Page 57 of Desperate Pucker (Denver Bashers #6)

Ryker

Igrit my teeth at the pain searing through my knee as Sophie examines me on the padded table in the medical room. It feels like someone stuck a hot poker through my joint.

She goes through a few range of motion tests.

“What’s your level of pain? On a scale of one to ten,” she asks.

“Five.”

Her blue eyes cut to me, a serious look on her face. “Now’s not the time to be a tough guy, Ryker. I need you to be honest.”

I huff out a breath. “Seven.”

She rests her hand on the outside of my knee. “This is going to hurt. Sorry,” she says gently.

When she presses against the side of my knee, I mutter a curse. Fuck, that’s painful. And probably not a good sign.

“The inside of your knee is opening up slightly when I push on the outside.” She brushes her strawberry blonde hair out of her face. “That means it could be a bad sprain or a tear. I wanna do an X-ray though to rule out a fracture or any other bone injuries.”

I nod and try to swallow back the dread rattling through me. Every worst case scenario loops through my brain. If it’s a fracture or an ACL tear, I’m fucked. My chance to play during the rest of the playoffs will be over.

My chance to help my team make a run for the Cup? Gone.

And my career? That might be gone too.

That dread hammers through my gut.

No. Please, no. This can’t be how it all ends for me.

But it might be.

Every shitty comment from fans and reporters echoes in my brain.

Too old. Too injured. Past my prime. Waste of a spot on a roster. Waste of a jersey.

“Hey.” Sophie’s calm voice pulls me out of my spiral. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t go there. I don’t want you thinking anything until I’m done examining you.”

“Easier said than done,” I mutter.

“I know. But I need you to try, okay?”

I nod. I’m quiet during the X-ray, even though my nerves are blowing off like fireworks.

She gives me a dose of pain meds. I sit on the exam table as I wait for her to come back with the results, quietly battling all the negative thoughts swirling through my brain.

“Ryker?”

I look up at Maddy standing in the doorway of the exam room. Comfort instantly swoops through.

She’s the only person I want with me right now.

She walks over to me and cups my face in her hands. As if on cue, my body relaxes. Her touch is a calm in this storm of uncertainty.

“Are you okay?”

I shrug. “Not sure.”

“Are you in a lot of pain?”

I shake my head. “Sophie gave me meds. I’m fine.”

I glance down at my knee, which is elevated on the table and wrapped in ice packs and bandages.

“I’m so sorry.” Maddy’s voice cracks. It breaks me how much she cares, how much she’s worried for me.

“Don’t be sorry. You’re not the one who crashed into my knee twenty minutes ago.”

She sniffles, and the corners of her mouth turn up slightly. That ache in my chest eases. It feels good to make her laugh, to see her smile a little.

“Has Sophie examined you yet?”

“Yeah. She’s not sure how serious it is yet, though. She did an X-ray to rule out bone injuries. I should find out soon.”

Maddy lets out a shaky breath. Then she kisses me. “I’m here for you, Ryker. Always.”

Her words land at the center of my chest, where my heart is. I have no idea how bad this is or what’s going to happen to me. But hearing Maddy say those words is the comfort I need.

“Thank you,” I rasp against her mouth. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

“You won’t have to.”

A soft knock pulls us apart. Sophie is standing at the door, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Good news: nothing’s broken,” she says.

I exhale, and my shoulders relax. It feels like I was holding onto all the air in the room.

Maddy is smiling with tears in her eyes as she squeezes my hand. A flicker of hope lights up inside of me, but I tamp it down.

“What’s the bad news?” I ask.

“You have a grade one MCL tear, verging on the cusp of grade two. Which means you can’t play for the next two to four weeks. Which means you won’t be able to play for the rest of the playoffs with Boston.”

My heart plummets all the way to the pit of my stomach. I knew this was a possibility. It doesn’t make it any easier to accept though.

“This might have been my last game of the season,” I say quietly.

“Only if the Bashers lose this round of the series,” Sophie says. “But you guys are good. You have a really, really good chance of beating Boston and making it to the next round.”

I nod, despite all the possible scenarios my brain is throwing at me. Even if they make it all the way to the finals, I might not be recovered in time to play with them.

I have no idea if my contract will be renewed this season. Up to this point, I’ve been playing well, but now I’m injured. I’m old. The Bashers may not want to sign me again, and another team may not want to pick me up.

This could be it for me.

This was my last chance to try and play in the Stanley Cup finals…and it’s this close to slipping away.

I swallow, forcing back that sick feeling bubbling up my throat.

No. I refuse sit here and feel sorry for myself. I’m not going to give up. Not yet.

“What do I need to do to recover?” I ask Sophie.

“For the next few days, I need you to rest. A lot. And keep icing and elevating your knee,” she says. “Once the swelling’s down, we can get started on physical therapy.”

That flicker of hope from earlier sparks up.

“Whatever it takes to get back on the ice, I’ll do it.”

“Good.” She looks at Maddy. “I’ll give you two a minute.”

She leaves the room, and Maddy looks at me. Her gray-blue eyes are fiery. “No way is this your last game.”

I start to smile at how determined she sounds.

“You’re going to get better, Ryker. I’ll make sure of it.”

I grab her face and kiss her, hard.

“You gonna be my sexy nurse and take care of me?”

She smiles against my mouth. “Yeah. And then I’m going to whip you back into shape so you can play again.”

“Let’s fucking do it, princess.”