5. Payton
Two Very, Very Long Weeks Later
The exam roomis silent except for the sound of Skylar’s pen scratching across the page. Now and then, she stops her rapid-fire note-taking to flip through a chart or keep her glasses from sliding off her nose. What feels like an eternity later, she motions for Erik to come closer. I watch him hop off the exam table, trying not to hold my breath. Two weeks of blood, sweat, and tears have led up to this moment.
I’m surprised Skylar can’t hear my heart pounding from here.
Erik’s face doesn’t betray a flicker of pain. There’s no stiffness to his easy stride, no hesitation in his movement. He’s back to six and a half feet of Viking swagger as he crosses the room in two long steps before turning and pacing the other way again.
“Gait is even and steady,” Skylar murmurs to herself before ticking a few more boxes. “Reflexes look good. No sign of relapse or infection. Any pain, Erik?”
True to his word, Erik has spent the past two weeks channeling all of his considerable energy into healing his injury. When he isn’t driving me to the brink of madness with his hands or mouth, anyway.
“No,” Erik replies simply. “No pain. I’m still icing it every night, just to be sure.”
His accent is thick today— the only real indication that Erik might be nervous about his evaluation. There’s more than a hockey game on the line, and we all know it.
“It’s true,” I interject before I can stop myself. “He’s been a model patient. Hasn’t even laced up his skates.”
Skylar raises an eyebrow at that but doesn’t say a word. A knowing look chases across her face as she adds another emphatic note to the chart.
“Anti-inflammatory injections, swim therapy, yoga—” Sky grins at Erik. “You’ve followed your physical therapy plan to the letter. And it shows. I’ve never seen someone bounce back from a groin injury this quickly.”
Skylar sounds surprised, but I’m not. There is nothing Erik can’t do once he sets his mind to it. It’s just one more reason we belong together; he’s the only man alive as stubborn as I am.
Erik isn’t the only one who’s been working his ass off.
For the past two weeks, I’ve done everything possible to ensure the Snowhawks stay out of the headlines for once. Doing my job well without letting the spotlight near our star players is a delicate balancing act. It takes a lot of overtime to make a bunch of professional hockey players appear perfectly normal.
Emerson’s morning news segment about the Frosty Pucks was sweet, charming, and predictable. Sawyer’s latest ESPN interview was rescheduled after the producer came down with a stomach bug. Kai Mita is rumored to be on next season’s Dancing with the Stars. And as far as the fans, press, and even the suits are concerned, the Hawks’ superstar goalie is currently in Stockholm for a funeral.
Thank the hockey gods and Dakota O’Conner that the press and paparazzi have been banned from the Nest campus since last season.
Only Skylar, Yasmín, and the rest of the team know the truth. Together, we’ve created a safety bubble for Erik to heal away from prying eyes. It was a gamble— one I risked both of our careers on.
Now we wait and see if it worked.
“So?” Erik grins and taps Skylar’s shoulder lightly with one massive fist. “Does this mean I can play on Monday? Come on. Put me in, coach.”
My heart lurches in my chest as we wait for her answer. Erik needs a clean bill of health to make it in time for the last two games of the season— and his contract renewal negotiations after.
As team doctor, it’s up to Yasmín to decide if Erik is well enough to face faceoff. But this PT evaluation is going to be the major tipping point in her decision, and we all know it.
Skylar flips to a page in the back of Erik’s chart.
“Says here,” Sky taps the clipboard before tucking her pen behind one ear. “That Sawyer’s already ok’d your return. Means you just need Doc’s signature to get back on the ice.”
She pins me with another pointed look.
“What?” I cross my arms incredulously. “Do you think I threatened to give my brother an atomic wedgie if he didn’t—”
The exam room door swings open, cutting me off with a start. A familiar shape appears in the frame, blocking the light with its sizable bulk. Then Sawyer ducks into the room, still wearing his practice jersey.
“That’s exactly what she did.” My brother looks between Erik and me, mischief and approval dancing behind his eyes. “She also threatened to leak a story that I am afraid of the dark and sleep in footie pajamas.”
Sawyer’s easy smile falters when he meets Skylar’s glare from across the room. It only lasts a moment, but I know my brother well enough to recognize the nervous energy crackling around him.
“Luckily for Nordstrom,” he goes on easily, “I’d already decided he was ready to come back before Payton showed up with the thumbscrews. If the rest of the team were this dedicated, we’d win the Cup every year.”
Sawyer claps Erik on the shoulder before dropping gracelessly into the high-back chair next to me. Sweat clings to his short crop of hair. But I don’t think practice is to blame for the red flush creeping across his cheeks.
Risking a glance at Skylar, my suspicions are confirmed— she’s blushing nearly as hard as my brother is.
Sky’s crush on the Hawks’ captain is the worst-kept secret in the NHL. And while I’m sure he feels the same way about her, Skylar still has her work cut out for her. Sawyer is a Boy Scout on and off the ice. He carries the weight of the team— and its image— on his shoulders.
“Footie pajamas?” Erik’s deep voice rumbles through my chest, dripping with mock concern. “The kind with the bunny ears? Don’t worry, Cap. Your secret is safe with me.”
Laughter ripples through the room as Sawyer flips Erik the bird with both hands.
“I agree with Sawyer,” Skylar pulls a small notepad from the pocket of her scrubs. “Not his sleepwear choices— I run too hot for fuzzy pajamas. But it is my professional medical opinion that your injuries have healed well enough for you to rejoin the team.”
Erik laughs so hard that I worry he might hurt himself again. Sawyer’s blush deepens to a hot crimson that creeps down his neck. Judging by the slack jaw and glazed look in his eyes, my brother is still processing Skylar’s offhanded sleepwear comment.
“Yas is at a sports medicine conference until Friday— Sunday if Emerson can convince her to expense report the hotel. So enjoy your last few days of freedom.” Sky tears off a piece of paper, handing it over to Erik. “In the meantime, I’ll have these muscle relaxers sent over to the pharmacy.”
Erik wrinkles his brow in confusion.
“I thought you said I was better. What are the pills for?” He turns the prescription over in his hands a couple of times before giving up on deciphering Skylar’s chicken scratch. “My leg doesn’t hurt anymore.”
This time it’s Skylar who laughs.
“I can’t have you reinjuring yourself as soon as I give you the green light.” She might be speaking to Erik, but Skylar is looking right at me now. “Make sure he takes one at the first sign of pain relapse. Especially after any especially strenuous activity.”
It’s my turn to borrow the family blush, especially when Erik’s grin widens in understanding.
We haven’t exactly been hiding our relationship. There’s nothing in either of our contracts preventing it, and I dare anyone to question my commitment to this team. Hell, half of the Snowhawks are involved with a member of the staff in some way.
Still, this is the first time we’ve talked about “us” in public— or at all. Acknowledging our connection makes it more real somehow. My heart thumps erratically in my chest when Erik takes my hand, intertwining our fingers with the quiet affection that comes so naturally to him.
“So you’re certain I won’t injure myself?” Erik kisses the back of my fingers absently. “Even if I stress the area?”
Sawyer all but leaps out of his chair before Erik says another word.
“Gotta run— I think I left the stove on.” He claps his hands over his ears and rushes toward the door. “Lalalala I can’t hear you.”
My laugh dissolves into a groan as I look between Erik and Skylar. He’s all but asking for permission to fuck me and we all know it.
“Well, if it hurts, stop.” To her credit, Sky’s professionalism doesn’t falter. “Take it slow to start with, alright?”
Erik flashes her a rare smile.
“I promise you, we will have to take it slow.”
Heat creeps back up into my cheeks. Despite two weeks of practice, Erik still has trouble getting more than two of his big fingers inside me. I have no idea how I’m going to take his cock.
I might die on that dick— and I can’t think of a better way to go. The last two weeks have been amazing, but I’m so pent-up and frustrated that I might combust. I want Erik— all of him.
“Alright,” Skylar retreats after my brother. “I think that’s my cue to leave. You two kids have fun. Have the car home by midnight.”
As soon as the door closes behind her, I’m flooded with emotion. Relief, joy, excitement. Desire.
I throw myself at Erik, wrapping my arms around him in the tightest hug I can manage. One of the best parts of dating a Viking is how solid he is. I squeeze with every ounce of those emotions, unafraid of hurting him.
The kiss is an assault on all my senses. His tongue slips against mine, overwhelming me. His scent fills me, that heady mixture of wood smoke and musk that’s uniquely Erik. His arms pull me tight against him, grinding his erection against me.
I swallow hard, wondering if we’ll make it back to his house before—
“I’ll pick you up at four,” Erik drops one last kiss against my lips. “Wear comfortable shoes.”
Confusion, disappointment, and frustration crash into me in waves.
“Shoes?” I finally untangle my tongue long enough to form words again. “We’ve been waiting two weeks to have sex and now you want to wait even longer?”
Erik takes a deliberate step back. His hands linger on my arms, and the feeling of his calloused fingertips tracing along my skin is enough to send heat fluttering between my thighs.
“Yes.” He smiles at me. “I want to do this right, Payton. I’ve been waiting years for you— what’s a few more hours? Besides, you heard Skylar. We have to take it slow.”
Erik’s grin sharpens to something deliciously wicked. We’ve managed to keep off the ice, but that doesn’t mean our drive has cooled off. Board games, video games, sex games— no matter what we’re doing, Erik and I manage to turn every night into a competition. Something tells me our first real date is going to be no different.
Only this time, I want him to end up on top.