Chapter 16 #3
That I win the next game. Not even that we grabbed the Calder Cup, but that we won this game. That I could do with blinders on. While emitting a deep laugh, I backed away from the counter. In such a good mood, I spun around, doing what I thought would be a wicked little dance.
Somehow, I managed to trip on my own two big feet, slipping on the floor and smashing against the edge of the counter.
A horrible crack shocked the hell out of me.
What the fuck had made the dreadful sound?
As soon as I pushed myself up from the awkward position, I made the mistake of taking a deep breath.
A bolt of white-hot agony made intaking another breath even more painful.
I managed to stand at my full height, pressing my hand against my ribs.
With the feeling of shards of broken glass between every rib, tears formed in my eyes. I remained still, concentrating on relaxing every muscle. Finally, I had a little relief, enough to take a deep breath without seeing stars.
Whew. No more dancing for me.
While I laughed, just moving a few inches was painful.
A wave of knowing hit me. My fucking ribs.
What the hell had I done to myself? This couldn’t happen.
Not right now. The anger was raw, frustration building to the point I didn’t know what I was doing.
With the brutal smash of my fist against the counter, flashes of light formed in front of my eyes from the rush of agony.
I was forced to grit and grind my teeth to keep from wailing.
Noise caught my attention and as soon as I saw her face, as occurred every time she walked into the room, my cock hardened.
“There you are,” I told her, pressing my hand across my mouth to hide my labored breathing. “Guess what? I think I have a national sponsor.”
“That’s great. I’m so excited for you.” She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing.
“All because of you.” Another flash of pain almost took my breath away. But my smile was bright. I had a work to do.
Georgia was wearing a sly smile while allowing her gaze to travel from my face to where my hand was placed against my ribs. “What’s wrong?”
“Not a damn thing,” I said quickly.
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. Now come here.”
* * *
“You wanted to see me, Coach?” I asked as I stuck my head into an auxiliary location near the locker room. We were just about to suit up for the game. The room reminded me of a makeshift medical facility, which immediately raised my hackles.
Whoever he was speaking with turned his head toward me. I shifted my gaze to him then back to the coach, who wasn’t happy, even irritated. What the hell was going on?
The assistant coach was also in the room, leaning against the concrete wall with his arms folded. Why was it the air was stagnant as hell?
“Come in and close the door.” The coach backed away, slapping his hands on his hips.
“What’s going on?” I did as he asked while a level of anxiety rolled into me.
“I guess I wasn’t very clear with you before,” Coach Stryker said, laughing in a way that had nothing to do with humor.
“What are you talking about?”
“All injuries need to be reported. You know that. Now, I might have crossed a couple lines with your shoulder, but I honestly believed that your work with Ms. Wallace had paid off. You appeared in tiptop shape.”
“I am.”
He shook his head, glancing at Assistant Coach Reynolds, who took over the conversation.
“Did something else happen, Ford? Off the ice?” Coach Reynolds wasn’t nearly as gruff as Coach Stryker, but he was still condemning me. I could tell.
“Nothing that means a damn thing,” I retorted, unable to hide my growing fury.
“Then you won’t mind having Dr. Thompson do a quick exam. Will you?”
“What? That’s not needed. You don’t—”
“Do not do that, Ford,” the coach interrupted.
“I’ve heard all the crap about your anatomy from a dozen fucking wolves.
Okay? Now, I might not be a doctor, which is why this man is standing here, but what I do know is that shifters have bones and muscles and they bleed the same color of red.
Maybe you do have some special healing qualities, but I refuse to risk your life to test out that scenario.
So you are going to sit on that goddamn table and allow the doctor to check you over.
If he says you’re in no danger of puncturing your lung, then fine.
However, if he says there’s even a slight chance, then you are not playing tonight. ”
“You can’t do that!” Oh, my God. She’d betrayed me. I’d trusted Georgia and she’d betrayed me. How could she do that?
“Yeah, I can and I will. If you’re not going to take care of yourself, then…”
“She did this. She thinks she’s some goddamn doctor when she’s not.”
“She?” he threw back. “You mean a woman who for some crazy reason cares about you and wants to ensure that you actually might have a future not only in the sport but keeping a blood clot from going to your brain? If you’re blaming her for caring, then there is something very wrong with you.”
I’d never seen the coach so fired up.
I shook my head several times, realizing there was no way out of this. So I ripped off my shirt and moved to the table. “There’s nothing fucking wrong with me. I’ll show you.”