Page 43

CHAPTER 43

HEAD… DYNAMITE… BOOM

KAYDEN

I've been selected for the all-star game every year that I've been in the league, and every year I love going to it. The hype, the fans, the game. And the responsibility. Being here in Detroit means I've been chosen as one of the best players in the league, and I take that seriously. Right now, though, I really wish I didn't. Leaving Emory Wednesday morning was the last thing I wanted to do.

Not after we both worked up the courage to share our feelings. And definitely not after setting a personal record by giving her five orgasms. The only regret I'm going to have on my deathbed is that my girl could still walk me to the elevator that next morning, even if she was moving gingerly.

But as difficult as it is, I need to focus on the game right now. After three days of individual skill challenges and meet-and-greets with fans, this is the real thing. And the last night without her. I might even sleep at the airport tonight just to make sure I don't miss my morning flight back to her.

I used to tease Brant for the way he fell so hard for Lily, but here I am. Minutes away from our semifinal all-star game, and all I can think about is boarding that plane to get home to my girl.

"You're smiling. What's funny?" Milo slaps a hand on my shoulder, jolting my thoughts back to the dressing room as he sits in the stall next to me.

It's funny how completely my life has changed and how happy I am about that. "Just laughing because you have to go back to Denver after this game instead of back to the SLC," I tease.

Until the middle of last season, Milo split the Sting's goaltending duties with Brant. That's when the front office traded him to Denver for Jonas Neumann. In hindsight, it's been a brilliant move. Having Jonas on the ice gives us the second scorer we need if we're going to make a run at the championship this year. Even if it was the right move for the team, though, it still hurt to walk into work one morning and find out one of my brothers was traded away.

"Don't remind me," he groans. "But after Denver cut that rat-fucker Asher Sorenson, the dressing room has been much better. He was a poison to that team."

Asher Sorenson was the undisputed dirtiest player in the entire league for years, but Denver was always willing to look the other way. After what he did last year, though, they had no choice but to cut their losses with him. Last I heard, even the minor league teams don't want him. Couldn't have happened to a more deserving person.

"That dude is poison to everything." I slap Milo's leg pad. "You ready to get out there and make sure Team Bouchard wins this thing?"

There are four all-star teams, and the League selects one player to be the captain of each. Naturally, they chose me for one of the spots. Then it's the captain's job to draft players to fill out our rosters. Milo was the first person I chose. After Brant, he's the second best net minder I've ever seen. In a three-on-three battle, I know that his defense and my offense should be enough to win this thing, no matter who else is on the team.

"You know I am ready, my friend."

"Let's go, boys!" I yell out to the others, signaling them to start down the tunnel. Once we win this semifinal game, we move on to the final. Then I'm on my way home.

Every ice is unique. Today, I need to adjust not only to that but to the differences in the game too. Instead of the three twenty-minute periods we're all used to, these games have two ten-minute halves. That, plus fewer players on the ice, makes the game a lot faster. It takes me a bit to get accustomed to it, but once I do, I love it.

Just two minutes into the second half, we're already up three to nothing. Not even a team of all-stars can score three goals in eight minutes against Milo, so I should let up. I shouldn't scrap for every loose puck. But that's not who I am. I don't even think when I see the puck slide free from my opponent's stick.

If I time it right, I can knock it on and get it down to our offensive zone. But the puck is just a little further away from me than I thought, and the other forward is coming just a little faster. I dive for it with my stick extended. Less than a half a second after I poke the puck away, I see a flash of white.

The light feels like it's splitting my skull into pieces. The sudden gasp of the crowd turns to silence. The only sensations that exist to me are cold and pain. I scramble to get back onto my feet, but when I can't even tell which way is up, I let myself fall to the ice.

"Kayden?" Through the swirling roar in my head, I make out a voice I've never heard before.

I try to open my eyes, but it takes so much effort that I just give up.

"Any pain?" the voice asks me.

I want to laugh, but I'm afraid if I do, I'll be sick.

"Head… dynamite… boom." I try to make light of it, but even I'm not buying it. "Just… little help?" I hold my hand out in the direction of the voice. I just need to stand. Standing will make everything better.

But they press on my shoulder to hold me in place.

After a second or an hour, the pain in my head finally subsides just enough that I can open my eyes. I try to blink through the blurriness, but all I can see are smudges of people around me. Not enough to recognize any of them, but I still try to give them each a confident look. I'm fine. They need to know I'm fine.

The person in the center moves closer to me. "I'm Dr. Riorson, Detroit's team physician. Just a couple questions for you, and don't worry if you don't know the answers. Do you know where you are?"

I start to nod, but that cranks up the wooziness by a hundred. "Yeah. The Hive." Salt Lake City's home ice that's come to mean more than almost anything to me over the last five years. The fans are doing that buzzing thing they do when the players are introduced. Nearly twenty thousand fans buzzing like angry hornets while yellow lights swirl around the ice and the scoreboards pulse blacklight purple.

"Where's Elijah?" I ask. Elijah is the head trainer for the Sting, and I'm not sure why he isn't the one out here checking on me. My brain is just foggy enough to almost ask for Lily, but before I do, I remember she left to work for the Gulls after last season.

"Okay," the man says calmly. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Wednesday." I smile as I think of Emory at the wedding last night. The way she paused for just a second and her voice quivered before she finally confessed her feelings. I think of her in our bed last night. Lying under me. Then on top of me. Then on her back with my face between her legs. Then on top of me one last time this morning. I can't wait to get home to her tonight.

"Hmm." The man hovers over me for another second. "Okay, guys, let's help him up on his skates. Careful. He won't be steady, so don't let go until we get him in my exam room."

The feeling of gravity suddenly being revoked is very strange. If it didn't feel like my brain was rolling around in my head, and if I weren't about to throw up the entire contents of my abdomen, including my organs, the sensation of surprise weightlessness might actually be pleasant.

But with those things? Not so much. I close my eyes and blow out a breath through pursed lips.

"It's Saturday, Kayden. Not Wednesday," the doctor tells me. " You're in Detroit at the all-star game. You have a concussion, but you're going to be just fine."

"Oh." I'm almost totally aware now of the hands under my arms, holding me up and skating me toward the tunnel. "Oh my god!"

"Don't worry about the game." Milo's voice cuts through. "We've got this. You go with the doc."

Panic rolls through me, which is not helpful when my stomach is already begging to turn into the world's most disgusting fountain. I'm not worried about the game. What if Emory saw this? I need to call her. I need a phone. The doctor. Doctor's carry phones. It's probably legally required.

Just as I grasp at his waistband, I remember this is Emory I'm worried about. She hates hockey. There's no way she's watching this game. Once I get back to the dressing room and figure out just what's going on, I'll call her.