The crack at her feet seemed to grow, the small line expanding, stretching, getting bigger and bigger as she watched. A drop of water fell onto it, spreading out until it disappeared into the blackness.

Taylor kept focusing on that crack, urging it to open up, to swallow her whole and take her away from the noise and lights that threatened to send her over the edge.

Another drop fell onto the crack, then another, disappearing the way the first one had. Her vision swam and blurred as the chill slammed into her. Her legs started shaking, then her arms and hands, the chill growing colder, claiming her until her entire body shook. Until her teeth started chattering, the sound of enamel grating against enamel loud in her ears.

She felt something touch her, a small warmth on her shoulder that made no sense at first. Words, quiet and strained, were lost in the surrounding noise. Her chest tightened, invisible steel bands squeezing until she had to fight to breathe.

She didn't want to fight. She just wanted to fall into the crack. To disappear into the blackness. To pretend none of this was happening, that it was nothing more than a bad dream.

But it wasn't. Taylor knew, somewhere deep in the back of her mind where reason fought to surface, that she wouldn't be able to wake from this. There would be no second of startled breath, no moment when she launched herself out of bed only to realize the nightmare was behind her. That the horror was nothing more than her imagination.

This was real. Too real.

Someone grabbed her hand and folded her fingers around something warm. Unwelcome heat seeped into the flesh of her palm, pulling her attention away from that dark crack at her feet.

"Taylor. You need to drink this. Please."

The words reached her through a foggy haze of numbness, pulling more of her attention away from the crack that beckoned and called. Taylor blinked, her vision clearing, then slowly straightened in the hard, plastic chair. She noticed the cardboard cup of black coffee in her hand, noticed a smaller hand cradling hers, helping her hold the cup so she wouldn't drop it.

Sammie. Sammie was sitting next to her, brown eyes wide with worry, the fragile skin beneath them dark with smudges. Taylor nodded, thinking that was what Sammie wanted her to do, then raised the cup to her mouth and took a small sip.

Liquid scalded her tongue, her throat. It should hurt, she knew that on some level, but she didn't feel it. She couldn't feel anything but the cold that held her in its grip.

"It's not your fault, Taylor. Do you hear me? It's not your fault." Sammie repeated the words, her voice rough and urgent, like she was intent on making Taylor believe.

Taylor shook her head, knowing Sammie was lying. It was her fault. All of it.

They were gathered in the waiting room at the hospital, had been there for what seemed like hours. All of them: the entire team, the coaching staff. Even the owners and Chuckie. They were huddled together, talking quietly.

Everyone except Taylor. She was seated across the room, in a corner by herself, needing to be alone. Knowing this was her fault. They wouldn't be here—Amanda wouldn't be here—if it hadn't been for her.

It was her fault and she needed to be alone, needed to think about what happened, needed to figure out what she'd done while they waited to hear about Amanda.

But Sammie wouldn't leave her alone. She kept talking to Taylor, rambling words that made no sense. Couldn't Sammie tell she needed to be alone? She needed to tell her that. Needed to tell her she should go over with the rest of the team, to sit with them as everyone stared at her, whispered about her. Talked about how she'd hurt Amanda.

But she couldn't get the words out, couldn't even form them in her head. Everything was too thick, too hazy and foggy.

"It's not your fault, Taylor."

Taylor nodded, trying to tell Sammie once more that it was, but she still wouldn't listen. She tightened her hand around Taylor's and guided the cup back to her mouth, forcing her to take another sip.

"No, I don't want—"

"Taylor, please. Just drink it."

"I said no." Taylor pushed the cup away, ignoring the dark liquid that sloshed over the rim and landed on her jersey. She heard Sammie's ragged sigh, felt loneliness wrap itself around her when Sammie finally got up and left.

Taylor wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned forward, her gaze seeking the crack under her feet, wishing once more that she could just disappear into its depths. A shadow darkened the floor in front of her but Taylor didn't look up. She didn't want to look up, she wanted to be left alone.

The shadow moved to the side, out of her line of vision. The chair next to her creaked and groaned as someone sat down. Then an arm draped around her shoulders and tugged, pulling her toward a solid wall of comforting heat.

Taylor squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. She wanted to scream, to say she wanted to be left alone, but she couldn't force the words through her clogged throat.

Strong arms closed around her, holding her tight. Hands, large and gentle, rubbed soothing circles against her back. A voice, deep and warm, whispered words of comfort in her ear. Chuckie's voice. Chuckie's arms, solid and reassuring. Taylor fisted one hand in his shirt and buried her face in his shoulder, tears burning her eyes and throat. How long did she sit there, crying, unaware of the noise and stares and whispers?

She didn't know. Wasn't even aware of them until the air shifted around her. Until the noise drifted off, fading into an oppressive silence laced with anxious expectancy.

Taylor lifted her head, her bleary gaze drifting around the room until it came to a stop at the small group gathered by the metal door leading back to the emergency room. An older man dressed in scrubs, his face lined with weariness, stood next to Mr. Murphy and Coach Reynolds, talking quietly. Relief flashed across Coach Reynolds' face, the emotion quickly replaced by concern and something that looked like anger.

The coach's gaze darted to Taylor then snapped away, landing on Rachel Woodhouse. The coach nodded, said something to Mr. Murphy, then headed toward Taylor, her steps strong and filled with purpose.

Taylor's breath hitched in her chest, her lungs burning. Chuckie's arms tightened around her as the coach stopped in front of them, brows pulled low over her pinched eyes.

"Beall's going to be fine."

Relief surged through Taylor, releasing the steel bands that had been constricting her lungs. She sucked in a deep breath, her head swimming. "Really? She's okay?"

"She will be. And this had nothing to do with you, LeBlanc. Absolutely nothing."

"But the puck—"

"It wasn't that. Not even close."

"Then…I don't understand. What happened? What was it?"

Coach's mouth pursed into a thin line, like she didn't want to say. Her gaze drifted to Chuckie, settling on him for a long minute. Then she sighed and looked back at Taylor, resignation and regret reflected in her eyes. "An overdose."

She turned on her heel and stormed across the room, heading straight for Rachel. The other woman's face drained of all color as she backed away, her gaze scanning the room as if she was looking for a way to escape. Her eyes landed on Taylor, the expression of fear and hatred startling her. Coach Reynolds stepped in front of Rachel, said something in a low voice, then led her out of the room.

Taylor sagged against Chuckie, her body limp and drained as confusion swirled through her mind. "Overdose? Did she really say that?"

"Yeah."

Taylor turned toward him. "But how? Why?"

Chuckie shook his head then leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss against her forehead. His arms tightened around her for a brief second then he released her and stood up. He motioned toward Sammie, who hurried over to them.

"I have no idea but I need to talk to Murph, find out what's going on."

Sammie lowered herself into the empty chair with a heavy sigh. "She's going to be okay?"

"Yeah. Sounds like it."

"What happened? Did Coach say?"

Taylor hesitated, not sure if she should say anything. She decided against it, even if everyone would find out the truth eventually. "Not really, no. Just that it wasn't my fault."

Sammie flashed a quick smile at her, one filled with weary relief. "Well I already knew that. So now what?"

"I don't know." And she didn't. What did they do now? Just go on like nothing happened?

Taylor pulled in another shaky breath and focused on the two men standing off to the side, their heads bent together in deep conversation. She didn't have to look close to see the tension in Chuckie's shoulders, or the angry determination on Mr. Murphy's face.

And she couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change—for all of them.