Page 20 of Her Puck Daddies

That last block I made as I butterflied myself strained something vital, and it hasn’t quit searing in pain since. Not that I ever would’ve admitted to that shit if coach hadn’t asked me about it. More like, demanded to know.

Oh, I would’ve gone to somebody to have it looked at eventually, but I’m so pissed at myself. Pissed enough that I didn’t sleep a wink last night. So pissed that I need to let off some steam before trying to be around other people. Unfortunately for me,and for them, my blood is still at a full rolling boil as I stride into the medical bay.

I don’t bother to hide how solicitously I’m holding my arm so it won’t bang around and further damage anything, either.

“What is it?” McClaney, one of the docs stares me up and down.

“Did something to my right shoulder,” I try not to snarl.

“Hop on up here, then.”

After a series of manipulations and scans, he confirms what I suspected—I have a muscle pull.

“The good news is it’s not dislocated, and I don’t see any tearing. The bad news? You’re on restricted duty for the next week. No skating, no workouts, and plenty of rest for the next three days. After that, I’ll re-evaluate, and we’ll take it from there. In the meantime, take these muscle relaxers. I won’t make you wear a sling, but keep that shoulder as still as possible.”

My frustration dulls—just slightly. I hate being sidelined, but if rest is all it takes to get back on the ice, I’ll deal. Besides, our next game isn’t until next week. If I play this right, I should stay on the roster.

“Oh,” he calls after me just as I’m making my getaway. “Book an appointment with Ava on day four—before you see me. Massage can do wonders for strains and pulls.”

Saw that one coming, but it doesn’t make me dread it any less.

The next three days are brutal. I’m not built for sitting around, and being stuck like this is driving me nuts. The muscle relaxers knock me out for a bit, but once I’m awake? Pure boredom. I scroll, I pace, I stare at the ceiling. Rinse and repeat. Just counting down the days until I can actually do something again.

Watching hockey just makes me itch to be out there, and other sports don’t hold my attention. I try a murder mystery show for a bit, but when I guess the killer in the first five minutes, any interest I had fizzles out fast.

Even though Eric and Sven live in the same luxury condo complex, I’ve been avoiding them all week. I’m not in the mood for people, not even my friends. Sven still texts me a few times a day, and Eric dropped by with my favorite beef and broccoli from the Chinese place down the street, but they know the drill. When I get like this, they eventually give up and leave me alone.

Another message comes in from my captain.

Sven: Feel like a visit this morning?

I don’t, so I don’t respond.

Sven: Hello?

Sven: Earth to Levi.

Once ten minutes pass, he sends this.

Sven: All right, then.

The thing is, I feel guilty. Like I’ve let him down. Let Eric down. Let my team down.

I’ve pulled up the Avs’ official online scheduler to book my appointment with Ava more times than I can count, but I can’t seem to make myself do it. I know I have to. No way around it. But my original reasons for not wanting her hands on me still stand.

Not that it matters anymore.

Any discomfort on my end isn’t a priority. So after pacing my living room for the hundredth time and staring out at the Denver skyline—high-rises backed by the Rockies, nothing but a distraction—I pull up the scheduling screen again.

Only one slot left: 9:30 AM. Guess our new masseuse is keeping busy. Looks like I’m the only one with reservations about her, since even Eric showed up for his session a few days ago, according to Sven.

I click the time, finalizing the appointment. The confirmation pops up, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. As hard as that was, I know it won’t compare to actually dragging my ass into her office and letting her do her thing.

But somehow, the next day arrives—after another night of insomnia, I might add—and I find myself standing outside her door. It’s half open, but I don’t peek inside. No need to risk interrupting if she’s still with a client.

For a brief second, I tell myself that if she doesn’t come get me, I can take it as a sign to wander off. But before I can entertain the idea any further, her gorgeous brunette head pops over the threshold.

“Levi, you made it. Please come in.”