Page 29

By the middle of the second period. My fever raged like an out-of-control inferno.

Concentrating on the ice made me motion sick, while my eyes couldn’t focus on the action out there.

Thankfully, with as well as the guys played, I didn’t have many notes for them.

Had it been any other night or earlier in the season, we’d be fucked.

“You don’t look good,” Alexander said, snapping me out of my stupor. “You’re burning up.”

When had he touched me? Was delirium part of a fever? I shook my head, grateful for the wall behind me keeping me steady. Without it, I’d probably be on my ass. “I’m good. I’ve got this. I’ll hit up the doc afterward. You and the guys need me right now.”

“Not if it means passing the fuck out on the bench and messing with their heads.” As it was, some of the guys were staring at me instead of paying attention to the ice. “Have you taken anything?”

I nodded. “Yep. I’m good.” I showed him the now empty bottle in my hand. “Keeping my levels up.”

I took a step to call the staff member back over for another bottle, when my world tilted again, harder this time and everything began to spin as my vision swam.

I reached for anything to keep my balance, but everything seemed out of reach or moving away from me.

The cheer of the crowd and noise of the arena took on a distinct far away quality while an annoying buzz filled my ears.

I knew that sound.

My stomach dropped. My heart sped up. A cold sweat dotted my brow, giving me a moment’s reprieve from the unbearable fire racing through my veins.

Panic seized me, even as my stomach roiled.

One of two things was about to happen. Either I’d puke my guts up, which might not be such a bad idea, or I was going to pass out.

I didn’t get a chance to say anything. As I opened my mouth to say help, I was already going down.

The last thing I heard was a collective gasp and someone saying, “someone call 9-1-1.” Stupid, because we had a full medical team in the locker area. Besides, a fever didn’t mean shit.

I was fine.

Really.

Pope

The game wasn’t half bad. Of course, I caught myself staring at the prick who’d dug his fake nails back into Thierry.

What was it about him that made my best friend lose his fucking mind?

Those women with the ex-piece of shit? Fake.

Super fake. They stuck out like hunters wearing camo to a grocery store.

“I don’t like them,” Ireland muttered. “They’re too...” She got this look of consternation on her face before she spat, “plastic.”

Plastic fit them to a T. Nothing about them screamed fan of the sport.

Fan of Thierry or even wanting to be there.

Instead of watching the game, they took selfies and made it difficult for those behind them to pay attention to the action on the ice.

Bet if I ever used TikTok, I’d find a hundred videos of tonight, most of them thirst traps, none of them actually paying attention.

I sounded jealous of them. When I was anything but.

“Hey,” July said, elbowing me. “Thier looks off.” She lifted her chin in his direction. Sure enough, his coloring had gone from sun-kissed tan to an unnatural white and he was sweating profusely.

I sat forward watching him as he gave the defenders instructions, subbing players like it was natural while sucking down a bottle of whatever sports drink they had handy.

He also listed. He kept his weight on his good leg more than his bad, and I wondered if he was in pain again.

According to Wes, Thierry wouldn’t come right out and say how much he was hurting, but after getting the rundown from those who knew him better than I did, he’d had a hell of a year.

No way in hell I’d be doing the things he was.

“He’s in agony,” I muttered, glancing at where his ex-boyfriend sat, uncaring about Thierry’s health or the fact he was in enough pain he’d turned a sickly shade of pale. “Probably overdid it?”

“Don’t be a jealous prick,” July stated. “I saw the way he looked at you, then looked at his ex. He isn’t happy Derrick is here.”

“If you say so,” I replied, unable to look away.

“Pope, there’s something really wrong.” The tremor in July’s voice knocked against my stubbornness, forcing me to look at Thierry again. She was right. He looked like death warmed over with a side of hit-by-a-Mack truck.

Thierry took a step, then stopped, dropping his head forward as he grasped for anything close enough to him to hold on to.

My heart plummeted. I held my breath. It was like watching a car crash about to happen.

I didn’t want to see him drop, but I also couldn’t look away as he stumbled and swayed on his feet.

In an instant, I was back in the kitchen watching my mother laugh then get this look on her face before she crumbled to the floor.

Fear lodged in my throat while my palms slickened with nervous perspiration.

Whatever his coach said made Thierry shake his head more, which caused his balance to falter.

Observing the scene was like watching a cooked noodle flop around then fold before going down. I had to get to him.

Now.

“I’m going. I know it’s a long shot, but...”

“I’ll make a call,” Lily-Mae said.

I snapped my attention to her. “A call?”

“What’s the point of being a famous football star quarterback’s wife if I don’t use it for good?” She squeezed my hand. “Go save him from that asshole. We’ll take care of the rest.”

I grunted, maneuvering out of the row of seats then exited the rink. I needed to find a tunnel I could use to get to Thierry’s side. No way in hell that asshole would anywhere close to my best friend or help him through whatever this was. I’d never seen Thierry so sick before.

Maybe he wasn’t sick at all but hooked on painkillers or something.

It would make sense after everything he’d been through.

Thierry doesn’t even like taking pain pills, better yet getting hooked on them.

What the hell is wrong with you? I chided myself for being stupid, though the question had merit.

He had new friends and an asshole for an ex.

For all I knew that bastard could’ve gotten Thierry hooked on shit, because that’s the vibe the guy gave off.

I raced through the arena trying to find a way to get to Thierry before anyone else could, when a security guard came up to me. He held up his hand, halting my frantic search. “You Pope Ellis?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes.” Thank you, Lily-Mae.

“Come with me.” He led me through the arena until we got to the locker room.

The smell of sweat, astringents, and vinyl assailed me.

Mountaineer gold, red, green painted the walls while the floor was a solid industrial black carpet.

The controlled though hurried conversation of several men further down the hall, drew my attention.

I crossed to them, knowing somewhere within the huddled mass was Thierry.

He had to be okay. I couldn’t stand it if he wasn’t.

Not after how we ended things the morning after Wes’ party at the compound.

Someone hissed in the crowd of staff, and I pushed through, uncaring if they wanted me there or not. Thierry lay on one of the therapy tables. His pant leg had been cut open while someone stuffed bags of ice under his arms and around his neck. They’d even placed them under his knees.

“I made a comment earlier about his knee,” the coach said. I recognized him from the box. “He told me he was still in some pain. When I saw him, he didn’t look this bad.”

“We’re going to have to transfer him to Vandy,” another man said. “I’ll call his orthopedic doctor.”

“I’m going with him,” I said, drawing a critical eye of everyone in the room. “I’m Pope Ellis. His best friend. Lily-Mae Basher made the call so I could be with him.”

“Thierry... Thierry.” I closed my eyes as the fuckwad came screaming toward the group.

“Look, don’t let him in,” I said. “Thierry doesn’t want his ex-friend anywhere around him. If you need to see the reports I can get them for you, but the guy screaming for Thierry isn’t the best person. He’s been abusing Thier. He just didn’t want anyone to know the truth. Or make waves.”

“Let him go with Thierry,” the man who cut open Thierry’s pants said. “We’ll have security deal with the other one.”

I relaxed then. Taking Thierry’s hand, I waited as the staff continued to fuss with Thierry’s leg. The angry red scar line combined with the white puffy bumps didn’t look good to me. I’d seen infections before while tattooing, but this was worse. I’d never seen a scar look that way.

Five minutes later, a team of EMTs and a paramedic entered the room with a gurney and a red bag filled with medical stuff.

The EMTs gathered all the information from who I now realized was the sports medicine person for the team, while the paramedic hooked Thierry up to the heart monitor and started an IV.

“Is he allergic to anything?” the paramedic asked.

I stared at the pale unmoving form of my best friend and shook my head. “Not that I know of, but it’s been a while.”

The man grunted. “No worries. We’ll get it figured out. Can you tell me a little bit about him?”

“He had reconstructive surgery on his knee,” I said, hating how ridiculous I sounded. Had I stayed in contact with him, I could have done a better job of explaining the situation.

“I see,” the guy replied. “Are you going with us?”

I nodded.

“Great. I’ll assess him more on the bus,” the paramedic said. “We’re ready to go.”

“Vanderbilt is where he needs to go,” one of the EMTs said. “Ortho has been notified, and his doctor is on the way to meet us at the bay.”

Guess it paid to be a millionaire hockey star. I followed them out all while a screeching Derrick was held back by three security guards. On the way out, a uniformed officer passed us, and a tiny smirk tugged at my mouth. A small reprieve in a messed up whirlwind situation.

“Pope,” July called out as we stepped out into the cold night air. She stood behind a fence to our left. “I called his parents and Wes. They’ll meet you there. Keep us posted.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

The last thing I saw when we pulled away from the arena was July, Posey, Ireland, and Kayan huddled together watching after us as we sped toward the interstate.

It was a straight shot on I-24. Even with the heavy traffic, it would take us twenty minutes to get there.

The whole time, I didn’t let go of Thierry’s hand.

All I wanted him to do was open his eyes and acknowledge me or anyone.

This silence was worse than anything I’d experienced before.

At least last time, I knew he was okay. Now, well.

.. I didn’t want to think of what could happen next.