Chapter 13 - Theo #2
I made the promise she needed to hear, and Reese got to taping me up. I felt none of the discomfort that was always there when she did it. The miracle juice had totally taken effect, and the relief that washed over me was euphoric.
“I didn’t mean to upset you the other night.”
She didn’t pause her movements. “Then congratulations. You get points for intention, I guess.”
“Reese—”
Her hands froze on me, and when they picked back up it was with more aggression than before. “I don’t want to talk about it. Your job is to play, and mine is to get you on the ice to do it. End of story.”
There wasn’t anything else to say. Not here. Not with her refusing to stand anywhere near what actually happened between us. I pulled my shirt back on, testing my arm again even though she shot me a warning look when I did.
As I reached the door, her voice lifted.
“Don’t make me regret this.”
Too late for that, I almost said.
Instead, I nodded once, kept it neutral, and stepped into the hallway with my shoulder feeling invincible.
The pain wasn’t there. The weight of the season wasn’t crushing.
After the conversation with Hunter, the media pressure, and the stretch Reese and I had survived together, everything felt possible.
I could make it. To the end of the season, maybe even to the Cup.
The Surge were out of the gates with everything on the line. But so was Dallas Stars.
I hit the ice and felt it immediately—no pain.
Not a twitch, not a buzz, nada. My shoulder moved like it had before all the wreckage started, and it felt…
fucking amazing. My arms, legs, everything was firing in sync.
I leaned into the first corner, grabbed the puck, and slid it up to Mason, who was already cutting toward the net like he had a score to settle.
Shawn barreled past him on the right wing. “Clear a lane!” he yelled.
I skated back toward the crease, reading the Stars’ forward like a book, ready to stand my ground and cut anything off.
Hunter’s voice boomed across the ice. “Move it, Bouchard! Don’t freeze up on me now.”
“What are you getting so worked up about?” I shot back with a grin. “It’s just a game.”
He laughed, a high-pitched, cackling sound, and I joined in.
My body felt like I’d been trapped in amber for months and someone finally thawed me back to civilization.
I pivoted, juked a Stars forward sliding at me, shoulder steady, stick handling clean.
The puck went sailing free and Grayson picked it up, Mason flanking.
He faked left, handed it off faster than anyone could see, and Mason snapped a shot into the top corner. Net rippled and the fans went nuts.
“About time someone did something about that big fat egg on the scoreboard.” Tucker high-fived me. I’d given him my left hand out of habit, and felt a sinking disappointment that I’d missed the chance to feel what it felt like on the right.
I skated past the crease to meet the next attacker.
Stars weren’t taking this lying down. Their forwards were like bullets on the ice.
Tucker took two of them out of the running, and I went into the one-on-one, full speed.
I swiped at the puck, body angled, shoulder holding.
The winger spun off, and I bolted up the ice, puck glued to my stick.
“Send her home, James,” Tucker called as he skated in for back-up.
I glanced up and found Grayson hanging easy in the slot.
“That’s Sir James, to you,” I grunted, and passed to Grayson just as a Stars defender shoved me into the boards. We grappled it out, and I broke free just as the buzzer went. Grayson had made the goal. Surge were 2–0 up.
“Don’t go getting cocky,” Hunter said as I skated back to the blue line. “I’m the hero in this story.”
“Yeah, yeah, save the theatrics,” I yelled, really laughing for the first time in forever. “It’s not my fault they’re not giving you any work to do.”
Second period, and that’s when Dallas decided to push.
My line exploded into the corners, hitting, checking, slicing gaps.
I grabbed a pass in the mid-neutral zone, turned, and fed it across ice to Shawn.
He faked a defender, shot low—blocked. Mason swooped in to save the day, one motion, and top corner again.
Two for Mason. The bench went wild, and the crowd went wilder.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I like it,” Mason said, slapping my helmet as he skated past.
Late in the second, Landon skated onto the ice for a shift, and his arrival caused the usual uproar with the fans.
He grabbed the puck on the left, pulled the defender past him with a flourish, and flicked a shot high, barely making it past the Stars goalie.
The crowd was so loud it sounded like the roof would fly off Frost Bank Center and never be seen again. And I was living for it.
Third period was a war. Bone-crushing hits and too many close calls.
Dallas tied it up with five minutes to go, and then we ran on pure instinct rather than thought.
Mason streaked up the right, shoulder check from a defender and incredibly, he kept going.
The whole bench was on their feet. A quick one-two with Grayson, who held onto the puck and dragged it round the back of the net to draw the defense.
One of ‘em hung back to cover Mason. I skated up to join Shawn for the rebound just as Grayson pulled out.
He could’ve easily taken the goalie between his legs, but didn’t.
Like a predator playing with his food before going in for the kill, Grayson snapped the puck over in our direction.
The Stars defense approached like a wall.
Shawn slapped his stick to the ice, pushed off, and it was only once he fell flat right in front of the goal that the guys blocking him realized he didn’t have the puck. He’d faked it.
I made a clean pass to Mason, who was wide open now. He weaved through the scrambling defenders like they were made of smoke, and popped one in before I could blink. The net rippled, and the final horn went.
It was chaos on and off the ice, and there was no hanging back to watch my team celebrate without me. I was right in the thick of it.
“Good to have you back, man,” Grayson said, and clapped me on the shoulder.
I glanced over at the bench and saw Reese making her way to the tunnel. I didn’t dwell on it too long, the fact she didn’t stay, and slapped Grayson’s helmet. “Good to be back, Captain.”
We peeled off the ice with the roar of the crowd still echoing in my ears.
My skates clattered over the boards, adrenaline still spiking, pushing me to go do the thing I’d been wanting to do for too long.
I broke into a run, heart slamming against my ribs, past the locker room, down the hall. To the med bay.
“Hey, what are you—?” Reese started, shock flashing across her face when I burst in.
I slammed the door behind me, and her into it, pressing up as close as my gear would allow. My mouth found hers without a second thought, all the tension, the months of waiting, the frustration, the thrill, the fear I’d screw it up—everything poured into this one kiss.
Her lips were soft, impossibly warm, and when she parted slightly, I slipped my tongue in, tasting her, claiming, lapping up her muffled moans like they were giving me life.
Her hands clutched at my shoulders and neck; then they were fists tangling in my jersey, pulling me closer.
And I let her. I pressed harder, deeper, feeling her arch into me, the press of her body igniting something low and fierce and so fucking horny for her.
Time stretched. The world narrowed to the slick press of our mouths, the heat of our bodies, the wild pounding in my chest and her quickening breaths against my lips. I tilted her chin up, kissed the line of her jaw, and she shivered against me, fingers raking through my damp hair.
Finally, I drew back, just enough to see her face, all flushed, eyes gleaming.
My own lips throbbed, still tingling from hers.
She blinked at me, wordless, and then a thumb swept over her bottom lip as if she were checking to see it was still intact.
I’d been a bit rough, I admit. My chest eased just a fraction, but the electricity lingered.
I reached for the door and pulled it open, watching as she shuffled aside, still staring at me.
“Good game, Doc.”
And I walked off, leaving her there, every nerve on fire, the memory of her heat seared into me as I headed to the locker room.