The Code (Ice Dragons Hockey Book 1) Page 4

  “Is that a hockey player’s one to ten, or a puny human’s one to ten?” he snarked.

  She looked up and shook her head. “It’s a hockey seven, isn’t it?”

  He scowled down at her. “A six, maybe. How did you know?”

  “I’m a trained paramedic.” She rose to look him in the eye. “And your sister. This isn’t as bad as your broken arm of ’06, but it’s worse than the dislocated shoulder of ’07. No wonder I wanted to be a nurse, with the amount of time I’ve spent in hospitals with you.”

  He wrinkled his nose and then smiled. “The meds are good.”

  “You’re actually taking them this time?” She couldn’t hide her disbelief.

  Hockey players were idiots, all of them; she knew that. She’d seen teammates of Nicky’s walk off the ice with teeth in their hand, bleeding from cuts over their eyes—hell, she’d seen one guy actually skate off the ice on a broken ankle, demanding to be bandaged up and let back in the game.

  “I’m not stupid. I want back on the ice, and I’m doing exactly what I’ve been told. Meds, cold, elevation, gentle rehab, physio, it’s all timetabled. And I’ll be back on the ice for training camp in September.”

  She poured herself a coffee and sat on the stool opposite him. “I think I’m calling Evan back. I need to end things with him.”

  Nicky immediately bristled. “Why? What did he do? Has he upset you?”

  Kat placed a hand over Nicky’s. “Nothing, and no,” she said, and she wasn’t lying. He hadn’t said a thing that wasn’t just Evan being Evan. “I know you don’t like him.”

  Familiar guilt passed over his expression. “Did I do this? Is it my fault you’re breaking up? I’m sorry, but you know I think you could do better. If I’ve somehow made you think—”

  “I bet even if Prince Harry proposed to me, you’d veto it.”

  He winced. “I don’t know… does Harry like hockey?” Then he offered her a small smile and spoke cautiously. “You’re not crying about it.” Well, that was better than an “I told you so,” she guessed.

  “No, I’m not.”

  She felt nothing where Evan was concerned; she doubted she ever had. Not that she thought he felt anything for her.

  What were they doing?

  Last night, when her life was there before her eyes, when she regretted things she hadn’t done, presented herself with the things she couldn’t do… Evan hadn’t been there in her future. He was a stopgap, a useful shield, someone she’d allowed to have a small amount of control in her life. He was a nice guy, kind, but just…

  He wasn’t what she wanted, and her being with him wasn’t fair.

  That had to stop.

  He was Mr. Romance when others could see and all business when the doors were shut. Kat didn’t know why she’d stuck it out for so long.

  Because you couldn’t have what you really wanted. What you still want.

  Nicky reached out and cradled her face, tilting her head to examine the bruise around her eye. “When are you on next shift?”

  “I’m off for two days now.”

  “Can you cover the marks with makeup?”

  “Why? Are you worried about photos?”

  That was a valid concern; she didn’t want to have her face plastered everywhere and have Nicky pulled into this when it was nothing to do with him.

  “What? No. Fuck, no,” he muttered. “Just… if you’re on a call and people can see someone did this to you, they’ll know you’re vulnerable, and that scares me.”

  Well, shit. He could have said anything: about her looks, or the pain, or anything, but he’d used the tone he took with the team. Never show the other side where you hurt. Never show them where you’re weak.

  She gripped his hand and squeezed it. “I’ll cover it.”

  Nicky nodded. She took the time to look him over. He was wearing sweats cut off above the knee, and his ratty Avengers T-shirt featuring Loki. He loved that shirt; it was his lucky T-shirt; the one Ryan had given him when they’d been drafted. Loki was Nicolas’s nickname, for the surname they shared, Lecour; for the fact he was known as the team prankster; and hell, for the fact he looked a little like Tom Hiddleston. Even she could see it in his angular face, his dark hair, and that perpetual smile—which only slipped around her and Ryan.

  “You need to get a shower”—she yanked on his T-shirt— “and do laundry.”

  He stood, putting his weight on the crutches, and made his way over to his bedroom door. When he reached it, he stopped and turned awkwardly to face her. “Will you stay here today?”

  Unspoken was I’d like you to stay.

  “Yeah.”

  “Because you want to, right?” He sounded so uncertain, and that wasn’t like him.

  “Idiot,” she said with affection.

  He straightened a little, then winked before shutting himself in his bedroom.

  Kat cleared up the kitchen. Plates and mugs went into the dishwasher; pans were washed and put away, and then she ran out of things to do. She put her phone on charge making sure the connection was solid, only because work might want her, or Ally, her shift partner, who was likely waking up to the news of what happened.

  Once the phone powered up, she found missed calls from Ally and dispatch, and she dealt with them as best she could. Ally was a new partner, only three months on the job, and Kat had partnered with her for only two weeks, but Ally was concerned and offered her support if Kat needed it.

  Jim in dispatch was less supportive. Just like her brother, he told her all about how dangerous it was for a woman to be at a gas station, alone, at the ass end of midnight. She listened and let him get it out of his system, promised she’d be back for her next shift, and signed off with a simple goodbye.

  Finally, she typed out a text to Evan, saying she’d talk later, and sent it. That was the coward’s way out, but her throat was sore, her head hurt, she was tired, and the last thing she wanted to do was talk to a guy whose heart she was just about to break.

  Of course, that would mean he’d have to have a heart in the first place. Really, the only way she’d break Evan’s heart would be by putting an end to the free tickets to Nicky’s games and to the chance of one day managing Nicky’s portfolio.

  Stop it! You’re losing it.

  “Shit.” She buried her face in her hands. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  “Okay?” Nicky spoke from right next to her.

  She jumped a mile, and he sniggered, as all the best big brothers do when they make their sisters squeak in fright.

  “Asshole,” she muttered, emphasizing the word with a gentle punch to his left arm. Then she noticed he had season two of Game of Thrones in his hand, and she was lost. They’d watched season one together, always promised they’d do season two as soon as either she wasn’t working or Nicky wasn’t playing.

  It was telling that this was the first time in a year that the two of them had sat with each other long enough to watch TV.

  With a soundtrack of sword fights, dragons, and fire, Kat settled in next to Nicky, leaning on him and slipping under his arm, then dozing on and off. Nicky would get up every so often to stretch, and she’d help him, and it was quiet and relaxing. He didn’t complain about the pain; she didn’t mention the ache in her jaw or her scratchy throat.

  And every time she dozed and then woke up, her heart was lighter. She was going to cut Evan free, maybe soften it with tickets for the Rangers if it got him to walk away quietly; she’d ask Nicky for those if he could get them.

  She’d survived last night. She was here with Nicky, watching TV and recalling the time after losing their parents when they would hug together on the sofa and just be.

  Her car was delivered early afternoon. She’d forgotten about it, but Ryan had arranged for it to be picked up and dropped at Nicky’s house. She didn’t see Ryan again—he had back to back games—but she did text him a thank you.

  No worries was all she got back; but then, Ryan wasn’t the kind of guy who texte
d. Not like Nicky, who was the acknowledged king of texting on the Dragons team. At least Ryan not being there meant she didn’t have to see him and consider the kiss.

  Everything was good, so she napped and snacked and watched a TV show where she couldn’t remember any character names. Except for Jon Snow, who was hot, and Daenerys, who was the Mother of Dragons; strong, sexy, and focused.

  There was only one tiny problem. When she slept, she woke with Ryan’s name in her head. She couldn’t stop thinking about him and the kiss she’d forced on him.

  Every fantasy she had was of the huge man with the muscles and the hard, focused eyes. Of the way, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing to him, of the fact he made her feel like she wanted to climb him like a tree.

  His kiss was still the same as it had been after her prom. When her date had been effectively scared off by her hockey-stick-wielding brother and his idiot friend, Ryan. He’d found her crying and kept saying he was sorry. The way he’d cradled her face and held her so steady had been intoxicating. All the girls in her year wanted him, with his leather jacket and his dark hair, and the fact he had a chance of being a professional athlete. Of course, nothing had come of the kiss—it never would have. She was like a little sister, and she knew that. She was good for teasing and pranking and playing Mario Kart with, and after that kiss, when he’d stepped away, she’d seen the shock on his face.

  He’d said nothing, just watched her as she stumbled back and away. They didn’t talk about it, and Ryan had been drafted to Dallas soon after. Gone from her life for three years, and she’d consigned the kiss to nothing more than an accident. Although she had to admit, the way she felt with Ryan had colored any experience with men thereafter.

  One day, maybe, they could kiss, and he wouldn’t look at her in dismay. And then hell, he’d realize what had been under his nose all these years. A small kernel of hope sat inside her, alongside the shame and embarrassment. Maybe she could finally have what she craved, the man who made every other pale in comparison.

  She allowed herself fantasies and thoughts of what could happen.

  Just for a short while.

  CHAPTER 4

  The puck sailed past their goalie, Drago, and he cursed loudly and then flopped on his back on the floor, sliding away from the net with a push of his skates against the pipes. Ryan allowed himself an answering “Fuck yes!” and a small celebration, or celly, with one hand punching in front of him. It wasn’t the celly that he would do on game night, but getting a shot past Drago was always worth a fist pump.

  “Played,” he said loudly as he came to a stop right in front of Drago and poked a stick to his chest pad.

  “Asshole,” Drago said, still on his back on the ice, but he said it with a grin. He would be proud of every member of the team who managed to score against him. For the shooter, it was skill. For Drago, it was testing his ability to keep the puck out of the net. Any one of his team to get past him made him proud.

  Drago rolled to stand, skating back between the pipes, and Ryan skated slowly back up the ice to where the rest of the Dragons waited their turn at shooting. He high-fived those closest to him, then came to a stop next to Simba. Their captain had cleared a shot first go, but then, Simba was Alexandre-freaking-Simard, and he never missed. Or at least it seemed that way in shootouts.

  “You see Loki recently?” Simba asked Ryan.

  “You do know we share a house.” He smirked.

  “It’s a big house,” Simba pointed out with a shrug.

  Simba wasn’t asking about Loki’s pain levels or how the operation went. Every man at this practice session knew that kind of information—hell, a couple of people had been through it themselves. What Simba meant was the unspoken question: how was Loki doing mentally and would he be okay for the new season in October?

  “He’s good,” Ryan summarized.

  Which to anyone who heard would be enough to know that Loki was doing everything possible to get back to the team.

  A loud cheer echoed from the other end of the rink. Cody James had beaten his twin Connor to getting the puck past Drago. Connor mumbled something under his breath, but Ryan knew that next go Connor would get the puck in the back of the net. There was no way he’d be last in this practice when his brother had managed to score first.

  Didn’t matter that the twins were fierce rivals, Connor still did that complicated fist bump thing they had going on, and he was grinning broadly at Cody’s success.

  “Loki’ll be pissed if he misses any of next season,” Simba said.

  He didn’t mention that Loki would miss playoffs. He didn’t need to say they were going to make it; the likelihood was they’d miss it by a few points for the second year running. As an expansion team created in 2011, the Dragons were really all about finding their feet; they had a core of excellent skaters: offensive push, excellent net minding, and a defense that was starting to gel. Not to mention a farm team that worked hard on newbies just out of school or college. If they made it to the playoffs—and yes, they were close—they would do so by the skin of their teeth and only as a wild card.

  Not to mention they’d lost Loki. He was a big man up front: high in the league tables for every kind of statistic and second only to Simba in the team. Simba was the heart of the team, but Loki was its life and soul.

  Ryan didn’t say any of that; his simple yeah was enough.

  A whistle indicated they were down to the last two who hadn’t managed to sneak one past Drago, and the entire team stared at Nikita, their alternate captain, and Arkin, their rookie.

  When Nikita posted right through the five hole between Drago’s legs, he fist-pumped and skated right up to Arkin, sending a shower of snow over the rookie’s legs. “Got ya!”

  The rookie shook his head. He didn’t smile—hell, it was humiliating to come last, but he’d been around and knew this was good-natured teasing.

  And so it was Arkin, with his status as put-upon rookie intact, who was left to run the stairs in full kit—minus skates, of course. The kid took it with good grace, and for a while, the team pulled together in chirping the poor guy.

  When everyone else moved to go back to the locker room, Simba took Arkin to one side, chatting and gesticulating. Arkin nodded, smiling but looking serious, then skating down toward the backup goalie and talking to him.

  They’d finished practice, but Arkin was staying put, shooting pucks at the goalie and taking advice from Simba. That was the kind of thing that the man with the C on his chest did; he kept an eye on the rookies, kept them honest.

  “Rookie’s a good kid,” Simba murmured as they began stripping out of their uniforms.

  Arkin had been pulled out from the minor team which fed into the Dragons, the Colchester Colts, to dress for the game with the Wings as a replacement for Loki. He wouldn’t be the force that Loki was, but Arkin was a trier, and they needed that at present.

  Ryan was intrigued to know how that would go down. They’d managed the last two games without Loki—both losses, but they’d expected that. Still, despite Ryan’s worry about Loki, he had to be realistic, just as Loki would be if the tables were turned. This was a team sport, and the Dragons’ next game would be another loss if they didn’t fill that huge space Loki had left.

  Slowly but surely, the chance of making the playoffs and fighting for the cup was slipping from their grasp.

  “He needs to be good,” Ryan confided, “but not too good so Loki has no place to come back to.”

  Simba snorted. “Lose Loki? He’s here for life, and he’ll be out there every game he can physically manage to, you know that as well as I do. The coach would choose Loki on a bad day over anyone else on a good one.”

  Ryan looked at Simba steadily. “Must be nice to know that.”

  Ryan was on the roster, but he wasn’t the big name that Loki was, or Simba; he just did his job, a solid D-man who cleared the lanes and let the forwards do their job.

  What is wrong with me?

  “Fuck you and
Self-pity Flynnster,” Simba said and poked his chest, using that hated nickname to underscore his mockery. “A starting D-man shouldn’t go talking shit about himself.” The words were said in a laughing tone, but there was an underlying warning. Anyone on a team could talk themselves out of a place if they didn’t keep their head in the game. And right now, that was what Ryan was doing.

  What was it Coach said so many times? “You’re all the best. Own your skill. Know you can do anything you’re asked to do. Win the game.”

  Ryan just wished he could get his head straight, but ever since the game where they carried Loki off the ice, his headspace had been full of self-recrimination and a shitload of what-ifs. No space for being the best.

  “Coach wants Flynn,” someone called from outside the locker-room door.

  Ryan pulled on a T-shirt over his sweat-slicked skin and headed to the coach’s office, his head still stuck in that whole shitty place where he doubted himself. For a second he waited outside the half-open door, mentally putting up the walls in his head, letting a familiar aggression through to take the place of self-doubt. Coach probably wanted to ask more questions about Loki.

  “You wanted to see me, Coach,” he said as he knocked and walked in.

  “Have a seat,” Coach Barton said, his expression a perpetually serious one.

  Some joked that even when he lifted the Stanley Cup, which the Dragons were sure to win, one day, he wouldn’t smile. He was a man who took his job seriously, and hell, in five years he’d taken an expansion team from zeroes to wannabe almost-heroes. “I’m cutting straight to the point. Mark Rafferty has another one-game ban for that hit in his last game, and he’s serving it tonight.”

  Ryan kept his mouth shut. He had a metric shit-ton of things he needed to say, but the one person you didn’t lose your temper around was the coach. Rafferty was even more of a loose cannon than Ryan himself. After all, Ryan could control his temper and knew his game. Rafferty was an enforcer who just wanted blood.

  “You have an opinion on that?”