Chapter Fifteen King
“You’re healing faster than humans, that’s for damn sure. Stay on your back and give me fifteen straight leg raises.” Kev makes a note on his tablet.
I lie on my back with my injured leg straight and lift it a few inches off the table, keeping it straight. This is supposed to do something to the muscles in the upper part, I think, something that helps them stay strong while I’m on crutches and an immobilizer.
“How are you doing with stairs? Showering?”
My mind goes back to the night before last. Stairs. Shower. Ingrid’s mouth on my cock. My face buried between her legs. “Good!” I yelp.
Think about other things. Any other things, so you don’t start sporting a stiffy in front of Kevin. He’ll think physical therapy turns you on.
Anything Ingrid did that was physical therapy would turn me on. In fact... I look around and start picturing us in the hot tub, on the weight machines, on all the conveniently placed balance blocks, foam cubes, and wedges... This place was made for naughty thoughts.
“You good, dude?” Kev notices my wandering eyes and lustful smile, but fortunately, nothing else.
I grab my phone from the pocket of my black Lumberjacks sweatpants. “Uh, yeah. I’m good. I just remembered that Coach Torrey sent me an email right before I came in. Mind if I read it while I’m exercising?”
“As long as you don’t drop your phone on your face and give yourself a black eye on my watch,” he sighs and shuffles away. “I’ll be right back.”
Hi King,
Thrilled to hear that you’re able to come to the game tonight and Saturday.
I think we can get some VIP jerseys for your senior friends.
Heard from the manager, and he’s pissed that you got hurt, obviously, but thrilled with the good press your video got.
Be On Someone’s Team banners are going up outside tonight, and they’re making some Be On Someone’s Team shirts with your logo on them.
Also, security isn’t going to let that ice bunny from the first video back into the stadium.
She clearly violated the player harassment policy we have in place.
While you’re laid up, the manager knows you have to take care of that leg, but he also wonders if you can keep doing some of those “Be On Someone’s Team” videos. It’s good for us, and it’s catching media attention. Maybe share uplifting stories or something? What do you think?
Coach T.
I put the phone down on my chest.
“All right, that’s been like thirty. Don’t overdo it. Let’s move to ankle pumps. Why are you smiling? You’re not high on pain meds, are you?”
I wave his comment away. “I’m down to once a day. No, I’m smiling because I have an idea. But I need Ingrid’s help. Well, I want Ingrid’s help, but I could do it alone if I have to.”
“I don’t think you’ll have to. I heard her on the phone with Marina this morning. They’re grabbing lunch together and going to Madge’s Magic Shop.”
“R-really? Why is that?”
“I don’t know. Something about tea?”
“Tea?” Knotting Tea? My heart rate speeds up. “What’s that have to do with me?”
“She said she wants to see about it in case you two spend some time together this weekend. That’s just me, overhearing phone calls.
But Marina was giggling like she does when she hears dirty jokes, so I’m going to assume something good might go down this weekend—but you’d better not do anything strenuous on that leg, buster.
My rules haven’t changed. No hanky panky until next weekend,” Kev says sternly.
“Something good already went down,” I sigh.
“Can’t hear this. Can’t hear this!” Kev runs off, hands over his ears.
I try to divert my mind from the soft paradise that’s Ingrid, parts of me aching at the thought of stretching her, feeling her wrap around me, and thoughts of her mouth moving over my cock, setting my skin on fire.
My thumbs tap over the screen of my phone.
Hey Coach,
I’ve got an idea. I’ll take some videos and send them to you, but it might not be what the manager wants. This isn’t my thing, you know? But I have an idea.
See you tomorrow at the game.
King
“Hi! Have fun at the magic shop?” I ask when I see Ingrid.
And she blushes and looks flustered. It’s criminally adorable and better than any painkiller.
“Uh, yes. It was good. It was... not what I expected. But it was good. How’s the knee?”
“Healing faster than expected. But that’s healing for what normal people need a knee for, not a hockey player.” I fight through a confusing cocktail of emotions. I want to keep seeing Ingrid every other day at my appointments. I want to see her every single day, because she wants to be with me.
I want to get better, but for the first time in my life, I’m not excited to get back to the rush of practices and the roar of fans, the thrill of taking down other players on their home ice.
It’s an uncomfortably unpredictable feeling, and I hurry away from it. “Can we take the dogs to Hilltop Home tonight? And can you listen to an idea on the way?”
Ingrid looks up from her computer, mouth open in surprise. “You want to go visit seniors with my dogs? That’s your idea of a date?”
“Oh. No! Want to go to the Dalloway and see a movie? I have to sit up front though—no leg room in the other seats.” Ingrid’s still staring at me, and I wonder if I screwed up royally by not sending her flowers yesterday, and by texting her like eight times, but not calling, and not moving my appointments around with the team doctor and physical therapist. Is she feeling like I “used her” and then didn’t do enough the next day?
Because I don’t know how to do “the next day.” I don’t know if I did too much or not enough.
I want to sweep her into my arms and carry her to a remote cabin (okay, one of the rentals that Ian Fenclan has in the foothills) for about six months, or until she agrees to be my wife and mate. Whichever comes first. But I’m pretty sure that’s too much.
All day, I tried to get a grip and not scare her off with how much I want her. How much more I want with her.
At the same time, I was plagued with memories of waking up early, giving a quick kiss, and leaving an autographed photo on the pillow next to some sleepy ice bunny who wouldn’t have known my name if it weren’t printed on my jersey.
Too much.
Not enough.
Don’t know how to play this, and I’m an idiot, because this is so clearly not a game.
You are such a fucking screw up, King.
“I’m sorry I didn’t send flowers,” I blurt.
“Huh?”
“I’ve never... There’s never been a next day for me.
And I’m not sure, but I think if I don’t do what the team tells me, they can stop paying for my treatments.
I had to go for my follow-up with the team medical staff, and then, since Bryce drove me, I just ended up staying most of the day at practice.
I did text you. I know you got them because you wrote back. ..”
“King, I’m not huge on flowers.”
“I didn’t think you were, but I still didn’t know if I should send them or not. I didn’t know... I don’t know a lot.”
Ingrid smiles. Her face gets such a sweet, soft look sometimes, and it feels... like every goal and every trophy in the world are trash compared to just one of those smiles. “Tell me what you thought. You’ve been doing pretty good so far.”
That’s news to me, but I’ll go with it. “I thought we could go to the dog park or Hilltop with the dogs, and I could throw the ball for them, and I could tell Steve and Lester that there’s a surprise for them at tomorrow’s matinee game.”
“There is?” Ingrid puts her purse over her shoulder and closes the computer with a jiggle of her mouse. “What’s going on?”
“I got them all seats close to the ice and got them VIP Lumberjacks' jerseys.”
The soft smile is suddenly a high-voltage smile. I think she could restart a 757 with that grin. “You did, huh?”
“Uh-huh.” I risk running my hand up and down her arm. “The dogs like the seniors. They’re like spoiled grandkids.” My idea is prickling me. “Wouldn’t it be great if... Wouldn’t it be great if all of the seniors who wanted a pet could have one?”
“In a perfect world,” Ingrid sighs, and she rubs my arm. “When you’re off those crutches, I call dibs on holding your hand,” she whispers.
I call dibs on putting a ring on yours, I think, but keep my mouth mercifully shut. “So. I had an idea.”
“You said. Come on, I’ll give you a ride home—or to my place, and we can get the dogs and head to the dog park. I love going to visit Mrs. Y, but I happen to know Mr. Minegold invited a bunch of them over for Shabbat dinner.”
“Ah. You know, I’m still getting meals delivered. I have a fridge full of food—and a couch with no dog hair whatsoever,” I wheedle.
“Park, then your place?”
“Mmhmm.”
It’s while I’m throwing the ball for the dogs that I finally get to tell her what I’m pondering.
Each giddy, goofy chase by my new four-legged besties leaves me laughing, and leaves Ingrid nestling under my arm against the cold fall breezes.
The park is pretty empty in this corner.
People are getting set up for the Halloween events now that Pumpkin Fest is done with.
Halloween is a big deal in this town, a real family affair, a special night for celebrating, especially for couples.
Couples. Families.
I toss the bright yellow-green ball again, and Daisy and Chip zoom after it.
“Getting older is different in the Orc community. Your clan is always around you. Even Orcs who live in human communities and who marry humans have a hybrid clan. I... I kind of distanced myself from my family, but finding you made me start thinking about family all over again.”
“Finding me, or getting hurt?” Ingrid asks, voice not as sharp as I expected, and I feel honored. The War Maiden lays down her shield and spear in my presence.
Trusting me. My hand rests on her arm, and now I pull her in tighter. “Both. One led to the other, and even though I don’t know what’s going to happen now with my game and my career,” I let out a long, shuddering breath, “ it brought me to you, and I’d do it all again.”