Chapter 19
ETHAN
I felt like shit.
I felt like someone had zipped me into an empty, stinking hockey bag and tossed me down the stairs. Then run me over with the bus. Then made me bag skate for like five hours.
But at least I was… well, “comfortable” was being generous, but I was lying on something that was much kinder to my body than everything I’d been on before it.
The stretcher had been awful, the gurney hadn’t been much better, and I vaguely remembered reclining miserably in the passenger seat of a car for like seventeen hours.
Lying on the ice probably hadn’t been all that fun either, but I’d been so focused on the pain in my arm, I hadn’t noticed.
My arm. Which was now throbbing relentlessly. My elbow and shoulder screamed at me to move them because they’d been still for too long, but the sling—one of those heavy-duty ones wrapped around my midsection—didn’t let anything budge. There was also some telltale pain that dared me to try.
Right. Because I’d broken… uh… what had the doctor said?
I didn’t know. Something, something, fractures and surgeries and downtime, oh my.
Wait, hadn’t he said I wouldn’t need surgery?
Or… fuck, I didn’t remember. I just remembered a lot of pain and a lot of words, and then “let’s give you something for that pain.
” And then everything had been blurry and weird, and my arm hadn’t hurt as much.
I licked my dry lips. I had no idea what they’d given me, but it had been some good shit.
It did leave my head full of spiderwebs, though, and time had definitely gone weird. What time was it? Shit, what day was it?
I was suddenly wide awake—was I late for practice? And we were getting on the road right after practice. Fuck, what if I missed the bus?
Panic had me trying to sit upright, which reminded me of both the industrial grade sling and the pain.
Oh. Right.
My hand was broken.
Wouldn’t be practicing today. Wouldn’t be traveling with the team. Wouldn’t be playing again for… well, that was probably in my discharge papers somewhere. Or the club’s medical staff would evaluate me and decide.
Wouldn’t be today, though, that was for sure.
Man. No hockey for the foreseeable future.
Even though my body felt too shit-whipped to handle getting out of bed and taking a shower, the thought of not being able to play hockey for a while—that fucking sucked.
At least I’d still be getting paid. Right?
I didn’t know chapter and verse of the collective bargaining agreement—I couldn’t even remember specific details of my own contract—but I was pretty sure there was something in there about getting paid while we were injured.
I brought up my good hand and wiped it over my face.
God, I was a mess. Was this just the pain meds? Or had I gotten a concussion too? Just what I fucking needed.
Right then, the world shifted, sending a bolt of panic through me.
A second later, though, I realized it wasn’t my equilibrium giving up the ghost—it was Jake rolling over beside me. Because we were in his bed.
I exhaled, letting my eyelids slide closed. No wonder I was so much more comfortable than I’d been at the hospital. Jake’s bed was the best.
Especially when Jake was in it. Which he was. Because he’d been there last night. At the hospital—right?—but also at the game.
Where he had an unobstructed view of…
Before I could stop myself, I groaned aloud.
Beside me, Jake whipped around and pushed himself up on his elbow. “Hey—you okay? You good?”
No, I kind of wanted to die, but that wasn’t what he was asking. Face burning, I met his concerned gaze. “I’m good.”
His brow was pinched so hard, the muscles in his forehead must’ve been aching. He touched my shoulder. “Do you need a pain pill?”
The pain wasn’t so bad, but the offer was tempting if only because the drugs would make me stupid enough not to care about my boyfriend witnessing my on-ice fuckup.
“Hey.” His fingertips brushed beneath my jaw. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I just feel like shit.”
Jake grimaced. “I bet. Your X-rays looked… ” He shuddered.
“You saw them?”
He nodded.
“How bad is it? I’m pretty sure they told me, but… ” I gestured at my head. “Last night’s all kind of foggy.”
That made him laugh softly, which relaxed his features a little. “You did seem to be flying pretty high.” He paused, and he must’ve seen the renewed embarrassment on my face because he carefully slid closer and kissed my cheek. “You put up a damn good fight, Ethan. You did good. Seriously.”
“Except for… ” I gestured at my broken hand.
He smiled and smoothed my hair, then pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.
“That happens. It happens to top-tier fighters. Sometimes it’s just bad luck, you know?
He moved in a way you didn’t expect. You misjudged the angle or the distance.
One of you shifted just right because, you know, you’re on ice?
” He chuckled. “MMA fighters do that shit all the time, and we’re fighting on mats, not ice. ”
I searched his eyes, and I found nothing but kindness, sincerity, and sympathy. Slowly, I started to relax. “So I didn’t fuck up?”
“Nah. I mean it—you put up a good fight. I don’t think that fucker knew what hit him.”
I laughed. “Well, that’s good, I guess. I’d been wanting to kick his ass all damn night. Just didn’t think it would cost me my whole season.”
“Doesn’t sound like it will.”
I raised my eyebrows.
Jake half-shrugged. “From what Marek and the doctor were saying, you’ll be in a cast for a few weeks, and you’ll need to rehab it. But there’s still a lot of season left. Marek said you’ll be back in time for the playoffs for sure.”
For the first time since my face had connected with that dickwaffle’s cheekbone, I managed to smile and really feel it. “Well, hopefully they can play good enough without me to make the playoffs.”
“You guys are pretty firmly in a playoff spot, aren’t you?”
I couldn’t explain why, but it made my heart flutter that Jake knew my team’s standings. “If the playoffs started today, yeah. There’s still a lot of time, though—plenty of time for us to tank or a dark horse to come along and elbow us out.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“Often enough that everyone starts side-eying the standings a month or two ahead of the playoffs to see if anyone might make the jump. It isn’t like football where you kind of know two weeks into the season who’s going to the playoffs. In hockey, anything can happen.”
“Wow. Do the dark horses ever win the whole thing?”
“Sometimes.” I paused. “I don’t think we’re going to win the championship this year, but we could go deep. You know, assuming the Aces don’t snatch up our best players right when we need them.”
Jake tilted his head. “They do that?”
“I mean, things get pretty intense toward the end of the season.” I shifted a little, trying to accommodate some of my various aching joints, not that it helped.
“You’ve got guys who’ve been playing through injuries all season, and also teams getting extra aggressive so they can make it.
A lot of injuries happen. And when they do, our guys get the call. ”
“Have you been called up?”
“Twice, but I never actually played.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“The guys I came up to replace were gametime decisions, and they ended up playing.”
Jake gently clasped my good hand. “Maybe the third time’s the charm?”
“Maybe.” I nodded toward my less good hand. “But probably not for a while.”
“No, but you’ve got plenty of time.” He kissed my knuckles, then sat up, wincing as his back cracked. “Do you feel like eating?”
I had to think about that. Partly because my brain was cloudy, and partly because my body wasn’t sure what it was feeling about anything. My stomach did feel pretty grumbly, though, and now that I thought about it, I hadn’t eaten after last night’s game. Jesus—no wonder I felt like crap.
“I should eat. I should’ve had something last night.
” I started to sit up, and Jake put a strong hand behind my back.
For a split second, I wanted to shrug him off and insist I could sit up on my own.
That support helped a lot, though, so I accepted the help, and when I was upright, I murmured, “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” He grabbed his phone and checked the screen. “Your team’s, uh—the trainer, I guess? He texted me on the way home last night and said he wants you to come by the training center this morning. If they’re already gone for the road trip, you’re supposed to see the Aces’ team doc.”
I blinked. “He—how did he get your number?”
“Marek.”
“Oh.” Yeah, that made sense. Hell, if my team hadn’t been heading out on the road after practice, I wouldn’t have been at all surprised to have Marek banging on Jake’s door to check on me.
I glanced at the complex apparatus of black nylon pinning my arm to my side. “I really need to take a shower, but… ”
“They said to wait until you have a cast on it. Which will probably be tomorrow or the next day, depending on the swelling.”
I wrinkled my nose. “But I still smell like hockey. I need to shower, especially if I’m sleeping in your bed.”
Jake smiled. “I couldn’t care less what you smell like. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“That is… surprisingly romantic.”
He laughed, which was the best thing I’d seen since I’d watched blood running from Max Vincent’s nose. “Call it being an overbearing, overprotective boyfriend who’s too stupidly worried about you.”
I pressed my lips together. “So… just a teddy bear for short?”
That made him laugh… and blush.
Which made me dizzier than the pain meds could ever do.
Good God, I was stupid for this man.
Breakfast made me feel a hell of a lot closer to human. Coffee helped too.
Unfortunately, it didn’t do much for how I smelled, and I refused to venture out in public smelling like this.
“But you need to see the doctor,” Jake gently insisted.
“Then we can do a televisit or something.”