Chapter 9 Luka
Chapter nine
Luka
We were so in sync last game that the last goal in the power play was like magic on the ice.
I kept thinking about it all night. Actually, my mind kept thinking up ways we could turn that play into a fun trick play for the crowd to really get excited about.
But it’ll only work if I can convince Reid to give it a shot.
I get to the rink early before practice to try to work out the details.
More times than I can count, a play looks cool in my head but actually has zero chance of being successful.
I once thought up a play I was so sure would be amazing, until Cosmo’s boyfriend—or I should say fiancé now—ran it through his program proving there was no way a human body could twist the way it would need to in order to pull it off.
I might have tried for another two weeks, hoping I could prove him wrong.
But it was no use. This idea, though, doesn’t involve any inhuman contortions of the body.
“You’re going to make the rest of us look bad if you keep this early practice up all year,” Reid says, skating out onto the ice.
“I’m just messing around,” I lie.
“It looked like you were working on something,” he says, scooping one of the pucks I have in a pile and sweeping it into the net.
“I had an idea for another power play set, but it’s . . . well, it’s kind of a trick shot.”
“And you know how I feel about those.” Reid scoops another puck and fires it into the net.
“Yes, but it’s also one that kind of needs you too, and well, you know what they say about teaching old dogs new tricks.”
Reid turns to me with a tongue-in-cheek scowl.
“I’m not in the crypt just yet. Go on, tell me what you were thinking.”
“Really?”
“Hurry up before I come to my senses.”
I take Reid through my idea, and he mostly frowns the entire time, but the fact that he’s even listening to me is a huge win.
“So, you think it’ll work?” I ask.
“I think it’s risky, and it completely relies on me pulling off something I’m not convinced I can pull off. But it’s also something I haven’t seen on the ice before, so at the very least it’ll catch them off guard the first time we try it.”
“So you’ll give it a go?”
He shrugs. “Why not. It’ll be an hour before the rest of the team gets here, so we have time.”
“Why are you here early anyway?” I ask as I shoot all but one of the pucks from my pile to the side wall out of the way. He cocks one eyebrow.
“I figured you’d be here early and someone should be here to keep an eye on you.”
“So you like watching me, do you?”
I’m sure I see his cheeks flush, but it could just be the cold air of the rink. He dips his head, eyeing me through thick lashes.
“Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to show me your plan, Hart?”
“Right, okay, so it goes like this.”
I take him through the moves.
“So I need to get up close to the net like I’m going to try to shoot it in, but then swing around the back, sending the puck to you at the exact moment you’ve put yourself in front of the net to shoot it in?” Reid repeats.
“Exactly, but you have to do it at high speed, swooping around the back, and you’ll need to maintain control to make it in one go. Do you think you can do that?”
“Let’s find out,” he says, and I send him the puck. He speeds down the ice, but when he gets to the net and carves around it, he loses momentum, his balance shifts as he tries to overcorrect, and the puck drifts away as he slams against the wall.
“Fuck.” He winces.
“Maybe we should try it slowly at first. We want to get the move down before we increase the speed.”
“Sure, slow, okay,” he replies, sending the puck back to me as he retakes his position.
I fire off the puck again, and this time he goes at half speed, reaches the corner of the net, and then guides the puck around it. But he’s too wide, and when he tries to pass the puck to me, it doesn’t have the right angle and skims across the ice in the wrong direction.
“Maybe without the puck for now too,” I suggest with a shrug.
“How about without a net?” he replies.
“If we take away the net, how will you know . . .”
He shakes his head, laughing.
“Oh, you were joking.”
“You’re quick, rook, but I’m quicker,” he says, scooping the puck from in front of me and taking off toward the net again.
I rush after him, and hold my breath as he gets so close to the net he almost brushes against it.
His legs push out, his whole body angling toward the net as he skims around the back, and then when his hands have rounded the other side, he sends the puck forward toward me.
I’m excited for all of one split second, and then Reid loses his balance as he tries to get himself upright again and falls face first onto the ice. Fuck.
“Reid,” I yell, crouching to check him. He lifts his head, and blood coats the smooth white surface and gushes from his busted nose.
“Well fuck,” he says, pushing up and knocking me onto my ass in the process. “I broke my fucking nose.”
“Shit, umm, I’ll grab the first aid kit. You get to the bench,” I say, and I’m off the ice then back with Reid so fast I actually don’t even remember grabbing the bag.
“How bad is it?” Reid asks, moving his forearm away. His nose is split along the bridge, and blood is running down both cheeks. He almost looks like one of the vampires from that show where they cry blood. His eyes are sunken, and dark circles have already started to appear.
“Umm, better than Boston last year,” I reply, trying to give him a reference.
“So, New York the year before?”
“No, more like the bust-up against Washington.”
“That was pretty fucked,” he replies as I hold gauze over the wound to stop the bleeding. “I should probably go see the medic.”
“I’ll clean up the ice,” I say, but Reid shakes his head.
“Nope, rook, you come with me. I’m going to be walking with my eyes practically blindfolded by all this gauze, so it looks like you get to prove I can trust you now.”
“What about the blood?”
“Topher will call the maintenance crew to get it. It’s basically a biohazard, so it has to be cleaned up by professionals.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
“Positive. Plus, my head’s starting to get a little woozy, so maybe you can, you know, hold my arm, if that’s . . . okay?”
“Sure, yes. Whatever you need. Fuck. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you to try it.”
“It’s my own bloody fault for not wearing a helmet.”
I link my arm with Reid’s, and we start the slow walk inside.
The medical team is here first before anyone else, which is how I’m able to get my early practices.
You can’t even set foot out on the ice unless there’s a trained medical person on site.
I always pass Topher in the morning on my way through.
He’s usually sitting with his giant purple smoothie, reading his paper—an actual paper, like the printed kind.
He says he likes the way the ink feels against his fingers or some shit.
I scroll through the top stories on my social feeds in the morning over breakfast too, but my fingers don’t look like I’ve spent the night trying to raise the dead afterward.
“Holy shit, what the hell happened to you?” Topher asks as soon as we’re through the door. He’s up from his chair in a second and pulls a pair of gloves from a box on the wall.
“He fell,” I say, and Topher frowns, scrunching up his mouth in disbelief. “I’m being serious.”
“He’s twelling weh twooth,” Reid mumbles through the bloodied gauze still against his face as he sits on the side of one of the beds.
“Right, well, let’s get a better look at the damage,” Topher says.
When he takes away the gauze, it doesn’t start bleeding right away, but it only takes a second before it slowly pools inside the open gash and across the bridge of his nose.
“How is it?” Reid asks, and Topher laughs.
“You’ll be totally fine.”
“Great. See, rook, no worries. I’m totally fine.”
“Not to disagree with the professional or anything, but it’s not fine. You’re not fine. I can already see the bruises forming under your eyes, and your nose is still gushing blood.”
Reid shrugs.
“Yeah, but I’m still pretty, right?”
Topher presses fresh gauze over the wound and turns to me, both of them waiting for my reply.
“Sure,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re still the prettiest belle at the ball.”
“Good, now that’s settled, is there blood on the ice?” Topher asks.
“Yeah,” I reply.
“I’ll get the guys onto it. Now, you need to get out of those gloves, they’ll need to be cleaned. Your shirt too,” Topher says, nodding to where Reid’s blood is starting to dry on my sleeve. “Reid, hold this.”
Topher strips off his gloves, tossing them into a biohazard bin, and grabs the phone on the wall.
“Code pink, can you sort it out?” Topher asks the maintenance team on the other end of the line as I pull off my gloves.
“Here, put them in this,” he says, handing me a plastic bag. “Shirt too.”
“Here?”
“Yep.”
I turn my back and pull my shirt over my head. I don’t know why I’m being all shy, both these guys have seen me almost naked on numerous occasions, but somehow, in this room alone with them—more specifically, with Reid—it just feels different.
“You okay, rook?” Reid asks, and I glance back and find that Topher has already cleaned the blood and placed a solid Band-Aid over Reid’s nose. How long was I just standing here shirtless with my back to them?
“Yeah, sorry. I should take care of this,” I say, holding up the bag, and then I’m out the door before Reid gets a chance to look in a mirror to see the real state of his face.
Looks like my whole plan to Luka love-bomb the captain is a complete dumpster fire.
Well, on the upside, I guess things between us couldn’t possibly get any worse.