10. Mathan
Mathan
My body stays tense as I watch the puck skid over the ice. We’re in the second period, and the Bears have done a fair job at keeping it over the line. The Red Riders have only made ten shots so far, and I’ve let none of them through.
Of course, we love our team, and we’re professionals all the way. But I’ve been playing for the Bears for ten years, and we’ve never been this good.
A cry goes out from the center line as a Rider goes straight for Orso. They’re going to crash, but Orso turns on the very tip of his skate, hopping backward to dodge him.
All the forwards said they don’t plan to make contact during this game.
As his skates land, Orso slams the blade of his stick down to balance himself, clips the puck, and fires it toward Tanner.
He looks so beautiful when he’s locked in.
“Yes! You’re so close!” I yell from the net as the team and the crowd cheer, and Tanner stops the puck and shoots past the Riders’ goal line.
Orso tosses me a grin over his shoulder as pride hums between the three of us. No matter how much the guys say they’re scared of getting hurt because of Dr. Tully, we’re going hard.
My pack is still finding its way around her. She’s never hidden what she wants, so it’s about learning a balance between Artie’s enthusiasm and Orso’s resentment. I need to take small steps so Artie doesn’t push too much and Orso doesn’t pull away.
I glance to the right, where she stands behind the team bench with two other medics. They’re chatting away beside her, but she has her arms folded, tracking us intensely.
Her gaze snaps up, clashing with mine, and a shiver runs through me. Part of me hopes there are traces of the bond left from Orso’s bite so she can still sense us.
Even from that far away, I can see her lips moving, saying something to me. And I want to get nearer so I can hear her sharp voice.
I squint to see through the barrier, even leaning forward to listen.
The more I stare, the clearer she becomes, until everything in me is centered on her lips and the single word she mouths.
“Focus.”
A crack sounds in front of me, and I jump around to see Ash wrestling with a hulking Rider on the defense line fifteen meters in front of me.
I almost want to cheer him on until the Rider hurls his fist straight into Ash’s cheek.
He wobbles on his skates before falling onto his ass.
A stick breaks, skidding away across the ice as the ref blows the whistle, and I groan.
So much for us not getting hurt. It’s silly that I feel a stab of jealousy as Ash skates over to the gate, though it sounded like he needs a lesson from her, anyway.
Dr. Tully snatches her first-aid kit and meets him as he steps off the ice.
The color drains from his face as he sits, and she roughly grabs his neck and forces him to look up at her.
It’s so sexy when her expression is that severe.
I love how she manhandles us, though most of our teammates prefer a gentle touch.
This time, the jealousy comes from Artie as he watches her longingly from the back bench. He has a closer view, but I can just imagine how her nails dent Ash’s skin, her mouth in a thin line as she furiously examines him.
Orso and I still manage to keep Artie back from her when he’s really hyper, but it’s getting harder to see the boundary she laid down when she touches other alphas like that and doesn’t give us the time of day.
She uses her thumb to notch Ash’s chin back, leaning down, her lips hovering over his as she shines a light in his eyes, and he trembles under her. Her grip is firm, and I want so badly for her to reign over me like that.
A whistle blasts from the Rider’s defense line, and it takes a second for me to spot the puck as the players scatter. I need to get my head back in the game, but my body pulses with awareness of her.
It’s been on and off like this for every single game we’ve played since we returned.
It comes and goes; sometimes the three of us get so disturbed that we struggle to play, and it only makes Orso more furious.
But other times we’re so centered it’s like our minds are connected, not just our hearts.
Maybe the fluctuations have something to do with the amount of suppressants she takes, or her heat.
My fists tighten in my gloves. Even just the idea of her going into heat sets me off.
There’s a yell, and I gasp as I realize I’ve let myself get distracted again almost instantly.
I miss that the Rider’s left wing has stolen the puck from Tanner over the center line, and he tears down the rink, his gaze fixed on the net behind me.
Kenny shoots forward in defense, trying to block him, thrusting his stick to trip up the player, but the Rider slams his shoulder into him, knocking him back. Instead of leaning into the attack, Kenny throws himself back to avoid being hit, and loses the puck when he does.
Even though we’re playing better, some guys are still making stupid mistakes.
Kenny finds his balance, but he’s not fast enough, and their winger gets past the goal line.
I’ve played against this guy for long enough to know his style. He’s either going top right or bottom left, and I just have to guess. His right hand squeezes as it slides to the center of his stick, and I fling my arm up into the top right corner to counteract the puck.
The moment the Rider shunts it, I grin because I’ve got it. It’s such a quick shot that I only know I’ve blocked it by the pain that explodes through my right bicep as it collides with my flesh.
“No!” I shout as I’m knocked backward, sharp agony tearing through my body. The puck bounces away, and Kenny knocks it down the ice, but the whistle blows, and a ref skates over.
I collapse on the ice with a hard thud, trying to grab my arm to deal with the pain, but my gloves are too thick, and the puck has hit such a precise area that I can’t reach it.
My arm hangs limp, and I’m suddenly woozy. I attempt to push myself up, but my arm hurts way too much.
“What’s going on?” Orso asks as he skates to the net, sending me love through the bond to ease the pain. “Did you get hit?”
“Aye,” I say through gritted teeth. “My arm is screwed; there’s no way I’m moving it again.”
“Do you need to change out?” the ref asks as he joins us, and I nod. “You’ll have to see the medic,” he follows up.
“Oh no, how terrible,” I drawl, and both of them give me odd looks. But I’m just playing it up, because my gaze is already fixed on Dr. Tully. I can’t wait for her to tell me how bad I am for getting hurt.
Orso lifts me up, chucking my good hand over his shoulder, and we glide to the gate, my arm hanging like a piece of damp fabric. It doesn’t feel broken; it just hurts so much that I can’t move it.
“Sit him here.” Dr. Tully’s crisp voice fills my ears, and my body naturally sighs.
“You could at least ask what happened,” Orso says as he helps me through the gate.
“I saw what happened,” she snaps. “Get back out on the ice and win the game instead of wasting time with us.”
Ash gives me a grateful nod as he shuffles past to make room, as if I’d hurt myself just to free him from her clutches. At least he knows what she’s like now. His loss.
I’d happily go black and blue all over if it means she’ll touch me like she did with him.
I groan as two of the other medics help me onto the chair behind the team bench that’s still warm from Ash’s wimpy ass. Now she can work on me without distraction, and I have her all to myself.
A few of the team on the bench give me sympathetic looks over their shoulders, and I shrug with my good one as if to ask, ‘What can I do?’
They all think Artie is the one who likes getting told off by her. But I arch my head back to find her already rearing over me, and I can feel my dreams are about to come true.