Page 43 of Slew Foot (Scoring Chances #3)

“None of you ever plan to get hurt,” she pointed out.

“And yet you do. You have no idea how many messages I’ve gotten from my husband and sons over the years warning me about a video of a fight or injury.

Imagine how it feels when you have five players in the family!

It’s a wonder I haven’t torn my hair out completely. ”

“That does sound stressful,” Mickey admitted. “But I’m not a fighter.”

She grinned. “Yes, I think you’re a bit more peaceful than the men in my family. With a longer fuse—except when it comes to Rafe. You do realize that now that you and Rafe are together though, your opponents will exploit that and use it to their advantage, right?”

Mickey cursed because no, he hadn’t considered that.

“It will happen,” she said calmly. “So, you’d best be prepared for it.”

“I will be,” Mickey said. “Assuming I ever play again.”

She clucked her tongue, then pursed her lips. “There will be none of that defeatist attitude. You didn’t get where you are without some spark in you. Now use it.”

“But what if the results are …” He trailed off, voice thick, not even wanting to say it aloud.

“Then you’ll have a starting point to work from. Right now, it’s only speculation. You can’t begin to heal until you know what you’re dealing with.”

“You don’t think it’s a concussion?” Mickey asked, surprised.

She shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m not a doctor.

But my father and brothers were hockey players and I’m a daughter and wife and a mother who’s spent my life watching the men I love struggle through all sorts of injuries.

Concussions are nasty and I hate them. I want to wrap you all in bubble wrap and not let you out on the ice ever again.

But you’d be miserable. Shying away from danger is not who you are.

So, if you’re insistent on playing, then you and your loved ones will have to deal with the consequences. ”

Mickey winced. “I’m sorry …”

“Don’t apologize,” she said, her expression softening. “You’re very talented and you love what you do. That’s something to be proud of. All I’m saying is that whatever happens in your appointments today, you won’t be facing it alone , Mickey.”

“But I can handle it on my own,” he protested.

“I’m sure you can. But you don’t need to. People are offering to help, and you should take them up on that.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then thought about something his mother had said recently, and realized she was right. “I suppose you’re right.” He sighed.

“I usually am.” She shot him a little grin. “So. I’m going to keep you company during your testing today whether you like it or not.”

The touch of humor in her voice made him smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“You don’t, but by the end of the day you will.”

He laughed. “Good to know.”

“So, tell me all about Rafe. How did you two get together?”

Mickey relaxed into the comfortable leather seat and proceeded to tell her all about how he and Rafe had gotten where they were.

Well, minus a few of the dirtier details.

He was laughing as they pulled up in front of the testing center. As he got out of the SUV and she handed her keys over to the valet person there, he had to admit, this was definitely better than having an impersonal driver.

Especially when he’d only taken a few steps before his head spun dizzyingly. She tucked her arm into his and patted his hand.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got this,” she said, smiling brightly as she led him through the revolving door and into the building.

Just looking at the door made the world lurch sickeningly around him. But with Catherine there to steady him, he thought maybe he could do this.

Maybe this situation wasn’t so impossible to deal with.

Rafe was sprawled on the couch, knitting furiously as he waited for an update on how Mickey’s testing had gone, when the apartment door opened.

He scrambled to his feet, surprised when he heard Mickey’s voice and that of a woman. He met a tired-looking Mickey in the hall, supported by Catherine O’Shea.

“Mrs. O!” he said. “What are you doing here?”

She smiled. “I was Mickey’s driver today.”

“How’d testing go?” Rafe asked.

Mickey blinked at him, his smile weak as he shook his head, shrugging helplessly.

“The ringing is particularly bad right now,” Catherine said. “I’m not sure he can hear you.”

“Ahh shit,” Rafe said. He reached out, taking Mickey’s arm and pressing a kiss to the side of Mickey’s head. “Well, thanks for looking out for him today. He’s very stubborn about accepting help.”

“I’ve noticed,” she said drily. “Thankfully, I’ve had lots of practice dealing with stubborn hockey players. Now, is there anything you two need before I go?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll bring by some meals in a couple of days. You shouldn’t have to worry about food while you’re dealing with this.”

“Oh thanks,” Rafe said, relieved. “That would be amazing.”

Mickey swayed a little on his feet and Rafe frowned. He probably needed to get some rest. Or at least get horizontal.

Catherine nodded like she knew exactly what Rafe was thinking. He had a feeling she might. She seemed like a very smart lady. “I’ll let myself out. And I’ll text you before I drop by with food.”

“Thanks,” Rafe said.

“I’m happy to help.” She stepped closer, rising to her toes to press a motherly kiss to Mickey’s cheek.

He looked surprised but when she pulled back, he grasped her hand. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I don’t know what I would have done?—”

“Take care of yourself,” she said, not allowing him to finish. “And let me know if you need anything.”

Mickey stared intently at her face for a moment before he nodded, wincing a little. “I will.”

When Catherine was gone, Rafe led Mickey to the bedroom. He protested a little, but when he was stretched out on his back, he let out a big sigh, like it felt good.

Stupid man. He really was stubborn, wasn’t he?

Rafe took a seat on the edge of the bed, then pulled out his phone. He pulled up a notes app then typed out, Thought this would be easier if your tinnitus is really bad. You need anything?

Mickey looked surprised when he passed the phone over, but he typed something out, then handed it back.

Good idea. No, just tired. It was a long day.

I bet. Have you eaten?

Mrs. O made sure I ate several times and drank a lot of water.

Any news from the tests?

No. Dr. Pope will get the results in a few days.

Okay. Want me to let you get some rest?

Mickey’s expression turned frustrated. No! I want to play hockey.

Rafe rolled his eyes. Duh . Of course Mickey did. He would too. Okay, but …

Ugh. I should probably take a nap.

I’ll go get my knitting and watch a movie on my laptop with the earbuds in, as long as that won’t bother you.

Sounds perfect.

It only took Rafe a few minutes to gather his stuff, but by the time he returned to Mickey’s bedroom—their bedroom—Mickey was asleep. He’d passed out exactly where Rafe had left him, sprawled on his back, Rafe’s phone still clutched in his hand.

Rafe gently pried it free, planning to shut it off when he caught a glimpse of one final message from Mickey, I love you.

I love you too , Rafe thought, his heart aching, because he hated this for Mickey.

He carefully climbed onto the bed beside Mickey, set up everything he needed to stay occupied for a couple of hours, and settled in to wait.

What else could they do?

Until they knew more, there was nothing they could do but wait.