23. Cal
Chapter twenty-three
Cal
“Hold still,” Brandon, the team doctor, demanded, examining my knee.
“This feels wildly unnecessary. Poking makes it worse. What else do you want to know?” I grunted, leaning back. “And your bedside manner could use some improvement.”
“I don’t get paid enough for that.” He smirked. “You want to try walking out of here without assistance?”
I snapped my mouth shut. My knee was swollen from the fall, and I needed stitches from the cut I’d gotten from a rogue skate.
Stitches I could keep playing with—the knee thing, though?
Not so much. I was already thirty-two and didn’t take hits the same way I did at nineteen.
But I wasn’t ready to retire or let a stupid injury be the end of my career.
Hardly a glowing beginning to the season.
This is Grey’s fault. It was a childish accusation, but my twin’s text before the game had lit a fire under me.
GREYSON:
You seriously asked Noelle to be Khia’s nanny?
ME:
grown adult over here bro. i can make my own decisions
i know you care but i need you to trust me
GREYSON:
And when she leaves again and breaks both of you?
I’d been too nettled to respond to that dig. Particularly the when. Like he already considered her a flight risk.
Greyson had taken the protective-older-twin role too much to heart. He’d always looked out for me and Juliet, but I didn’t need him to save me. I needed him to trust me.
So, I hit the ice with frustration fueling my muscles.
And look where being angry at my brother and wanting to show off for my girls in the audience got me.
Girl. Because Noelle wasn’t mine.
A firm knock on the locker-room door echoed through the quiet. A moment later, Noelle poked her head in. “I . . . Jules said I could come in.”
Brandon glanced from me to the blonde angel in the doorway, a smile slowly growing on his face. “Sure thing.”
I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want her seeing me like this.
Noelle’s smile was hesitant. “You okay?”
“Of course.”
“He’ll be heading for stitches in a minute,” Brandon said unhelpfully.
Really, man, read the room.
Noelle’s eyebrows flew up, and she blinked at me. Yeah, she’d witnessed the time I’d passed out over Shane slicing his leg on some scaffolding when we were roughhousing as kids. Blood and I had never been on good speaking terms.
“Is anything broken?” she asked.
Brandon shrugged. “There’s some nasty swelling, but nothing to indicate any fractures from a cursory check.”
“Have you done X-rays?”
“Not yet. After I get him stitched up, we’ll get him in for imaging to make sure.”
“So it could be a sprain?”
“She’s a nurse,” I cut in to explain the interrogation. Warmth spread through my chest. She still cared.
Noelle’s cheeks flushed tomato red. “Sorry if I came on too strong,” she said apologetically.
Brandon chuckled. “Not at all. What department are you?”
Noelle briefly explained her work in the emergency room, and, dang, if Brandon didn’t look impressed.
I was impressed. Listening to her talk about emergencies was incredibly attractive.
She’d always been calm in a crisis, even when we were kids.
Her presence was more soothing than a sleeping pill.
Still, I didn’t want to be the subject of such conversations.
“Where’s Khia?” I really hoped she didn’t see the fight.
“With Jules. She’s worried, so I promised to get the scoop and report back.”
Hating that I was the cause of that shadowy concern in her beautiful eyes, I reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’ll be fine in a few days.”
Noelle glanced at Brandon for confirmation. Not that I could blame her.
Brandon, don’t fail me now, man.
He nodded. “He’ll be out for a couple games and will need some PT sessions, but I don’t think it’s a major injury.”
“See, no big deal,” I joked.
She shot me a look. “I saw that hit. It was dirty.”
“DeSantos doesn’t like me.” I shrugged. “It wasn’t too bad.”
“They carried you off on a stretcher. Forgive me for getting the impression it was serious.”
“That’s because he hit his head,” Brandon added comfortingly, and a flare of jealousy burned my chest.
Brandon was a great guy—a doctor for crying out loud—but he wasn’t right for Noelle. Not even with his tousled dark hair, effortless tan, and easy Jack Callaghan smile.
Noelle’s forehead scrunched in an adorable frown. “Any sign of a concussion?”
“Nah, he’s good,” Brandon reassured her, and I glared at him. Stop being so helpful, my dude.
“Do . . . you need me to stay? For the stitches?” she asked carefully, her gaze lingering on my face.
My hand absently drifted to my left arm. She’d sat with me and kept my mind off the pain when I’d gotten stitches in eleventh grade after a skate nicked me. Kissing was a very effective distraction. My eyes dropped to her lips for half a second. “You offering to distract me?” I teased.
She flushed.
So she does remember. That made me grin.
“Stop flirting.” Lifting her chin, she said, “I was offering to hold your hand, but I can see you’re in good enough spirits without me.”
“Nah, I’m only happy now that you’re here. Ask Brandon.”
“He is far from my favourite patient,” Brandon confirmed.
Noelle chuckled. “I guess some things never change.” She squeezed my shoulder, lingering a moment. “I’ll be around to help with Khia.”
“Thanks.”
“I better get back. Unless I can help—”
“I’m good.” The sooner I got her away from Brandon, the sooner the annoying burning in my lungs would go away.
Her shoulders deflated a fraction. Right, she’d always struggled with feeling needed.
“If you can watch Khia until I’m back, that’d be great. If I get in too late, maybe she can stay the night?”
Noelle’s face lifted. “Of course!” With another smile, she slipped out of the locker room.
Brandon bit the inside of his cheek, but the amused grin snuck out anyway. “The rumours are true. You’re smitten, man.”
I glared at him. “And you were flirting.”
He stared at me then cackled. “Dude, I was your wingman. Trust me, I’m not messing with your girl.”
She wasn’t mine. Not anymore. Not yet.