Page 2 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

“Yes!” I scream when the shot flies past the goalie as the buzzer sounds.

The scouts have got to love that. They’ve got to see how amazing that was, how amazing I am. Last year’s high scorer, 2023 MVP, and a two-time minor league all-star?

It’s in the bag.

I rip my helmet off even before we get in our lines to shake hands with the other team, skating in an exuberant lap, waving at my fans. I’ll miss them. Especially King’s Kuties.

Orcs typically wait until they find their mate to indulge in certain carnal activities, but I’ve been known to have a little fun on the road—nothing much, mind you, because most human women can’t take more than a few inches. They’d certainly never take a knot. No, I need an Orc, a War Maiden. Picture strong, gorgeous girls in green, who deserve to be worshipped. But... My eyes fasten on the over-excited blonde with the King’s Kutie sweatshirt and a glittery crown perched on the side of her head. Maybe tonight I’ll make her dreams come true and take the edge off.

I look up in the stands and see Nick, my agent. He’s beaming with both thumbs up. The scouts beside him are nodding, and one is already on his phone.

Best. Sign. Ever.

I’ll have something to celebrate for sure. I skate closer to the line of my unofficial cheerleaders, eyes locking with each one in turn.

I feel it before I see it. Something under my right skate. In a flash, I look down and see that it’s a red rose wrapped in a plaid ribbon. Nice touch.

Except that it's stuck in my skate, wedged on the blade, and I’m waving to the crowd, gliding forward, and my leg doesn’t come with me. It twists with a sickening wrench, and the world is suddenly on its side, with me on my back, and the worst pain I’ve ever known is ripping under my kneecap.

I let out a single bellow of rage and pain as it happens in slow motion—the tearing behind my knee, the pain in my leg, and the ice hitting me on my unprotected head. I don’t even black out. That would be nice. Instead, I have to listen to the calls for medics and PT, hear the cheers turn to gasps, and see my teammates gathering around in confusion.

“Let me help you up, man!” Bryce rushes to my side.

“I don’t think so,” I hiss, trying to sit up. My head does not like that at all. Even though I have a thick skull, it dislikes having met the thicker ice, especially without a helmet.

“What happened?” The medic is skating next to me, kneeling with a red and white bag out.

“My skate got caught in one of those damn flowers. Felt like my knee twisted and then something tore underneath the knee cap,” I gasp.

“Can you move it?”

I try, and the pain makes me want to vomit. “No,” I gulp. “Not right now.”

“Get a stretcher out here. I think we’re looking at a sprained MCL.”

“A sprain? Oh, thank God,” I whisper.

The medic pats my arm. “Let’s hope it’s not a tear. Either way—ooh.” He stops speaking as he undoes my pads and slides them carefully off my leg. I can see why. One knee looks like I’m smuggling a baked potato. “I’ve never seen one swell up so fast. You probably started working on this during that final collision with Chekov from the Hershey team. He went flying, but you were the battering ram.”

“I was? I don’t even remember...” Hockey is full of injuries, knocking people out of the way, grappling over the puck with shoulders jamming into chests... I never get hurt. I never, ever get hurt. I’m an Orc. I’m a fucking tank! I’m King, King of this rink!

“I think you can forget about a sprain. I’m pretty sure this is a tear, a bad one. They’ll do an MRI to be sure.”

“But the season. I just...” I look desperately for my agent, not that I can see him through the wall of my teammates’ legs.

Coach Torrey is by my side now, pushing his way past his players to put his hand on my shoulder, his gray eyebrows high and his face soft and reassuring, a far cry from the usual “Give ‘em hell” face heusually wears. “Don’t you worry, King. Even if it’s an MCL tear, that rarely requires surgery. Maybe a few weeks off the ice. We’ll see, but we’ll get by. You don’t panic. You rest and do what the doctor says. Boys,” he turns to the rest of the team, “go do the usual. Wrap it. Smile pretty. Frobisher, make sure Fia puts some of the shots on the website and sends some off to thePine Ridge Gazette.I’m going with King to the hospital.”

I close my eyes and groan.

This can’t be happening.

Chapter Two: King

This is happening.

Ambulance.

MRI that pinches my wide shoulders.