Page 5

FIVE

Rowan

The Phantoms haven’t made the playoffs since I’ve worked for the team, and I’ve only been an assistant trainer up until now.

Tonight, I’m in charge.

Of the players’ health, safety, and any injuries that crop up during the game. We have an intern back in L.A., but she doesn’t travel with the team, and I probably should have asked for her to be flown out. It’s too late now since the guys just got on the ice, but I make a mental note to talk to Harper about it after the game.

The guys look good out there, though, and I watch the game progressing with interest. Coach Vanek put Blake on the third line with Burke Marcetti and Austin Gerard. Warren took Ivan’s place on the first line and Dylan is on the fourth line, so they’ve rounded out the team nicely.

It’s not the same, though.

The dynamic is slightly different without guys like Marty and Ivan, who are leaders on the ice, if not the locker room. And Jensen is the team captain, so his loss is bigger than just his massive body knocking people around out there.

The crowd is subdued as they take a moment to wish the players who were hurt in the accident well, and then they’re off and running. Alaska’s a good team, obviously, or they wouldn’t be here, but tonight they’re on fire. Gabe is the main reason we’re still in it and there’s no doubt Coach Vanek is irritated when the Blizzard scores their second goal in less than five minutes.

Normally, I stay focused on what the players need, but everything is different for this game. Partially because Blake is here—and I’m hyperaware of his presence—but also because of the change in personnel and the fact that I’m in charge tonight. Just me.

I take a moment to watch Blake fly down the ice.

He’s fast, and tonight he’s not holding back. I don’t know what coaches and scouts see, but I see a guy who works hard and is playing the game of his life. He doesn’t always look like this. I’ve watched enough of his games to know he gets lazy and sluggish sometimes. But not tonight.

No, the Blake out there tonight came to prove himself.

And despite how much he hurt me, I’m happy for him.

This is what he always dreamed of way back in high school. This is what he talked about when we would lie on the ground and count stars in the sky. When we were young and in love and finding ourselves. We had so many dreams then.

Why am I thinking about ancient history?

I turn my focus back to the game, putting Blake out of my mind.

Except he’s on the ice again, skating like someone’s chasing him. It’s truly a beautiful sight. Watching him play is what made me fall in love with hockey. I’d almost forgotten how much I enjoyed seeing him on the ice.

Suddenly there’s a collision and I nearly gasp as I watch the blade from the Blizzard’s defenseman slice across Blake’s cheek.

He bends over, holding his face, and the play is stopped.

“He’s bleeding,” Coach Vanek says under his breath unnecessarily.

Shit.

I grab a towel and hurry onto the ice, meeting him just before he gets to the boards. I move his hand away and cover the wound with the towel.

“I think that’s going to need stitches,” I say. “Come on.” I guide him toward the tunnel and we walk back to the locker room in silence. He sinks onto the nearest bench and I pull the towel away.

“Bad?” he asks.

“Not terrible, but you do need stitches.”

“Do what you need to do. I have to get back out there.”

I almost smile.

I hand him the towel. “Hold that there—let me get my stuff.”

I gather what I need, mentally preparing myself.

I’ve stitched up guys dozens of times. That’s not a problem.

Stitching up Blake…well, that could be difficult.

I’m not even sure why exactly.

I move the towel and look at the wound.

The blade of the skate did the most damage across a two-inch area just above his left eyebrow, leaving some jagged skin and enough blood to make a mess.

“That’s gonna leave a nice scar,” I say, dabbing at the blood. “The puck bunnies will love it.”

“How do you know I don’t have a girlfriend?” he counters.

I shrug. “That never stopped you before.”

He sighs. “Are we really going to do this now?”

“We’re not going to do anything. I’m going to give you some stitches and then you’re going back to the game.”

“Then why’d you say anything?” He winces as I wipe the area with alcohol.

“I shouldn’t have.” I focus on the job at hand.

“You still hate me.” He sounds more resigned than sad, but it irritates me, like he’s trying to make me feel bad about it or something.

“Hate is a strong word.” I try to concentrate on the stitches, knowing this is going to hurt. “I would have to still be in love with you to feel that strongly about you—and that ship sailed a long time ago. I can forgive, but you never forget. Are you ready? This is probably going to hurt.”

“And you’re going to enjoy that, aren’t you?”

I sigh. “No, I’m not. This is my job—not some teenage revenge fest.”

He snorts and then closes his eyes.

I do my best to make it as painless as possible, and though I can see his fists squeezed in his lap, he doesn’t make a sound.

“Just a few more,” I say. “Do you need a break?”

“No.” He says the word curtly but I can tell he’s just trying to not show me any weakness.

And that’s ridiculous.

“How about some water?” I ask, switching gears. I reach for a bottle in the nearby cooler and hand it to him.

“Thanks.” He downs it in a series of long gulps and then nods. “Let’s get this over with.”

Is it weird that I hate the fact that I’m hurting him? I’ve stitched up lots of guys and I’ve never given it a second thought.

“What about you?” he asks abruptly. “You got a boyfriend? Husband?”

I wasn’t expecting a question like that, and I shake my head before I can think about being cagey.

“Nah. Too busy working. I’m always traveling and putting in extra hours to get certified for one thing or another.”

“You must meet lots of men doing your job.”

I frown. “I do, but there’s a no fraternization clause in my contract, so that’s a big no.”

“With players or anyone?” He looks surprised.

“Anyone in the organization. I mean, I don’t think anyone would care if I started hooking up with one of the security guards or something, but again, with what time? Besides, when I get ready to settle down, I don’t want someone involved in hockey. I get enough hockey at work. When I’m at home, I want to think about something else.”

His eyes drift to mine. “You used to love talking hockey.”

“Sixteen-year-old me loved listening to her boyfriend talk about anything that made him happy. You could have been talking about guacamole and I would’ve been happy. Twenty-eight-year-old me has somewhat higher standards.”

He narrows his gaze and then grimaces. “Ow. Fuck.”

“Stop making faces. I’m almost done.”

He opens his mouth, and I gently poke his shoulder. “And stop talking. The more you move your face, the more it’ll hurt.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gives me a smirk but I recognize that same look in his eyes and it’s weird. Did I hurt his feelings? Is that even possible? The Blake I knew in high school let everything roll off his back.

Is it possible he’s actually grown up?

The buzzer goes off, indicating the first period is over, and the team comes shuffling back into the room, effectively ending all conversation.

“You’re good,” I say in my most casual voice. “Take a couple of ibuprofen and maybe go get hydrated.”

He nods. “Thanks, Ro.”

I want to protest because he knows I hate that nickname. I want to explain that the guys on the team are the only ones who can call me that.

But he is one of the guys on the team.

And if they can do it, so can he.

Dammit.

I pack up my supplies and toss out the gloves I was wearing.

“Rowan, can you look at this?” Gabe asks me. “The knee is sore as fuck. You think I should wrap it?"

"Let me take a look," I say. "I've got my special blend of essential oils for you. Let me work my magic.”

“You rock.” He nods and starts taking off some of his equipment. It’s a hassle, but the knee has been bothering him and we need him to be as pain-free as possible.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Blake surreptitiously watching me and it’s a bit unnerving.

“She make you cry, Blakey?” Bodi asks, nudging him.

“A little,” Blake deadpans.

Everyone laughs.

“It could have been worse. Sometimes I do it without the numbing cream.”

A bunch of the guys all cringe.

“She’s a little scary,” Chandler says solemnly. “We don’t mess with Ro.”

“Especially not now that she’s the boss,” Gabe says. “Besides, she has all these magic potions with her oils—I’m not ever doing anything to piss her off. If she can use her powers for good, she might also use them for evil.”

That makes me laugh.

This is one of the many things I love about my job. The camaraderie in this room is at the top of the list, and I refuse to let Blake’s presence take that from me.

He’s going to have to work to become my friend, just like the others.

Until then, I’m going to live my life just like I was before he showed back up in it.

That’s the plan anyway.

Everything else is one day, and one game, at a time.