Filed to story: Luci Forrester and Easton Reed: Hockey Romance Story
“Luci Forrester?” she calls out, and I nod, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach.
She approaches, handing me an ice pack that can be fastened around my wrist. “I was told to deliver this by the hockey coach.”
I take it, wishing I could hurl it at Maxton instead.
“Thank you,” I reply, forcing a smile as she walks away.
After my last class, I decide to treat myself to an iced coffee to salvage this dreadful day. I’m almost to the coffee shop when I hear the unmistakable sound of a car speeding down the narrow, winding road of the campus. My heart drops as I spot a young blonde boy stepping off the sidewalk, oblivious to the impending danger.
The car isn’t slowing down, and my stomach twists as I realize the driver is distracted, holding his phone up at eye level. That boy is in grave danger.
“LOOK OUT!” I scream, my instincts kicking in as I sprint toward him. I reach him just in time, grabbing him and pulling us both to the ground. I manage to position him mostly on top of me to shield him from the impact. Ignoring the pain of scraping against the concrete, I wrap my arms around him, desperate to protect him.
The car careens past us, clipping two others before slamming into a tree not far away. I hear the panicked screams of bystanders echoing around us.
A woman rushes over, helping me to my feet. “I saw the whole thing. It’s a miracle you were paying attention at that moment.”
More like a miracle I wasn’t lost in my own thoughts, I think, but I keep that to myself.
Crouching down, I extend my hand toward the boy. “Hey there. My name’s Luci. Can you move your arms and legs for me, sweetie?”
He nods, tears brimming in his eyes. “Do you hurt anywhere?”
“My knee,” I reply, glancing down at the slight scrape marring my skin.
“We’ll get that all taken care of once the ambulance arrives. What’s your name?” I ask, focusing solely on him despite the growing crowd around us.
“Co…Cole,” he stammers, his teeth chattering. I realize he might be going into shock from the fright. I need to keep him warm and calm.
“Cole, how old are you?” the woman beside me asks, her phone out, likely recording the scene.
“Four.”
My anger surges at the thought of his neglectful nanny. How could someone leave a four-year-old alone?
“Do you know her name?” I press gently, my heart aching for this child.
He nods slowly, “Madison.”
The woman scoffs. “She’ll show up and act all concerned in a minute. Just wait.”
Before she can finish her thought, the wailing sirens of an ambulance pierce the air.
“Cole, the ambulance is coming. We’ll call your parents. Can you…”
“OH MY GOD! COLE? COLE?” A tall redhead comes barreling toward us, her voice shrill with panic.
The woman beside me mutters, “Well, she certainly makes an entrance.” She clears her throat, addressing the frantic woman. “Are you the infamous Madison who abandoned your ward?”
“Shut up, lady! COLE!” Madison shrieks, rushing toward the car. I glance down at Cole, who is now trying to hide his face in my hoodie. I smile softly at him.
“It’s okay, sweetie. You can hide in there. I won’t tell her where you are until we get you near the ambulance.”
Two ambulances arrive, along with a fire truck and several police cars. The woman next to me introduces herself as Mary and asks for my name and number. I rattle it off, keeping my eyes on Cole, who is still trembling.
“I’m Mary. I sent you my name and the video,” she says, waving the paramedics over.
“Was someone hurt here?” one of them inquires, assessing the situation.
“This brave young woman pulled that little boy out of the path of the car. They landed hard on the sidewalk. He might need to be checked over,” Mary explains, taking charge.
“Miss, is he your son?” one of the paramedics asks, concern etched on his face.
“No, this is Cole. We just met,” I clarify, smiling at him as he peeks out from my hoodie.
“Hi Cole, I’m Warner. Did you get hurt?” he asks, crouching down beside us.
“My knee burns. My shoulder hurts,” Cole replies in a small, quivering voice.
“I tried to let him land on top of me. He may have bumped his shoulder,” I say, remorse flooding my voice.
“You did more than enough getting him out of the road, Miss…”
“Luci, Luci Forrester.”