Page 28

Thierry

A fter the meeting with Alexander, the itch in my knee had become a full-on ache.

I could blame the weather. It had turned decidedly colder and there was a hint of snow in the air.

Blame the back-to-back games. Standing more than sitting.

Working hard for a team that was feeling like home to me.

I could blame the fact I hadn’t been taking care of myself because Derrick wouldn’t stop blowing up my phone or finding me.

I’d honestly questioned how he’d found me.

None of that mattered, though, when a prickle of perspiration beaded at my hairline on the back of my neck or when my shirt dampened.

Truth was, I’d felt off for the last few days and just went about my business, acting like nothing was wrong.

I chalked it up to long hours of traveling with brief intervals of rest. The fear of losing another job I was falling in love with as much as being on the ice.

Stupid me, too. I kept pushing aside the symptoms I’d experienced since we’d landed in Georgia four days ago and they seemed to worsen when we arrived back home.

Still, I didn’t tell anyone the full truth.

I pushed through each game, taking over-the-counter meds, icing the knee and prayed the pain would resolve itself without having to run to an urgent care to get checked out.

Then this evening, after the team warmup, three small red bumps formed on the scar line or maybe they’d been there, and I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge them.

Sitting there with Coach Alexander, I should’ve told him the truth. Trepidation and conditioning kept me from opening my mouth. I grinned. I said all the words to appease him while deep down worry ate at my stomach. Especially when the low-grade fever didn’t go away like I’d hoped.

Since the injury, all I could think about was my knee.

Anxiety nipped at my heels every day. Most of my neurosis derived from the surgeries and learning how close I came to losing my leg.

Now, the thought returned. Could I coach with a prosthetic?

Sure. Getting back on the ice? Never. That’d been the end goal for me.

Returning to the ice in some capacity, even if it was just to instruct my guys.

Without my leg, I’d never lace up another pair of skates.

Ever.

So, I did what I’d always been good at; I ran away from the issues.

I went along with the program like nothing was wrong all while freaking out on the inside.

However, when the ear thermometer beeped, and I looked at the reading, I knew there was only one person to blame for the situation I was in.

Me. The 102.3-degree fever wasn’t low grade anymore, and if the dizzy spell that led me to check my temp to begin with, was any sign, I had a raging infection brewing inside of me.

What kind was the only question that mattered.

Rather than doing the right thing, I downed another eight hundred milligrams of ibuprofen and got ready for the game.

Playoff standings mattered even in the AHL.

We’d made up significant ground and if we wanted a home ice advantage, we couldn’t lose.

Which also meant I had to suck it up a few more days, then I’d get everything checked out.

Stupid, I knew that. But if I had to choose between running this by the team doc and risk not being on the bench for the guys or sticking it out and going later, I’d always take the less invasive option.

Call me whatever name you deemed appropriate.

I understood the sentiment. I’d do the same if I was in your shoes.

With a last check of my temp, I headed out to the pre-game meeting after warmups.

Since I’d drank some water and grabbed a cool shower the stomach-churning dizziness hadn’t returned.

I also wasn’t as hot as before, too. I opened the door and stepped into the locker room seconds before Coach joined everyone.

The speech was simple. If they wanted to win, they had to be present on the ice.

Keep their eye on the puck. Support Pavel and the forwards.

Most of all, if they went down by a score, they couldn’t give up.

Several times over the last few weeks, they’d had a bad habit of quitting when the game got rough.

They needed the remaining games if they wanted even a sliver of a chance at being champions.

Now was not the time to shit the bed.

With Coach’s last words of encouragement, they headed out to the ice for the pre-game announcements and introductions.

Coach’s hand on my shoulder as we walked, had panic welling within me.

Had he figured out I was sick? I’d tried not to limp even though my knee was on fire, and it hurt like hell to stand on.

Had he noticed how sweaty I’d gotten earlier? Or witnessed my dizzy spell?

“You’re compensating,” he murmured. “You sure you’re okay?”

Damn it. In my haste to pretend nothing was wrong, I’d screwed myself. “Yeah. Not sure what’s going on. I think I might have overdone it.” Not a lie but not the full truth. “I planned to ice it after the game and check in with Doc Brown.”

He frowned, glancing at leg. “You could sit out tonight. I can have one of the conditioning coaches run the plays for you.”

I shook my head. “Not this close to playoffs. You and I both know they need us out there. You take me off the bench and they’ll fuck up.”

He exhaled. “You’ll sit if I tell you to.”

I nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll sit even if you don’t.”

“Tomorrow you’re getting your knee looked at. I won’t have you traveling if you can’t stand up.”

“Planned on it. I’m sure it’s nothing,” I stated, trying to assuage Alexander while also attempting to calm my rapid thoughts.

On the ice, the guys took laps while stretching one last time before announcing the starting lineup.

The cold air of the rink cooled my heated skin, giving me a small reprieve from the fever.

I kept telling myself I could get through the next sixty minutes as long as I concentrated on my job and not my body.

But it was hard to do particularly when my knee itched and burned like I’d ripped a strip of hide off the joint.

Not to mention the bone deep throb. It was almost as if the joint had its own heartbeat the way each pang pulsed through the area.

To take my mind off everything, I glanced up into the stands and came face to face with a row of familiar faces.

Then my gaze settled on him. Fuck. My heart quickened.

My breath lodged in my chest for another reason.

Pope. What was he doing there? Guilt ate at me.

I thought about all the messages I’d yet to answer.

The few phone calls. Knowing Derrick could also pop up at any moment didn’t make the situation easier.

Speaking of which, I heard my name called behind me and when I turned, there he was.

I cringed.

He wore my sweater and blew a kiss at me while giving me a knowing look.

I shivered in revolt. Or maybe that was the fever breaking.

Hell, for all I knew, this was one big fever dream, and I wasn’t here.

Matter of fact, when I opened my eyes, I’d be back in bed with Pope and everything that happened over the last few weeks was just my anxiety getting the better of me.

I probably had my leg at an odd angle too, causing the pain.

I snorted.

Not a chance in the world. I wasn’t that lucky.

Ignoring Derrick, I glanced back at Pope who stared a hole in me.

His fierce obsidian gaze swirled with anger and resolve.

Then his eyes drifted higher into the crowd behind me.

The downright disgust on his face couldn’t be masked, and I didn’t think he tried to either.

I knew the object of his abhorrence. If Derrick realized he was on Pope’s shit list, he didn’t act repentant.

Instead, he sat there with two of his D-list besties from some reality show and laid his act on thick.

I motioned to one of the drink attendants and asked for a bottle of sports water.

If I was going to make it through the game, I’d need at least one each period.

Overkill? Sure. Drawing attention, too? Yes.

But doing so allowed me to focus on something other than Pope and Derrick, because I had a feeling there’d be a reckoning by the end of the night.

When the staff member handed me the bottle, I cracked the seal and swallowed down a quarter of the bottle, grateful for how cold the drink was.

The buzzer sounded and the puck dropped at center circle.

With the lights down low, I could concentrate on the ice and not everything around me.

The guys looked good out there. Strong. They kept their shape as they glided over the ice, helping Pavel keep the other team from scoring on us.

On the third pass up the ice, my world tilted.

I gritted my teeth and pretended nothing happened.

At the same time, the heat of my fever rushed back, and my cheeks felt as though they conducted heat.

I drank more of the sports water hoping the coldness and electrolytes would offset my rising temperature.

Again, I wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box.

Stubborn too.

I’d never fight anyone on that.

Locking my knees, which was stupid because doing so made the pain worse, I clung to the tattered remnants of my health, unwilling to admit defeat or something more significant was wrong.

I wouldn’t lose this battle. The longer I stood there, the closer the last buzzer would sound.

I kept repeating those words over and over in my brain.

Unfortunately, I didn’t think my body agreed with my willpower.