Logan Romano took the NHL like a hurricane- dark and brooding.
With his natural talent, brute force and sheer determination, he goes completely unchallenged both on and off the ice.
He's notorious. Both for his success and his stormy personality...
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The past 5 years of my life have felt like one long waiting-game.
Waiting for my Dad to get better. Waiting for him to finally come home. Sometimes, it's been waiting for him to get worse. Waiting for that fateful phone call.
I've been lucky enough to never experience the latter. Not through 5 years of him undergoing surgery after surgery, endless rounds of chemo therapy and hours of counting each and every beep of his monitor have I received that phone call.
The one that everybody shows in the movies- you know, when the main character receives devastating news over the phone and the audience can't help but cry along with them.
I never had one of them.
Until today.
"Mom?" I rush out urgently, my voice filled with concern and pure panic.
Logan quirks his brows together and untangles my legs from around his waist, gently setting me back on the floor. He can sense something is wrong, he makes that much clear when he cradles my face in his palms, takes one look in my eyes and starts to guide me over to perch on the edge of his bed.
"N-November?" Mom sighs in relief, her voice not echoing the same strength mine holds. It's wavering.
She hardly ever wavers. In fact, my Mom is annoyingly strong, I'd even go as far to say that she's kind of unfeeling. Like when I was 6 years old and she oh-so casually told me that my Dog had died at the dinner table, almost like she was reading the evening post. She barely even flinched when I began to sob hysterically.
Or like the first few months following Dad's diagnosis. She continued on like normal, like it wasn't even happening. And only when we brought it up- when I brought it up- would she brush it off like it was some minor inconvenience.
That is what Gracie-Marie Levine is like. Not this quivering, shook-up woman who stumbles over her words.
"Hi, I'm here. What is it? What's happened? Are you okay?" My knuckles tighten around the phone, my stomach twisting and turning into painful knots.
"I-I don't know. The hospital just called me and I-"
"Is it Dad? It is his blood pressure? His lungs? They've not collapsed have they? Is he stable? Have you-"
"It's time, Nova."
My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. Those tight knots unwind in one foul swoop, leaving me with an overwhelming feeling of nausea. "T-Time?"
Now my voice is wavering.
This happens more often to me- it really isn't anything new. I stutter when I'm nervous, like if I have to give a presentation in class or if I want to order a complicated drink at Starbucks but am too embarrassed. It also happens when I'm excited- when all my hairs are standing on end in anticipation. Like when I'm waiting for said complicated drink or when Logan is making me feel all giddy and nervous with his smouldering eyes.
