Chapter 89
89
Hudson
I’ve been dreading today.
Sure, I’m excited to be back on the ice, but I’m still not up to full speed.
My wrist still hurts, and if I take any hits, I’ll be fucked.
Hopefully, since it’s only a practice, I’ll be okay.
The whistle blows, sharp and demanding. I adjust my helmet, flexing my injured wrist as subtly as I can.
I hope nobody notices, especially Coach.
It’s still stiff, but it’s manageable. Hopefully, with the adrenaline coursing through me, the pain will be dulled. I’m a glass-half-full kind of guy.
Fifteen minutes later, practice is in full swing, and for the first time since my injury, I’m on the ice with the team.
I’ve been careful to hide the extent of my injury, but now if anything happens, I won’t be able to hide it. Which puts me on edge.
I already feel that my shot’s a little weaker and my stickhandling slower, but I’ve worked hard to make it look like nothing’s wrong.
At least, I think I have.
Here’s to hoping.
“Wilde, move your ass!” Coach shouts from the bench.
Maybe I spoke too soon.
I bite back a curse and push harder, forcing myself to close the gap as Aiden sends the puck flying toward me. I catch it on my blade and send it back, ignoring the twinge in my wrist as the vibrations from the pass ripple through my hand.
“Nice, Hudson!” Aiden calls, skating past me.
I nod, gritting my teeth as I adjust my grip on the stick. Every movement feels worse than the next, and if I don’t catch a break soon, Coach will for sure find out.
It’s not even a minute later that the puck is flying my way again, but this time, Dane is there, real close, blocking Wolfe, who’s coming after the puck and, in turn, me.
Dane’s been . . . different today.
Not off in the sense that he’s not doing his job—if anything, he’s playing harder than usual. But there’s something about the way he’s moving, the way he’s interacting with the team.
He’s everywhere.
Every time someone gets near me, Dane is there, his stick tapping the ice or his body shifting into their path. It’s subtle enough that no one else seems to notice, but I do.
He’s practically playing shadow, blocking anyone who even thinks about breathing in my direction.
At one point, Wolfe goes for a check, and Dane cuts in, bumping him just hard enough to redirect him.
“Chill, man,” Wolfe says with a laugh. “What’s up your ass?”
Dane shrugs. Not even bothering to answer him before skating away without a word.
I have to agree with Wolfe. Something is up with Dane, but since I’m benefiting from it, who am I to ask questions?
Every time he blocks someone from hitting me is another minute I have to heal.
Practice ends, thank fuck. I hit the locker room with the rest of the guys. However, my movements are much slower than theirs.
My wrist… and now my whole arm fucking kills.
When I was on the ice, it hurt, but not this bad.
I blame it on the adrenaline.
“Nice job.” Aiden nods at me. He’s not a man of many words.
“It’s good to be back. I missed you, man. How’s married life?” Mason grins as he heads toward the showers.
“It’s good.”
I need to get out of here, but before I head out, I catch Dane’s eyes.
He’s all the way across the room, but even from this distance, I can tell something is wrong with him. Or still wrong with him, maybe.
I nod, but he just turns away, heading out without another word.
By the time I get home, the house smells like chicken soup and fresh bread. My mom’s recipe. Molly is in the kitchen stirring something on the stove, her hair pulled back in a messy bun.
She’s been here every day since the injury, taking care of me like it’s her full-time job. I didn’t ask her to.
Hell, I tried to tell her she didn’t need to. But Molly, being Molly, ignored me and moved herself in anyway, which is fine by me. If it were up to me, she’d never leave.
“Hey,” she says without turning around. “How was practice?”
“Decent.” That’s the best I can do. Anything else would be a lie.
Molly turns to face me. “What happened?”
She scrunches her nose as she stares at me.
“Well, it was kind of weird, though. Dane was acting like my personal bodyguard.”
Her hand stops moving, and the spoon clinks against the pot.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he didn’t let anyone near me.” I lean against the counter. “It’s like—”
“Like what?”
“Like he was blocking only me.”
She shrugs. “Maybe he’s just being protective. You know how he is.”
“Yeah,” I say slowly, watching her carefully. “It’s just . . . different. Even for him.”
Molly finally looks at me, her face neutral. “Maybe subconsciously he could tell you weren’t at your best.”
It feels like she’s leaving something out.
What?
I have no clue, but it feels that way.
About twenty minutes later, we finally sit down for dinner. While we eat, neither of us speaks. It’s quiet, the only sound is that of the spoons clinking the bowls.
Something is definitely off with Molly, though.
She’s been quieter than usual, her focus entirely on her food.
“You’re not eating much.” I glance at her half-empty bowl.
“Neither are you,” she shoots back, raising an eyebrow.
I chuckle, leaning back in my chair. “Touché.”
She gives me a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Interesting.
Later, as I sit on the couch icing my arm, Molly brings me a cup of water and sits beside me. She doesn’t say anything; she just tucks her legs under her and stares at the TV.
“What’s going on with you?” I ask.
“Just tired,” she responds.
“You sure?”
She nods, but I don’t believe her.
“Maybe it’s me.” I nudge her. “Maybe I’m too high maintenance. You don’t have to take care of me, you know.”
She turns to me, her brow furrowed. “I want to.”
I don’t know what to say. “Thank you,” finally slips out, but my voice is quieter than I intended.
She smiles, and this time, it feels real. “You’d do the same for me.”
“Yeah,” I say, leaning back against the couch. “I would.”
The silence settles around us.
Comfortable.
Peaceful.
Everything I’ve ever wanted.
I don’t know what I did to deserve her, but I’m not about to question it.