Chapter Eleven May
Nick groaned as he slid onto the bench, his legs aching from the number of times he’d hit the ice that night.
This team didn’t like him, and they’d been making that clear all game.
Most recently, one of their players had hit the back of his knees with their stick, knocking him off-balance and sending him sprawling forward.
It was behind the refs’ backs—no chance for a call—and Nick seethed quietly instead of making it worse.
He knew why they hated him—he’d scored his first hat trick against the Toothless Wonders, and they were bitter to have given him the distinction—but it still pissed him off.
He really wanted to score this game. They were sore losers, and they deserved it.
It would be deeply satisfying, even though all it would do is permanently cement his place on their shit list.
Midway through the second period, he saw an opportunity. He shadowed their worst player and stripped him of the puck, ducked through the only gap he could see, and kept close to the boards as he headed into the zone. He had a clear path to the net if he could just—
WHAM!
Nick wasn’t sure what hurt more: his body being crushed against the boards as his helmet slammed into the glass, or the wind getting knocked out of him and every agonizing gasp for air that followed.
Or maybe it was when he collapsed to the ice, hitting his head again on the way down.
It was like an out-of-body experience. Like he could see himself lying limp on the ice, see Gail and the Gregs rushing over. Brady dropped his gloves and punched a guy on the other team. People from both benches jumped to their feet. A ref and Benns pulled Brady away.
Blood stained the ice.
He heard their voices, but the words were delayed, like they were traveling a long distance to get to him.
“You okay?”
“Nicki, can you hear me?”
“Can you move?”
“FUCKING CHEAP SHOT, YOU LITTLE SHIT!”
“Someone get an ice pack!”
“Do we call 911?”
“Has he moved?”
“Nicki, squeeze my hand, yeah?”
“What, you can take out an unsuspecting guy, but you can’t fight for yourself when you see it coming?”
“GET HIM OUT OF HERE!”
“Get BOTH of them out of here!”
“Captains! Here! Now!”
“He squeezed my hand. All right, bud, we’re gonna get you off the ice and to a doctor, yeah?”
Strong hands lifted him up. His body resisted at first, but once he was on his feet he managed to stay there. He had an arm over each of the Gregs’ shoulders, and they led him to the open door and vaguely toward the locker rooms.
“Here you go, bro,” Young Greg said as he lowered him onto a bench. Nick was right outside the rink but being on this side of the boards, he didn’t stand a chance of making out a damn word of the argument on the other side. “We’re gonna get your skates off so you can walk.”
GG and Young Greg each took a leg.
“You all right, kid?” GG asked.
Noises came out of Nick’s mouth that almost sounded like coherent thoughts.
“Concussion for sure,” GG muttered.
“What a prick. It ain’t even a fucking checking league!” Young Greg shouted over his shoulder for the benefit of everyone still on the ice.
“When’s that ever stopped anyone?” GG grumbled.
Young Greg huffed indignantly. “I think there’s a difference between getting a little physical and fucking charging a guy. You don’t even see that shit in the NHL much these days.”
Nick slumped back against the wall. He watched numbly as they started to wiggle his left and then right skates off. He wondered if they’d mind helping him with his other gear, because he didn’t remember how to undo his helmet.
“You think Jensie’s gonna get kicked out of the league? They got a pretty strict ‘no fighting’ rule.” Young Greg’s voice was low. He sounded like a kid worried his friend was going to get in trouble.
“Automatic suspension,” GG said solemnly. “No idea how long. Haven’t read that particular fine print.”
“Shit.” Young Greg offered a constipated smile to Nick. “You ready to try walking to the locker room, bro? Gail’s getting your stuff.”
“ ’mkay,” Nick said. His body stayed stubbornly still. “I need some help.”
“We got you, bro.”
Together, the three of them fumbled their way through undressing Nick. Gail shoved each recovered piece of gear into his bag and handed over the appropriate clothes.
“So, uh… he can’t drive home,” Young Greg said. “He should go to a doctor, right?”
“ ’m fine—”
“I got him.” Brady shouldered his way into the room. His right hand was wrapped loosely in a towel that was suspiciously red. Nick, not sure where the impulse came from or why he followed it, reached out to try and hold his hand.
“You ‘got him’?” Gail asked. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, make sure he doesn’t pass out or anything while I change. I’ll take him to Urgent Care.”
Gail looked at Brady like she was sizing him up and asked, “You sure you can drive with your hand like that?”
“It’s fine,” Brady said. He tried to wiggle out of his jersey, couldn’t with one hand, and reluctantly pulled at it with his injured one. He immediately winced, the awkward motion signaling how hurt he actually was, and again Nick reached out to hold Brady’s hand.
“Don’t look fine,” Young Greg said, then wilted when Brady glared at him.
“I got it,” he growled. “I’ll take care of him.”
“Not gonna fight you about it,” Gail said with her arms raised in surrender. “Maybe get them to take a look at your hand, too?”
Brady didn’t answer, just went about angrily tearing off his gear and throwing it into his hockey bag.
“What’s the verdict on the game?” GG asked. He was kneeling on the ground zipping up Nick’s hockey bag.
“Zam is cleaning up the blood. You guys’ll keep playing. Refs are on edge, so keep it clean and don’t start shit.”
“You suspended?” Gail asked. Nick was too out of it to judge if her tone was scolding or worried.
“Five games. It’s the minimum for punching a guy.”
“That’s all?”
Brady grunted as he pulled his elbow pad off his right hand. “Said they’d have to bring it up to the commissioner for review, but they’re gonna recommend five.”
“For breaking that guy’s nose?” Gail asked with both eyebrows raised.
“It’s not broken.”
“Lot of blood for ‘not broken.’ ”
“…it might be broken,” Brady admitted. “But yeah, they’re gonna try to keep it low. Something about it being provoked and me having no prior history. I don’t know. I wasn’t really listening.”
“That other guy get anything?” Young Greg asked.
“He got a broken nose,” GG offered. “And maybe some sense not to do that shit.”
“Amen,” Brady said and roughly closed up his gear bag. “How’s Nicki?”
“Physically, on the same plane of existence as the rest of us. Mentally, checked out.”
Brady frowned at Nick, eyes roaming over his body. Nick was wedged into a corner so he wouldn’t fall over, but he preened under the attention and gave an uncoordinated wave.
“He’s a fucking mess, isn’t he?”
“Pretty much,” Gail confirmed.
“Awesome. Text his cousin, would ya? I’ll update him when we’ve seen a doctor.”
“Will do.”
“ ’m fine!” Nick said a little more emphatically, if not belatedly. His head didn’t even hurt. That was a good sign, right?
Apparently, pain was not the only thing to worry about, because he lost track of time, himself, and the world around him for a bit.
The locker room was there until it wasn’t, and then Nick was walking with Brady’s good hand holding him firmly by the back of the neck.
He didn’t understand why until Brady nudged him to the right, skillfully keeping Nick from veering toward a set of stairs he hadn’t noticed.
“Oh,” he said a little too loudly in the empty lobby. “Maybe I am a mess.”
“Yeah, you are, but that makes two of us. I swear to fucking God, if I need stitches, I’m gonna be pissed.”
Nick stopped short and ignored Brady pushing him forward. “Why would you need stitches?”
“Because I punched a guy and my knuckles are bleeding all over the place. C’mon, keep moving. We gotta get you in my car.”
“Why did you punch a guy?” Nick’s feet gave in to Brady’s urging, and he kept walking. “I have my own car, I can drive—”
“You have a concussion, dude. You’re not driving anywhere.”
“Oh.” He might have known that. “But why did you punch a guy?”
“Pretty sure I answered that with the concussion thing,” Brady grumbled. “Take a right; I’m by the trees.”
Nick looked around in confusion. “No, you’re not. You’re right here. The trees are all the way over there by your car.” He didn’t understand why Brady sighed in response.
Brady gentlemanly held open the passenger door for Nick, and not-so-gentlemanly forced him into the car when Nick tried to walk the other way. Sitting was nice, and Nick sighed as he relaxed into the seat. Maybe he could take a nap—
“Wake up.”
Nick jerked as a hand cupped his cheek. The hand was gentle, warm, calloused, amazing. He whimpered.
“Open your eyes,” Brady said. “Don’t make me slap you.”
He opened one eye. “You wouldn’t.”
“Stay awake and we won’t have to find out. I gotta get our gear. Where do you keep your phone and wallet?”
“Side pocket. Under the tape.”
“Okay. You got an insurance card in there?”
“Yep.” He enjoyed the pop the “p” made when he said it, so he said it again. “Yep.”
Brady didn’t smile, but there were crinkles around his eyes. “You’re an idiot. Stay the fuck awake. Count how many cars are in the parking lot or how many people you see go in or out of the rink.”
“That’s boring.”
“Don’t give a shit.” Brady closed the door. He pointed a finger in warning and said through the glass, “Stay awake.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a myth,” Nick grumped, but he did his best. He settled on counting the stars he could see in the sky.
There were four or five distinct ones, though by the time Brady got back he’d somehow gotten to fifteen, possibly from counting a plane or the same stars over and over again.
“Why can’t I sleep?” he asked when Brady finally made it into the driver’s seat. “If I have a concussion, I should rest.”