I made sure all the guys were out before I followed behind.
In the tunnel, I turned my head around to where Geneviève had been sitting before.
There she was.
Smiling down at me like a loon.
I shouldn’t do this.
But I was going to anyway.
I took my glove off, and motioned to her with my index finger to come over. She smiled even bigger, and hurried down to where I was.
How she slid through the railings—in a skirt and heels—I’ll never know. But I dumped my other glove on the floor and helped her land once she was over.
“He passed!” she shouted, her arms in the air, waving around like crazy.
I tilted my head in confusion. “Who passed what?” I asked, my brain trying hard to catch up so I could share in her excitement.
She dropped her head back with a loud, “Gah! Trey! He passed his brainstem test. With flying colors!”
My heart stopped, was she saying that he was okay? “What does this mean? Is he awake?”
Her hands held onto mine. “He’s not awake. Yet. But he’s in there, Beau. Trey’s still there. When he wakes up, he’ll be—”
I scooped her up in my arms and she screamed while I spun her around and laughed. “Great fuckin’ news,” I said into her neck, taking a big lungful of her calming, floral scent. “Really great fuckin’ news.”
She pushed away from me slightly and looked into my eyes. “He’s not out of the woods, yet.”
“But he’s not under the woods.”
Her eyes got all watery. “Nope. Definitely not.”
“I forgot to tell you something before you left,” I said, leaning down to her.
“What?”
“I love you,” I said, then I took her lips in a long, delicious kiss. Seconds later, we heard the fans start yelling crap and whoo’ing us.
“We have an audience,” she said against my lips, then we both smiled. I lifted her up to the railings and she somehow managed to slip through gracefully.
Just as I’d turned around to hurry my ass up onto the ice, Geneviève called my name. “Beau!” she said, and I swung my head back to her. The face that had been full of joy only moments later, was now etched with worry.
I did the only thing I could.
I smiled at her.
The guys cheered loud,ear-splitting shouts when I passed on Geneviève’s good news.
No, it didn’t mean he was free and clear.
But his chances of waking up and being—Trey—were better than they were twenty-four hours ago.
He hadn’t won the series.
But he’d won the all-important game three.
One more, and he’d be golden.