Page 13 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

“Just for two weeks. Look.” Kev pulls out his phone and shows it to him. “Minegold’s already bringing you a brisket on Wednesday. And tomorrow, Ian and Farrah Fenclan are bringing... Damn, man, they’re bringing wild boar, rice pilaf, apple crumble and custard, red wine, and some of Farrah’s lemon balm salve. In the notes, it says that’s to rub on your knee, not to eat.” Kev glares at his patient. “Shit, can I be injured, too?”

King looks shocked. “You only put this up ten minutes ago, right?”

“I did it while you were complaining about doing butt clenches. So about twenty.”

I try very hard (and fail very badly) not to laugh.

“People care about you,” Kev whispers gently.

“They care about the team’s All-Star.”

Hm. He might be right. He’s arrogant enough for people not to like him, just what he can do.

Or... Wait. Maybe he became arrogant because he didn’t have friends, just admirers, people who... only liked him... for what he could do. So what he could do, what he’s good at, became his whole personality. And now he’s afraid he can’t do it. And if he doesn’t have family or real friends here, and if the admirers desert him, then...

Yep. Softened like butter in an Arizona heatwave. “That’s very sweet.”

“I don’t need it,” he repeats, voice quiet. “I could get by.”

“Save your strength for getting back on the ice!” Kev says with a big, encouraging smile. “They just want you to rest up, heal up, and get back out there, champ!”

King’s face twitches.

I think I was right.

“Um. Yeah. Well, if you say it’ll help, you’re the doctor. Wild boar?”

“Who brings wild boar?” I mutter, kind of envious. Sounds very rustic, yet gourmet.

“Real popular with Orcs—Orkneys! The Orkneys. In the Orkneys!” Kevin practically shouts, looking panic-stricken.

“The Orkneys are islands off the coast of Scotland. My people hunt and fish, and live off the land more than a lot of others, but we come from the Scottish Highlands and Outer Hebrides,” King finishes with a dark glare, smoothing out his papers. “The Orkneys are a completely different area.”

Kevin mouths, “Sorry,” and I know there was something funny about that whole exchange.

Something about King. Or his family.

“When Ian says he’s bringing wild boar, I half expect him to bring the whole thing on a spit. Probably not, but it’ll still be a lot.”

“You’ll have leftovers.” Kev shrugs.

“Why don’t you and Marina, and you, Ingrid, come over and help me eat it?”

“I’ve never had wild boar,” Kev says. “Ingrid probably has. She loves to travel.”

“Never had that, though. I’d like to try it.” Not necessarily with King, but if Kev and Marina are there, it should be safe enough. “Okay.”

“Good. Now, let’s get your big green ass in Ingrid’s little car. We’re going to need a shoehorn.”

“Green?” I mumble, trailing after them. I see King hiss something at Kevin, but I don’t quite catch it. King isn’t even wearing green.

Is Kev color blind?

Ingrid has a little blue car. It’s actually not little, just little to me. It’s a full-size SUV, and it’s covered in dog hair. There’s a stretchy mesh divider between the front and back seats, the latter of which is covered in beach towels, covered in even more dog hair. “You have dogs?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

“Two surrendered German Shepherd mixes. They look like purebreds, except for Chip’s ears. Chip and Daisy.” She taps the picture clipped to her sun visor. It’s taken in a different car, but it’s a selfie with her in the front seat and the dogs sandwiching her headrest from the back, their tongues lolling and mouths open in big doggy grins. One of them has ears that flop over at the tips.

“I can’t stay out long. I have to get back to them. I usually run home on lunch, but I didn’t today,” she says firmly as I wriggle into the car, butt first.