a non-displaced fracture of the patella."

Hannah froze, the word ringing in her ears. "A fracture? Like... my kneecap is broken?"

"Yes," Dr. Evans confirmed, turning the screen to show them a thin, jagged white line running across the bone. "The brace kept the pieces from shifting out of alignment, which is why you don't need immediate surgery today. But because the bone is cracked, our entire treatment plan changes."

Garrett’s grip on Hannah’s hand tightened so fast his knuckles turned white. His face went entirely pale, his eyes wide with a dangerous mix of fury and terror. "A broken bone? From a freshman fooling around in my house?"

"Garrett, breathe," Hannah whispered, though her own voice was shaking.

"What does this mean for her, Doc?" Garrett demanded, ignoring everything else. "How long?"

"Six weeks minimum in a completely locked, rigid cast," Dr. Evans said flatly. "No weight-bearing whatsoever. If she puts pressure on that leg, the fracture could displace, and then we are looking at open surgery with pins and wires. I'm rewriting the prescription for a much stronger narcotic for the pain management. The next few days are going to be incredibly uncomfortable while the bone begins to knit."

Thirty minutes later, an orthopedic tech arrived to wrap Hannah’s entire right leg in a heavy, solid fiberglass cast, stretching from her upper thigh down to her foot. It felt incredibly heavy, pinning her leg flat against the gurney.

When Garrett finally wheeled her out to the truck, his phone was vibrating continuously in his pocket. He pulled it out, his thumb hitting the speaker button as he started the engine.

"Graham! What did the doctor say?" Logan’s voice boomed through the truck's speakers, thick with anxiety. Dean and Tucker were shouting questions in the background.

"It’s broken," Garrett said, his voice terrifyingly quiet and hollow. "Her kneecap is fractured. Six weeks in a full cast."

The line went completely dead for three seconds.

"Oh, Miller is dead," Dean’s voice came through, completely stripped of any humor. "He is absolutely dead. Coach is going to find out, and we're going to handle it at the rink tomorrow."

"Don't do anything stupid," Garrett snapped, putting the truck into gear. "Just make sure the downstairs room is ready. I’m bringing her home, and she isn’t moving for two months."

The ride back from the hospital was completely silent, save for the hum of the truck’s tires. Garrett kept his left hand clamped tightly over Hannah’s knuckles, his gaze locked straight ahead on the road.

When they pulled into the driveway of the off-campus house, the front door opened before Garrett could even cut the engine.

Logan, Dean, and Tucker walked down the porch steps in a solemn line, completely stripped of their usual rowdy energy. Allie stood at the top of the porch, clutching a thick fleece blanket against her chest.

"Don't move, Wells," Dean said quietly, opening the passenger side door. His eyes fell to the massive, solid fiberglass cast stretching from her upper thigh down to her toes, and his jaw tightened. "Holy shit. They really encased you."

"No weight-bearing. At all," Garrett warned, stepping around the front of the truck. He looked completely exhausted but hyper-focused. He gently leaned into the passenger side, sliding his arms under Hannah's back and the heavy, solid weight of her plastered leg. "I've got you, babe. Lean into me."

Hannah wrapped her arms around his neck, hiding her face in his shoulder as he lifted her out of the seat. The sheer weight of the cast made her knee throb with a deep, sickening ache, and she couldn't suppress a small wince.

Garrett immediately paused, his chest heaving. "I'm sorry. I'm trying to be steady."

"You're fine," she whispered against his neck. "Just get me inside."

The guys formed a protective perimeter around them as Garrett carried her up the steps. Allie opened the door wider, guiding them straight past the stairs and into the downstairs guest room, which had been completely cleared out and prepared over the last two hours.

The twin bed had been pushed against the wall to give Garrett room to sit beside her. A massive mountain of pillows sat at the foot of the bed, ready to elevate the heavy cast. On the nightstand, Logan had neatly arranged her new prescription bottles, a massive jug of water, her laptop, and her favorite noise-canceling headphones.

Garrett lowered her onto the mattress with meticulous care, slowly sliding the fiberglass leg onto the stack of pillows until it was elevated above her heart.

"Thanks, guys," Hannah said softly, her voice tired from the heavy hospital narcotics starting to kick in.

"We're rotating shifts," Logan said from the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. "Garrett’s got the night, but Dean and I are covering the daytime hours when Graham has to be at the rink. You won't be alone for a single second, Wells."

"And Miller is being dealt with," Tucker added, his voice dropping into a hard, uncompromising tone. "Coach already knows. He's suspended from the next three games, and tomorrow morning at five, the seniors are running him through a personal hell on the ice."

Garrett didn't say anything to that. He just sat on the edge of the mattress, his large hand gently resting on her uninjured thigh, his eyes never leaving her face. The protective, fierce energy radiating off him and the rest of the boys made the small room feel like the safest place on campus.

The 5:00 AM air inside the Briar University rink was freezing, the ice perfectly smooth and untouched. Miller stood near the home bench, shifting uncomfortably in his full gear, his face pale as he stared down at his skates.

The heavy heavy double doors of the locker room slammed open.

Garrett walked out, already laced into his skates, wearing his black Briar captain's jersey. He didn't have his helmet on. His jaw was set, and his blue eyes were completely dead, fixed entirely on the freshman defenseman. Behind him walked Logan, Dean, and Tucker in a silent, intimidating line.

Miller swallowed hard, pulling his shoulders back as Garrett stopped exactly two inches away from him, the steel of his skates grinding sharply against the rubber floor mat.

"Graham, look, I am so incredibly sorry—" Miller started, his voice cracking.

"Shut up," Garrett said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was dangerously calm, vibrating with a cold fury that made Miller instantly freeze. "You don't talk. You listen."

Garrett stepped closer, forcing the younger, bigger defenseman to lean back against the plexiglass. "My girlfriend is lying in a bed right now with a fractured kneecap because you and your friends couldn't keep your hands to yourselves in my house. She's in agonizing pain, she’s missing her midterms, and she can't walk for the next six weeks."

"I didn't see her, Captain, I swear—"

"I don't care what you saw," Garrett cut him off flatly, his chest heaving under his pads. "Your total lack of awareness just cost someone I love two months of her life. You are a representative of this team, Miller. At the rink, at a party, in the campus dorms—your behavior reflects on all of us. And right now, you look like a reckless idiot."

Logan stepped up beside Garrett, crossing his arms over his chest. "Coach suspended you for three games. But the real punishment starts right now. You wanted to play rough in the house? Let’s see how tough you are on the ice."

Dean tossed a heavy orange weighted training puck onto the ice, where it landed with a sharp clatter. "Suicides, Miller. Until you vomit. Then you start over."

Garrett leaned in one last time, his gaze boring into the freshman’s eyes. "If I catch you so much as breathing heavily within ten feet of Hannah when she’s back on campus, your spot on this roster is gone. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Captain," Miller whispered, his face completely drained of color.

"Get on the ice," Garrett ordered, turning his back on him as Miller scrambled over the boards.

Garrett stood at the bench, watching the freshman drop into a sprint, the heavy scraping of skates filling the empty arena. The rage in Garrett's chest didn't completely fade, but as he felt Logan place a grounding hand on his shoulder pad, he took a deep breath. He just wanted to get back to the house and check on Hannah.

The clock on the nightstand ticked past 10:00 AM, the soft morning light filtering through the blinds of the downstairs guest room. Hannah stirred, a familiar throbbing ache pulsing beneath the heavy fiberglass cast.

She turned her head to see Allie sitting in the armchair beside the bed. A colorful notebook was perched on her lap, and she was furiously typing on her laptop.

"Hey," Hannah muttered, her voice thick with sleep.

"Oh, you're awake!" Allie instantly closed her laptop, her face lighting up with a warm smile. She stood up and leaned over the bed, carefully smoothing the fleece blanket over Hannah's shoulders. "How's the pain? Do you need a pill? Garrett left me strict, military-grade instructions on his clipboard before he left for the rink."

"I think I'm okay for now," Hannah said, trying to shift her weight. The sheer gravity of the cast made her lower back ache. "Just a little stiff."

"Don't move an inch," Allie ordered gently. She reached down, checking the neat row of items on the nightstand. "I’ve got your water right here, and I brought you a hot travel mug of tea from the house across the street. Chamomile, with extra honey."

"You're an angel, Al," Hannah sighed, taking a grateful sip.

Allie pulled her chair closer to the edge of the mattress, resting her chin on her hands. "Alright, so while you were sleeping, I went into full crisis-management mode. I emailed Professor Callahan about your music theory midterms. I told him you were in a massive cast and couldn't leave the house."

Hannah’s chest tightened. "What did he say?"

"He was actually incredibly nice," Allie reassured her quickly, reaching out to pat her hand. "He said you can take the exam online from the laptop. And for the orchestra showcase, he’s letting you submit a video recording of your solo piece from the couch once your pain levels settle down. No skipping the semester, no failing. It's completely handled."

A massive wave of relief washed over Hannah, taking some of the physical tension out of her shoulders. "Seriously? Thank God."

"Exactly. So your only job right now is to let us pamper you," Allie said, popping open her laptop again. "Now, I downloaded three different reality TV seasons for us to binge while the boys are at training. And I brought over a basket of moisturizing face masks. Do you want the avocado one or the honey one first?"

Hannah couldn't help but laugh, the lingering anxiety from the accident finally melting away. "Avocado. Definitely avocado."

Hannah reached for her phone while Allie carefully smoothed the cool, green avocado mask over her cheeks. It was time for the daily status update, and after yesterday's devastating fracture news, her parents were understandably on high alert.

She hit the FaceTime button, and her mom’s face popped onto the screen almost instantly, filled with an immediate look of intense worry. Her dad’s shoulder was visible right behind her.

"Hannah, sweetie! Oh, look at you—what is that on your face?" her mom asked, blinking at the bright green skincare mask.

"It's avocado, Mrs. Wells! We're doing a spa day!" Allie leaned into the camera frame with a bright, reassuring grin, showing off her own honey-infused face mask. "She's in excellent hands, I promise."

"Hi, Allie," Hannah's dad called out, his deep voice carrying a mix of relief and gravity. He leaned closer to the lens. "Hannah, how is the leg? Did the pain meds kick in? Are you keeping it elevated like the doctor said?"

"I am," Hannah smiled, shifting the camera downward to show the massive, solid fiberglass cast resting high on the mountain of pillows. "The pain is much better today. It's just a dull throb now, and Allie has been a total lifesaver. She already emailed my professors, and I'm officially cleared to take my midterms online from bed."

Her mom let out a long, audible sigh of relief, her hand coming up to touch her chest. "Oh, thank goodness. I didn't sleep a wink last night thinking about you falling behind. And what about Garrett? Where is he?"

"He had an early morning skate at the rink," Hannah explained gently. "He ran the freshman who caused the accident through a brutal discipline session, and then he's coming straight back here to take over nursing duties."

Her dad nodded slowly, a look of grim satisfaction crossing his features. "Good. The kid needs to learn accountability. I'm glad Graham handles his business. Tell him I said good job."

"I will, Dad."

"Alright, sweetie, we'll let you get back to your spa day," her mom said, her expression finally softening into a relaxed smile. "Keep resting, take your pills on time, and call us if you need anything at all. We love you."

"Love you guys too. Bye."

Hannah hung up the phone and tossed it onto the duvet, looking over at Allie, who was already opening a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels.

The heavy crunch of tires on the gravel driveway announced the arrival of the Wells family. Garrett was out the front door before the engine had even cut, his heart hammering against his ribs as he jogged down the porch steps.

"Mr. and Mrs. Wells," Garrett said, his posture straightening as Hannah’s dad stepped out of the driver's seat.

Mr. Wells walked around the hood of the car, extending a large, firm hand. He gave Garrett’s knuckles a fierce squeeze. "Graham. Thanks for keeping the fort down. Where's my girl?"

"Downstairs guest room, sir. She's resting," Garrett said, quickly grabbing the two heavy suitcases from the trunk before her mom could lift a finger. "Let me get these for you."

Mrs. Wells smiled warmly, patting Garrett’s arm. "You look exhausted, Garrett. Have you slept at all this week?"

"I’m fine, Mrs. Wells. Just wanted to make sure she was safe," he replied, guiding them through the front door.

The house was uncharacteristically quiet. Logan and Dean had gone out of their way to scrub the kitchen counters and hide any stray beer pong cups, wanting to make a flawless impression. Dean even stood in the hallway wearing a collared shirt, offering a polite nod as they passed.

The moment Mrs. Wells opened the guest room door and saw Hannah, she let out a soft cry. "Oh, my sweet girl."

Hannah was propped up against her pillow fortress, her massive fiberglass cast resting high on the cushions. "Mom! Dad!"

Her mother rushed over, carefully avoiding the broken leg as she wrapped Hannah in a tight, emotional hug. Her dad stepped up right behind her, his eyes scanning the massive plaster before he bent down to press a firm kiss to Hannah’s forehead.

"Look at you," Mr. Wells murmured, his voice thick. "They really wrapped you up like a mummy."

"It looks worse than it feels, Dad," Hannah reassured him, though she squeezed his hand tightly. "Garrett and Allie have been amazing. I haven't had to lift a finger."

Mr. Wells turned around, looking at Garrett, who was carefully setting the suitcases against the wall. The older man walked over and clapped a heavy hand onto Garrett’s shoulder pad. "Logan told me what you did at the rink with that freshman, Graham. Good on you for protecting her. A captain takes care of his people."

Garrett rubbed the back of his neck, a rare flush of crimson creeping up his cheeks. "Just doing my job, sir. She's everything."

Hannah smiled from the bed, her chest swelling with a warmth that completely eclipsed the dull throbbing in her knee. Seeing her protective hockey star boyfriend and her protective father completely on the same page was worth every single bit of the chaos.

Getting a family of five plus three massive hockey players out the door with a six-week fiberglass cast was a logistical military operation.

Garrett refused to let Hannah use her crutches for the transit. He scooped her up from the bed, carefully guiding her heavy leg through the front door while Dean held it wide open. Logan had already pulled Garrett's truck right up to the porch steps, adjusting the passenger seat so it was slid all the way back.

"I've got her leg, Graham, go slow," Mr. Wells ordered, stepping in to support the weight of the plaster while Garrett gently lowered Hannah into the truck.

Once she was securely buckled in with a mountain of pillows supporting her knee, the convoy headed to The Daily Grind, the local off-campus steakhouse. Logan, Dean, and Allie took Logan’s car, while Hannah’s parents rode with Garrett.

The restaurant staff had already been briefed by Dean, who had used his ultimate charm over the phone to secure a private alcove table. When they arrived, two waiters immediately stepped forward to remove a chair, allowing Garrett to slide a padded bench directly under the table for Hannah's leg.

"Alright, let's get the absolute biggest steaks on the menu," Mr. Wells announced, slapping his menu down with a grin as the table settled in. "My treat. You boys look like you haven't eaten a real meal since Saturday."

"Sir, you have no idea," Dean chuckled, leaning forward. "Garrett’s been surviving entirely on nerves and protein shakes. I caught him staring at a wall yesterday just repeating the word 'antiseptic'."

"Shut up, Dean," Garrett muttered, though a genuine laugh broke through his exhausted exterior. He sat right next to Hannah, his left hand automatically dropping beneath the tablecloth to rest flat against her uninjured thigh, rubbing his thumb in a slow, grounding circle.

Mrs. Wells watched the interaction, her eyes softening with total approval. She reached across the table to pat Garrett’s other hand. "We really can't thank you boys enough. Seeing how you've transformed that house to take care of her... it means everything to a parent."

"She's family, Mrs. Wells," Logan said simply, giving Hannah a warm smile. "We protect our own."

As the massive platters of food arrived, the tense, heavy cloud that had hung over the hockey house all week finally dissipated. Hannah leaned her head back against Garrett’s shoulder, taking a sip of her drink while the boys launched into a chaotic, animated retelling of their game against Michigan for her dad.

Despite the heavy plaster pinning her leg straight beneath the table, looking around at her parents, her friends, and the boy who hadn't left her side for a single second, Hannah had never felt more protected.

The house was finally silent. Hannah’s parents had checked into their hotel down the road, and the guys had cleared out to the upstairs bedrooms, leaving the downstairs guest room completely quiet.

Garrett shut the bedroom door with a soft click, locking it before turning back to the bed. He pulled his black Briar hoodie over his head, tossing it onto the armchair, leaving him in just a gray tank top that clung to his chest and shoulders.

Hannah watched him from her spot against the pillows. "You look exhausted, Graham."

"I was," Garrett murmured, walking over to the edge of the mattress. His blue eyes darkened as they swept down her body, tracking the loose silk tank top she wore and the long expanse of her left leg, before resting on the heavy fiberglass cast on her right. "But looking at you fixes that pretty quick."

He crawled onto the bed, moving with practiced caution to avoid jarring her leg. He straddled her uninjured thigh, hovering over her with his hands planted on either side of her shoulders. The heat radiating off his body immediately made Hannah’s skin prickle with anticipation.

"Garrett," she whispered, her hands coming up to rest on his bare biceps. "The doctor said no weight-bearing."

"I'm not putting any weight on you, Wells," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that sent a shiver straight down her spine. "I'm going to do all the work. You just have to lie there and let me take care of you."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a slow, torturously gentle kiss. Hannah groaned against his mouth, her fingers tangling into his damp blonde hair, pulling him closer. The gentle teasing from the past week melted away, replaced by a sudden, heavy hunger that had been building since the accident.

Garrett shifted his weight, his large hand sliding under the hem of her silk top, his palm warm and slightly calloused against the bare skin of her waist. He pulled away from her mouth, tracing a line of burning kisses down her jawline to the sensitive spot right beneath her ear, making her gasp.

"Garrett..."

"I've been thinking about this since Saturday," he whispered against her skin, his hand resting gently against her hip. He carefully adjusted his position, staying completely mindful of the heavy plaster and ensuring her right leg remained elevated and supported on the pillows.

He looked up at her, his eyes intense and focused entirely on her. "Tell me if anything is uncomfortable. Tell me if it’s too much."

"It's perfect," Hannah panted, her fingers tightening in his shirt as the tension between them reached its peak. In the quiet of the room, despite the heavy cast, she felt a profound sense of connection and comfort in his presence.

He stayed close, his movements slow and deliberate, ensuring she felt safe and cared for. The weight of the past week seemed to lift, replaced by a quiet, shared intensity that filled the space between them.

Garrett’s lips met hers again, deeper and more urgent this time, but his movements remained incredibly deliberate. He kept his core locked tightly, supporting his entire weight on his hands and his left knee, ensuring absolutely no pressure shifted toward her right leg.

Hannah’s hands slid up his chest, feeling the heavy, rapid thud of his heartbeat under her palms. She arched her back slightly, her skin tingling everywhere his hands made contact. His touch moved from her waist up to her jaw, his thumb gently tilting her face up to angle the kiss completely.

"You're so beautiful, Wells," he murmured against her lips, his breath hot and shallow. "It’s driving me crazy having you locked in this bed."

"Then do something about it," she panted, her eyes heavy lidded as she tugged at the hem of his tank top.

Garrett let out a low growl, pulling the shirt off in one fluid motion and discarding it somewhere on the floor. The contact of his bare chest against her skin made her catch her breath. He shifted slightly, his hands sliding down to the hem of her shorts, his touch reverent but demanding. Every movement was tailored around the giant fiberglass cast, turning what could have been awkward into something intensely intimate and careful.

He rested his forehead against hers, the intensity of the moment softening into a quiet, comfortable stillness. They stayed like that for a long time, simply enjoying the closeness and the steady rhythm of their breathing in the quiet room. Garrett reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his expression full of a gentle, protective warmth that made Hannah feel completely at ease.

They spent the rest of the evening talking in low voices, sharing stories and laughter that made the confines of the bedroom feel much larger than they were. Garrett stayed by her side, making sure she was comfortable and that her leg was properly elevated, proving that he was more than happy to just be in her presence. For the first time since the accident, the frustration of her recovery felt manageable because he was there to share the weight of it.

The bright Monday morning sun poured through the guest room windows, waking Hannah to the smell of fresh coffee and the distant, chaotic sounds of the hockey house awakening.

Garrett was already gone from the bed, but the heavy indentation in the pillow beside her was still warm. She stretched her arms, a small smile playing on her lips as the memories of the intimate, quiet night flashed through her mind. The deep, throbbing ache in her knee felt a little lighter today.

The bedroom door pushed open, and Garrett walked in carrying a wooden breakfast tray. He was dressed in clean gray sweatpants and a Briar hockey tee, his blonde hair damp from a shower.

"Morning, Wells," he said, his blue eyes softening instantly as they locked onto hers. He carefully set the tray over her lap, making sure it didn't touch her heavy cast. It was loaded with scrambled eggs, a tall glass of orange juice, and a fresh bagel. "How's the pain today?"

"Better," she smiled, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck as he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. "Much better."

"Good," he murmured against her mouth. "Because you have a very long day of doing absolutely nothing ahead of you."

Suddenly, the kitchen door down the hall slammed open, and Dean’s loud voice echoed through the house. "Hey! Graham! Did you survive the night or did Wells use her giant cast to break your ribs?"

Garrett let out a heavy sigh, resting his forehead against Hannah's for a brief second before pulling back. "Ignore him. He's been insufferable since six AM."

Logan’s voice joined in from the hallway. "Leave him alone, Dean. He’s probably still counting out her anti-inflammatories like a madman."

The bedroom door clicked open, and Dean stood in the frame with his arms crossed, a smug, knowing grin plastered across his face. He looked at the breakfast tray, then at Garrett’s slightly flushed cheeks, and let out a low whistle. "Look at that. The captain is serving breakfast in bed. You’re setting the bar dangerously high for the rest of us, Graham."

"Get out of my room, Winston," Garrett snapped, though there was a boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"We're heading to the rink for the morning team meeting," Logan said, poking his head into the room behind Dean and giving Hannah a reassuring wave. "Allie is coming over in an hour to take over the shift. Do you need anything before we leave, Wells?"

"I’m perfect, guys. Thanks," Hannah laughed, leaning back against her pillow fortress.

"Alright, let's go, Dad," Dean teased, slapping Garrett on the shoulder pad as he walked past. "Don't forget to pack your clipboard."

The morning of her six-week checkup, Garrett was practically vibrating with anxiety because a mandatory team flight to an away game meant he couldn't be the one to drive her.

"I can call Coach. I can tell him I missed the flight," Garrett insisted for the fourth time, pacing the length of the downstairs bedroom while stuffing his team duffel bag.

"Garrett, if you miss a team flight for a non-emergency, Coach will bench you for the rest of the season," Hannah said calmly, leaning on her crutches. The heavy fiberglass cast was covered in signatures from the entire team, including a massive, blocky GRAHAM #1 right across the shin. "Allie is a certified driver. I will be perfectly fine."

"I don't like it," he muttered, but he walked over and carefully cupped her face, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to her lips. "Call me the second the cast is off. If the doctor says you need a brace, text me a picture so I can order the best one."

An hour later, Allie was navigating the Broadview traffic with extreme caution, her eyes darting to the rearview mirror every three seconds.

"If anyone cuts us off, I’m ramming them," Allie announced, her hands tight on the steering wheel. "I promised Garrett I would deliver you to Dr. Evans in one piece, and I am not letting a Honda Civic ruin my record."

"You're doing great, Al," Hannah laughed, adjusting her heavy leg on the passenger seat.

When they arrived at the orthopedic clinic, Allie handled the logistics like a seasoned pro. She grabbed the wheelchair from the lobby, helped Hannah swing her heavy leg inside, and pushed her through the doors of the examination room.

Dr. Evans walked in a few minutes later, holding a formidable-looking electric saw. "Alright, Hannah. Today is the day. Ready to lose the plaster?"

"More than ready," Hannah said, her heart beating a little faster.

The high-pitched buzz of the cast saw filled the room. Allie immediately stepped up to the head of the examination bed, grabbing Hannah’s hand and squeezing it tightly. "Don't look at the blade, just look at me. Think about the fact that you can finally take a real shower tonight."

"A real shower," Hannah repeated, focusing on that beautiful thought while the tech carefully sliced through the thick fiberglass layer.

With a loud, satisfying crack, the cast was split open and pulled away.

Hannah looked down at her right leg. It looked pale, significantly thinner than her left leg from six weeks of muscle atrophy, and her knee was stiff and slightly swollen. But when Dr. Evans gently pressed around the edge of her kneecap, the sharp, sickening pain from before was completely gone.

"The bone is fully knitted," Dr. Evans announced, reviewing the fresh X-ray on his monitor. "The fracture is completely healed. No more cast, and no more rigid immobilizer."

Hannah let out a massive breath, her eyes tearing up with relief. "Seriously? I can walk?"

"Slowly, and only with a soft compression sleeve for support," the doctor cautioned, handing Allie a slip of paper. "You have significant stiffness from the joint being locked straight, so you start physical therapy tomorrow. Use one crutch for balance for the next week, and then you're entirely on your own feet."

The second Dr. Evans left the room, Allie pulled out her phone and hit the FaceTime button. Garrett answered on the first ring, the noisy background of a team bus visible behind him. Logan and Dean were leaning over his shoulders, staring into the screen.

"Is it off?" Garrett demanded instantly, his face pressed close to the camera. "What did he say?"

Allie flipped the camera around to show Hannah’s bare, plaster-free leg. "Fully healed, Graham! No more cast, no more heavy brace. Just a compression sleeve and physical therapy!"

On the other end of the line, the entire back row of the team bus erupted into a massive, rowdy cheer. Garrett let out a breath so heavy it rattled the phone speaker, a massive, uncharacteristic grin breaking across his face.

"You did it, Wells," Garrett murmured, his blue eyes softening completely as he looked at her through the screen. "I’ll be home Sunday night. Get ready to celebrate."

The roar of the truck’s engine cutting out in the driveway signaled Garrett's return from his away game. Hannah stood in the middle of the living room, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

She had purposefully hidden her crutches behind the armchair. Per Dr. Evans’ strict instructions, she was wearing her sleek, black compression sleeve over her right knee, and she had spent the entire afternoon practicing her balance.

The front door flew open. Garrett stepped into the entryway, his massive hockey duffel bag slung over his broad shoulder. He looked exhausted, his hair messy from the team flight, but the second his blue eyes locked onto her, everything else vanished.

Then, his gaze dropped.

He looked at her arms—empty. He looked down at the floor. No crutches. He looked at her right leg, which was planted firmly, bearing her full weight on the hardwood floor without a single piece of aluminum supporting her.

Garrett froze dead in his tracks. His duffel bag slid off his shoulder, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

"Wells," he breathed, his voice cracking with a mixture of absolute terror and disbelief. "What are you doing? Where are your crutches? Get back to the couch right now."

Instead of moving toward the sofa, Hannah smiled, took a deep, calculated breath, and took one slow, deliberate step forward with her right leg. It was a little stiff, but the bone held perfectly.

"Look, Graham," she whispered, her eyes shining. "No crutches."

Garrett crossed the room in a single, desperate stride. He didn’t care about his gear or the fact that Logan and Dean were walking up the porch steps behind him. He reached her in seconds, his large hands immediately wrapping securely around her waist, anchoring her to his chest so she couldn't possibly lose her balance.

"You're walking," he murmured, his face burying into the crook of her neck as he held her impossibly close. His chest heaved with a massive, ragged sigh of relief. "You're actually walking."

"The doctor said I could try without the crutch for short distances if I felt steady," Hannah laughed softly, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and breathing in his familiar, comforting scent. "I wanted you to see it first."

"Holy shit, Wells!" Dean's voice boomed from the doorway as he and Logan walked in, stopping to stare at her standing on her own two feet. "Look at you! The bionic woman returns!"

"Does this mean Graham finally gets his clipboard confiscated?" Logan chuckled, a massive, relieved grin breaking across his face.

"Never," Hannah joked, looking up into Garrett’s eyes.

Garrett didn't join in on the teasing. He just stared down at her, his blue eyes intense and full of a fierce, overwhelming devotion. He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers in a deep, desperate kiss that told her exactly how much he had missed her—and how incredibly happy he was to finally have his girl back on her own feet.

"I'm still carrying you up the stairs tonight," he whispered against her lips, a familiar, cocky smirk finally breaking through his relief. "Doctor's orders."

"Whatever you say, Captain," Hannah smiled.

The backyard of the off-campus house smelled of charcoal, lighter fluid, and crisp autumn air. The entire Briar hockey team was gathered around a large metal fire pit, the flames crackling brightly against the evening sky.

On the patio table sat a silver platter holding the heavy, fiberglass cast, completely severed down the middle and covered from top to bottom in signatures and inside jokes.

"Alright, people, quiet down!" Dean yelled, standing on top of a lawn chair with a red plastic cup raised high. "We are gathered here tonight to celebrate the official liberation of Hannah Wells' right kneecap! No more crutches. No more clipboard-wielding Garrett Graham acting like a drill sergeant. And most importantly, no more sponge baths!"

"Dean, I swear to God," Garrett warned from his spot on the outdoor couch, though he couldn't hide the massive grin on his face. He had his arm wrapped tightly around Hannah’s shoulders, his fingers tracing slow, relaxed circles against her arm.

"To the First Lady of Briar Hockey!" Tucker roared, and the entire team erupted into cheers.

Garrett stood up, carefully helping Hannah to her feet. She was wearing her soft black compression sleeve beneath her jeans, but she stood perfectly straight, completely unassisted. Together, they walked over to the fire pit. Garrett handed her one half of the heavy plaster cast, keeping the other half for himself.

"On three," Hannah smiled, looking up at him. "One... two... three."

They tossed the pieces into the center of the roaring fire. The fiberglass hissed and popped, the flames turning a brilliant shade of green and orange as they consumed the signatures. The team went wild, banging their cups together and chanting Hannah's name.

As the crowd began to disperse toward the keg and the barbecue, Hannah noticed a familiar, towering figure standing awkwardly by the edge of the patio. It was Miller. The freshman defenseman looked completely out of place, holding a soda can and staring down at his sneakers, still visibly carrying the weight of the last six weeks of intense team scrutiny.

Hannah nudged Garrett’s ribs gently. "Go bring him over."

Garrett hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly for a fraction of a second, but he looked down at Hannah’s soft, encouraging expression and let out a long breath. "Fine."

Garrett walked over to the edge of the yard, clapped a heavy hand onto Miller’s shoulder, and guided the nervous freshman back toward the fire where Hannah was waiting. Miller looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

"Hannah," Miller stammered, his voice thick with genuine remorse. "I... I just wanted to say again how incredibly sorry I am. I never meant for any of this to happen. Seeing you in that cast for two months because I was being an idiot..."

"Miller, stop," Hannah interrupted gently, offering him a warm, reassuring smile. "It was an accident. You were excited about a huge win, and it was dark outside. The bone is completely knitted, the tendon is healed, and I'm back on my feet."

Miller blinked, a massive wave of visible relief washing over his face. He looked at Garrett, who was watching him with a calm, even expression.

"The suspension is over, Miller," Garrett said, his voice dropping into his official captain's tone, but without the biting fury from six weeks ago. "You took your punishment on the ice, you kept your head down, and you learned your lesson. You're a part of this team. That means when one of us falls, we all help them back up. We’re good."

Garrett extended his hand. Miller reached out instantly, his massive palm engulfing Garrett's in a firm, respectful handshake.

"Thank you, Captain. Thank you, Hannah," Miller said, a genuine smile finally breaking through his nerves.

"Now go grab a burger before Dean eats the entire tray," Hannah laughed, waving him toward the grill. Miller nodded happily, practically jogging over to join the rest of the freshmen.

Garrett wrapped his arms around Hannah from behind, pulling her back against his chest as they watched the cast slowly turn to ash in the fire pit. He rested his chin on her shoulder, his breath warm against her neck.

"You're too nice to him, you know that?" Garrett murmured.

"Someone has to balance out your terrifying captain persona, Graham," she teased, turning her head to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his jaw.

"I love you, Wells."

"I love you too, Garrett."