Chapter 14
14
DUNCAN
A ustin’s house stood tall and stark against the sharp sunlight. I dropped my sunglasses into place and sat back in the Adirondack chair. “Nice party, Austin.” He’d skipped the pool party this time and sent everyone out into the far backside of the lawn where green grass stretched in rolling waves.
Patrick sat on one side of me, Charlie on the other. Miranda had been back and forth between the party and the house, her white shorts and pink tank top a welcome contrast to the yards of bare male skin.
“It’s about to get even better.” Austin pointed. “Brought you a surprise.”
Two trucks rolled up, bumping over the grass and stopping at the edge of the fence that separated Austin from his neighbors. The doors opened, and several men poured out, dragging goals and equipment in their wake.
“Is that?” I squinted. “You rented hurling equipment?”
“Bought it.” Austin shrugged. “You’ve talked about it enough that I thought it might be fun. They were supposed to come yesterday, but the weather delayed the delivery.”
“Hurling?” Charlie leaned forward. “Dude. We’re playing, right? We have to play.”
Miranda strolled past, a frosty lemonade in hand and dark sunglasses cutting off her expression. I’d kept my distance as much as possible since our kiss at the charity event. No matter how much I wanted to end the standoff and admit my feelings for her, I’d promised Charlie and Patrick that I’d stay away. Giving in meant betraying Austin. He’d been too kind for me to stab him in the back. When I came to the US, I’d carried a giant chip on my shoulder. Austin knocked it loose and kept chipping away at it with his friendship. He made himself more than a teammate. He’d earned my respect and my loyalty.
“Of course we’re playing.” I stood and stretched. “You expect me to stare down a hurling field and not gear up?”
Patrick grinned and set his drink down with a clap of glass on glass. “Let’s do this.”
Charlie rubbed his hands together. “No wonder you wanted to have an end of summer party.” He eyed Austin and punched him in the shoulder. “You’re trying to make us practice even more before our first game.”
“I would never.” Austin laughed, head thrown back the same way Miranda did.
The sight caused a pain deep in my chest. She’d leave for New York soon. Our time together wound down, each day bringing the separation closer. I dreaded it, even as part of me longed for the return to normalcy that I hoped her absence would bring back. She disturbed my peace of mind, and as much as I longed to ask her to stay, I needed to concentrate on winning the season. I locked down my feelings, tucking them away with all the other emotions that didn’t belong in the game. Working with Miranda had given me new insights into myself, and I learned how to control the anger that overwhelmed me on and off the ice. I turned it on and off when needed, and in this moment, I needed the adrenaline, the heat and fire of a good competition to push all thoughts of my attraction aside.
“Who all is playing?” I shouted the question at our teammates and gestured to the field. As expected, all of them surged to their feet and followed me to the bottom of the hill where the goals and equipment waited.
Austin checked in with the drivers, shook a few hands, and chatted.
Patrick and I handed out gear and explained the rules. Excitement built with each piece of equipment I strapped to my body. “Feels like home, yeah?” I shoved the helmet over my head and jogged past Patrick, thumping him in the back with my gloved hand and sweeping up the hurling stick.
“Let’s go, guy.” Miranda stood on the sidelines, clapping and cheering. Her ponytail bobbed when she jumped up and down.
The game started with a whistle and a crash. I poured everything into racing across the field and scooping up the ball. Movement flashed in my peripheral vision as an opponent barreled my way. I threw the ball to Patrick and spun out of the way before the guy crashed into me.
God I’d missed this. Wind whistled past my face as I surged across the field. Shouts rode the wind, carrying me ahead where I blocked another player coming for Patrick. Bodies slammed together. I turned my head in time to watch Murphy and Charlie go down in a tangle of legs. The low, banked anger surged over the edge and sent me running full tilt toward a man in a green helmet coming for Austin.
Patrick yelled at me, but I ignored him, ignored everything but getting the ball back from the man who’d stolen it from Patrick. I swept in from the side, swatting the ball up into the air and catching it. A stick reared back, cracking into the narrow gaps of my helmet and striking me over the eye. Pain exploded in my head. I blinked and staggered back. My vision darkened in my left eye, and a swimming sensation roared in my ears as my heart thundered. I stepped back again and crashed to the ground, biting through my tongue. Blood filled my mouth and trickled down my throat, choking me with the coppery essence.
“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Scott shouted from a distance, the game continuing without me. “Sorry, Duncan.”
I raised a hand in a fist and shook it. Even I couldn’t tell if I meant it in anger or acceptance. Both swirled in a nauseating mix.
“Holy shit.” Patrick loomed over me. His head blotted out the sun, created a black visage over his face. He tore off his helmet and threw it aside. “You’re bleeding. Bad.”
I raised my hand to my head.
Charlie grabbed my wrist. “Don’t touch it.” Concern dented his forehead beneath his helmet. The white bars bisecting his face and protecting him from harm caused a strange, whooshing effect when I blinked.
“Let me through.” Miranda tore through the crowd gathering around me. “Everyone back up. Let me see.” She dropped to her knees beside me and held out her hand. “How many fingers?”
“Can’t see out of this eye.” I pointed at my left and squinted with my right. “Two fingers.”
“Good. Any pain?”
“Tons.” Seeing her ripped my heart wide open. “Took a nice crack to the head. No concussion, if that’s what’s worrying you.”
“You have a cut.” She motioned at her own head. “You might need stitches.”
I sat up with a groan. “I’m fine.” The lie caught in the back of my throat when a dizzying sensation made me feel like I’d spun around a million times in a whirligig. Warm blood ran down my face and dripped from my chin. “Head wounds bleed a lot.”
“Got a lot of education on that, have you?” She arched a brow. “Come on. You’re not playing anymore until I’ve taken a good look.” A cold, calculating look hardened her eyes. “Don’t even think about arguing. You have the first game of the season in a week. You’re not sitting out because you tried to macho man your way out of an exam.” She stood.
I followed her up with another groan and a desperate look at Austin.
He held up both hands in a show of surrender. “She’s the one with medical training. And she’s right. That cut looks nasty.”
I grumbled and removed my helmet, hissing my way through the stinging pain when it scraped over the cut. “The game of my country has betrayed me.” I flung my helmet aside. I’d been feeling nostalgic for Ireland, and the game had gotten to me. The thrill of competition pushed me too far, ignited the heated blood of my country. I fisted a hand and raised it toward Scott when he ran up and stooped beside me. He held out a gloved hand that I clasped and let him pull me to my feet. The nausea increased, but I choked it down. No fucking way I’d hurl my guts up in Miranda’s presence. I stiffened my spine and strode off the field. “Let’s get this over with.”
Her quick steps kept pace with my longer legs. The game resumed behind me, and I yanked off my gloves, leaving a trail of gear behind me as I marched to the house. A rush of cold air chilled the sweat on my face. The cut stung, and I raised a hand again.
“Don’t.” Miranda held my wrist with both of hers. “Let me look at it first.” Her grip tightened, and she led me along the first floor, around the side of the stairs, and into the nearest bathroom that Austin had remodeled into a decadent display of white and chrome. “Sit.” One hand pushed on my shoulder, guiding me onto the loveseat tucked into the corner.
“You don’t have to do this. I’m fine.” I tried again to make her leave.
Wrong choice. She literally dug her heels into the floor and leaned over me. Cool fingers caressed my face, lingering over my eye, and trailing down my cheek. Water gushed from the sink, and a cool rag was pressed onto my eyebrow. “It’s not as bad as I thought. Still might need stitches, but it’s not torn open.”
“So I’ll live?” I quipped the snark at her with the brutal efficiency that made me a terror on the ice.
The rag pressed harder, and another joined it, sweeping back and forth over my face. “Keep your eye closed. I need to clean this up.” No response to my sarcasm other than to take care of me, to treat me like I mattered.
My hands twitched up from my lap, my body reacting before my mind caught up. I snatched my hands back down before they locked onto her hips and pulled her down for a kiss I had no right to take. “Thank you.”
The rag stopped moving, and her body shifted until she appeared within sight of my right eye. “You’re welcome.” Warm. Soothing. She looked at me with the kind of goodness that I’d never deserved.
“Almost done?” Patrick’s voice boomed from close by.
Miranda dropped both rags into the sink and tipped my head back. “You’re going to have a nasty bruise.”
“Ah, he’ll be fine. Got a head like a boulder.” Patrick rubbed his head where I’d elbowed him more than once in the past. “I should know.”
Miranda shot a glare at Patrick. “He should have a full medical evaluation. Just to make sure he’s okay to skate.” She cupped my chin in one hand and turned my face toward Patrick. “Another inch.”
I touched the sore spot on my eyebrow, finally realizing why everyone had panicked when Miranda stepped to the side and I saw myself in the mirror. I’d almost lost my eye. A two-inch cut gashed across my eyebrow. A slow trickle of blood seeped down, nesting in the creases beside my eye and trailing down, down, down, to slide over my jaw. A knot puffed the skin out around my eye, the swelling causing my eyelid to droop.
Patrick rolled his eyes. “Ah, he’s just trying to keep you all to himself.” He winked at her. “I’d have done the same thing, but he beat me to it.”
“Not funny, Patrick.” The cold, professional tone straightened Patrick and put a contrite look in his eyes.
“You’re right. Sorry.” He cleared his throat and approached us. “Why don’t you go back to the party. I’ll call our guy and have him check Duncan.”
Disbelief rested heavy on her features, her mouth twisting into a scowl. “I’m fine right here.”
“And as long as you’re around, Duncan will lie about how he feels. He’ll be trying to prove how tough and brave he is, when he needs to be honest about his pain.” Patrick knew me too well.
I hated that he called me out, but a part of me appreciated him cutting in.
“Go on.” Patrick guided her toward the door with a hand on her back. “I’ll make sure he’s okay.”
“Promise.” Arms locked, shoulders stiff, she glared up at Patrick. “Promise you’ll take care of him and not let anyone brush this off just because you have a game next week.”
“On my honor as an Irishman.” Patrick fisted a hand over his heart. “I won’t let him come to any harm under my watch.”
It was enough to satisfy her. I waited until she’d walked out of hearing distance before I released the groan of pain and slumped forward with my elbows on my knees. One more week before Miranda returned to New York. I missed her already, and I saw her everyday. How much worse would it be when she left for good?