Page 7 of Scoring One Night (Blue Ridge Mountain Hockey #4)

H ow could I screw up like that?

Shaking my head, I knew the answer. After all, I was Rivera, the king of screw ups.

When Melanie told me yesterday that we had sex after running into each other at Castle Moat , I thought it was a prank. That Liam or Teddy had put her up to it.

But the more she explained what had happened, the more I realized she was describing the dream I had that involved the beautiful woman with long black hair.

That was Melanie. I couldn't stop staring at her lustrous black ponytail as she explained how much of a mistake it was for us to be friends.

She kept saying the word friends instead of sex. Which was funny at first, but the more she said it, the more it hurt.

"Rivera! You're up!" Coach called, ushering me to join the practice drill.

His words woke me from my thoughts of yesterday.

As I stepped onto the ice, the cold air bit at my cheeks and sent shivers down my spine. But it wasn't the frosty temperature that had me feeling out of sorts today. No, it was something else entirely.

Melanie.

"Got it, Coach." My voice sounded distant and hollow, even to my own ears.

Last week I was hungover and had to perform at my best for the judges. I thought that was a tough practice. But no, that was easy compared to how I felt now.

Why? I barely got any sleep last night because all I could think about was Melanie.

At first, my thoughts were worrisome. Would the judges discover what happened? If they did, would that ruin my chances of getting on the team?

As the night wore on, my thoughts drifted from catastrophic thoughts to ones that involved Melanie... in bed with me.

Once she was in my head, she was never going to leave.

I tried to shake off the nagging thoughts of Melanie—of her soft lips pressed against mine, the intoxicating scent of her perfume, the way her body felt beneath my fingertips. I knew I shouldn't dwell on it, but I couldn't help myself.

Now she was my physical therapist. How was I going to relax as she helped me get ready for the game?

I was so screwed.

"Hey, ," Cillian, the oldest teammate, skated over, his brow furrowed with concern. "You okay? You seem... off."

I must look bad if Cillian was worried. He was the biggest grump on the team and rarely took an interest in other players' lives.

"Fine, man. Just didn't sleep well last night." I shrugged, trying to play it cool. The last thing I needed was for the guys to find out about my friends-with-benefits moment with our team's new physical therapist.

Since Daisy was Cillian's girlfriend, and Melanie was Daisy's friend, I don't think Cillian would be too happy to know I did the sloppy with her.

"Alright, if you say so." Cillian gave me a skeptical look before returning to the drill.

I felt their eyes on me as I struggled to focus on the practice game. I missed passes or fumbled the puck every time my mind wandered back to Melanie.

"Come on, Rivera, keep your head in the game!" Coach barked, and I winced at the harshness of his tone.

"Sorry, Coach." I forced a smile, desperately hoping he wouldn't notice how rattled I was.

"Seriously, , what's up with you today?" Liam asked as he skated alongside me. "With being on the shortlist for the International Games, I thought you'd be a force on the ice today, but now you're acting like someone stole your favorite hockey stick."

"Nothing's up," I snapped, my nerves fraying. "Just leave it alone, alright?"

"Whoa, chill." Liam raised his hands in surrender, clearly taken aback by my uncharacteristic outburst.

As much as I wanted to confide in my friends, I knew that revealing the truth would put my chances for the International Team at risk. These guys loved to gossip, so I kept my mouth shut, hiding behind a fake smile and pretending everything was fine. But deep down, I wanted to ask Liam what to do.

Instead, I focused on the puck.

The puck wobbled on the ice in front of me, a teasing reminder of how off my game I was today. My skates felt like they were stuck in molasses, and my stick handled like it belonged to someone else.

"Get your head in the game, ," Teddy advised, shooting me a concerned look. "You can't afford any slip-ups with the Baltimore Crabs game at the end of the month."

"Right, got it." I nodded, eager to prove that I could still be the reliable player they'd come to expect. But try as I might, my mind refused to stay focused on the task at hand.

"Hey, Rivera, you're not gonna score any points if you keep staring at the glass like that," Emmanuel joked as we lined up for a faceoff.

It was obvious he was still pissed that I never helped him fix his neighbor's garden. Was it the universe punishing me for that?

If I had cleaned up my mistake of setting off fireworks in Emmanuel's front yard when he asked me to help him two weeks ago, then I never would have slept with Melanie.

"Fuck," I bit out, suddenly realizing karma was after me.

"Maybe he's too good for us now that he's on the shortlist," another chimed in, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

"Knock it off, guys," I retorted, attempting to brush off their teasing. "Let's just focus on the practice."

"Fine, fine," they relented, mercifully dropping the subject. But the damage was already done—my concentration was shot, and every missed pass or fumbled play only reinforced my growing sense of inadequacy.

As I chased down the puck in the corner of the rink, I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if Melanie's involvement in my therapy sessions became public knowledge. The thought sent a shudder through me, and in that moment of distraction, I lost my footing and crashed to the ice.

"Fuck!" I cried out as pain shot through my leg, leaving me breathless. My teammates skated over, their faces etched with concern.

"Are you okay, man?" Liam asked, kneeling beside me. "That looked like a nasty fall."

"Just twisted my leg a bit," I admitted through gritted teeth, attempting to stand but immediately collapsing back onto the ice. "Maybe sitting on the side for an hour will help. Then I can get back in."

"Take it easy, ," Coach called from the bench, his voice laced with worry. "We'll get you checked out. There's no way you're making it worse by trying to play on it."

I tried to protest, but everyone refused to let me play—even Liam told me to listen to our coach.

I nodded reluctantly, my pride stinging almost as much as my injured leg. As my teammates helped me off the ice, I couldn't help but think that my world was spinning dangerously out of control—and all because I was too selfish to clean up my mistake.

The team brought me to the closest physical therapy room, leaving me on the table.

"Rivera!" Coach's voice cut through the room like a knife, and he appeared at my side, his brow furrowed with worry. Mia followed close behind, her usual stern expression softened by concern. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"Lost my balance," I grumbled, wincing as I tried to move my leg. "I think it's not too serious. Maybe just pulled a muscle."

"Your performance today has been... off, ," Coach observed, glancing over at Mia. "But this injury might jeopardize your chances for the International Games."

"Let's not jump to conclusions yet," Mia interjected, her professional demeanor reassuring. ", I suggest we take you to the hospital to have that leg examined and treated. Better safe than sorry."

"Guess I don't have much choice, huh?" I sighed, feeling that no matter what I did, I screwed up.

The coach called an ambulance. Overkill, in my opinion, but I was one of his players.

And who did they have ride with me in the ambulance? Melanie, of course.

As we pulled up to the emergency room entrance, I couldn't help but glance over at Melanie, who was fidgeting in her seat. The tension between us was thick enough to cut with a knife, and I had no idea how to ease it.

"Alright, ," one of the emergency techs said as they maneuvered me out of the back of the ambulance. "Let's get you inside."

"You're the boss," I replied with a salute, trying to inject some humor into the situation.

Once I was inside the hospital, they transferred me to a wheelchair. I winced as I tried to put weight on my leg.

"Easy there," Melanie warned, suddenly by my side. She helped to ease me into the wheelchair. "We don't want to make it worse."

"Thanks," I muttered, feeling even more awkward now that I was dependent on her help. Our eyes met briefly before I looked away, unable to hold her gaze for long.

"Is this what they call poetic justice?" I joked, attempting to break the ice as she wheeled me back to the room I was given.

"Maybe," Melanie replied, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. She parked me in the room and sat on the lone chair in the room to face me. "I know things are weird between us, but I just want to move forward. Just be professionals, okay?"

"Right, professionals. Nothing more," I agreed, suddenly aware of how close we were sitting. The scent of her perfume was intoxicating, stirring up memories I'd been trying to suppress all day.

I started to lean forward in my wheelchair as I stared at Melanie's lips. Just one taste, I thought. What was the harm? Then we could be as professional as we wanted.

She appeared alright with that as I noticed her leaning forward, too. Melanie even licked her lips, a universal sign that someone wanted to be kissed.

It's a fact.

Suddenly, the door flew open and both our coach and Mia appeared.

Melanie stood so fast that she bumped my wheelchair backward, causing me to roll back.

Thankfully, I grabbed the wheels to stop it before I plowed into Mia.

"Has the doctor been by yet?" Mia asked, her gaze bouncing between me and Melanie. "The sooner we get checked out, the sooner we can start figuring out a recovery plan."

"Of course," Melanie agreed, her professionalism returning in full force. "No, the doctor hasn't been by, but I’ll go look for someone."

As if her ass was on fire, Melanie scurried out of the room before I could say anything.

Coach opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by a woman yelling loudly in the hallway. We all turned and stared at the door to my room as we realized it was Melanie.

She was calling out for a doctor, acting as if I were dying.

I guess that was one way to get a doctor to show up. And it worked.

Within seconds, a very out of breath man in a white coat showed up in my room.

"What's going on?" He appeared confused, as I suspected he thought I'd be bleeding out with how Melanie was acting.

Melanie showed up behind the doctor. " fell on the ice today and hurt his leg." She smiled at the doctor, who only scowled at her.

He asked me a series of questions about my injury, then examined my leg carefully. He told me he was requesting an x-ray, but based on what he felt, it didn’t appear to be broken.

"You will need a few months for it to heal properly if it's broken, but I doubt it's broken," he said while still twisting my leg side to side. "I suspect it's a mild sprain. But it will take several weeks to heal and lots of physical therapy."

Great. My future—both on and off the ice—now rested in the hands of the woman whose touch still haunted me. And there was no escaping it.