Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Most of it is true,” he mutters.
“But thanks to you, they don’t know that. What’s true and what’s not? Oh no, no one knows what to believe anymore.”
“Lucky I was good at my job, then, huh?”
“Exactly. I have no doubt you’ll bounce back. Another team will take you, and then you can tell them to give me a contract where we have to stay together.” I think about that. “That’s actually not a bad idea, you know.”
“What?”
“Trying to get contracts with another team. Surely, if we are employed together with our relationship being out in the open, it takes away the ickiness of how we got together, doesn’t it?”
He hums. “Mm. Maybe.”
I wish there was a way I could fix this for him. “Ooh, I know. I could hire you to be my own personal carer. Who takes care of allllll of me.”
Rightfully so, he side-eyes me. “That sounds a lot like prostitution or sexual harassment from an employer, and we’re trying to avoid our relationship being labeled as problematic.”
“Well, I’m open to suggestions here.”
When he looks at me again, the sorrow in his eyes is evident. “I might have to get a job outside of hockey.”
I gasp. “You mean … you might have to switch to …” I pretend to gag. “Football? How would you even survive?”
Yay, I finally get a smile.
“I’d find a way to manage. Football players wear tighter pants. I can focus on that.”
I scowl, which makes him smile even wider.
I squeeze his leg. “I have to get to the arena. Are you going to be okay?”
“I’m fine. I promise.”
“Do me a favor?”
“If it’s cook dinner in an apron and heels, I’m going to have to go with no.”
“Damn. It wasn’t, but now it is. That visual …” My mouth hangs open, and I try not to drool.
He shoves me.
“Okay, no. It was to take today easy and don’t stress over finding a new job. Relax for once.”
Lane frowns. “How does one do that exactly?”
“Watch trashy reality TV?”
“Do I look like the type of person who watches that?”
“It could be cathartic for you.”
“How so?”
“How else does anyone feel better about the shit in their lives than seeing trash humans do trash things? No matter how down you are, at least you’re not them.”
He slumps. “I hate that you actually make sense.”
“Try it. For me.”
“I will. And don’t let them tell you you’re ready to go back on the ice. You’re still not completely healed.” His fingers brush over my cheek, just under my scar.
“I’ll see what they have to say first.”
“I hate to say it, but at this point, I don’t think they’ve got your best interests in mind. Only the playoffs. Your eye is more important than the stupid playoffs.”
“You bite your tongue. The playoffs are in the top three things in life.”
“What are the other two?”
“Sex.”
Lane glowers at me. “Should’ve guessed that one. And?”
I lean over and kiss his cheek. “You.”
“I come before the playoffs though, right?”
I hesitate until real doubt begins to cross his face, and then I can’t hold it back. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
“The majority of your wound is healing well,” the team doctor says.
“So you’re clearing me to play?”
He hesitates. “I’m not going to lie. The area closest to your eye is still healing. I can butterfly tape it, but if you take a hard hit, there’s no way it’ll hold.”
“So you’re not clearing me to play.”
Dr. Denali, or Dr. D as we all call him, stands over me, his lips pursed. “Look, I’m going to level with you. Team management wants me to clear you, but I’m torn. Professionally speaking, you could get back out there with little risk, but there is a risk. The wrong hit, a stick getting under your visor, an elbow to the face during a fight … anything could make it worse. You’re on the border. I could let you play, or I could keep you on the IR list for another week to be sure, but by then—”
“The season will be over, and our chance at playoffs could be done if the team doesn’t pull their heads out of their asses and get a win.”
“Exactly.”
I so desperately want to get back out there, but at the same time, I’m a stubborn son of a bitch, and my loyalty to this team is practically nonexistent, even though Lane and I were the ones in the wrong initially. Yes, we crossed lines and put this club’s reputation in jeopardy, but now they’re dismissing Lane after all that he’s done for the team while also asking me to risk my career so we can maybe make the playoffs.
“If I’m not ready, I’m not ready. Team management will just have to deal with that.”
Dr. D nods. “Then it’s my stern professional opinion that getting back out on the ice at this point will risk your eye too much for me to sign off on it.”