Page 10 of Heart of a Fighter

I know she’s a grown woman. Fuck, I know she’s all woman. She’s perfectly capable of making her own decisions. Hell, she’s been doing it for years without my input. But that doesn’t blunt the instinct to keep her safe. She’s important to me, more important than I dare admit so soon. The idea of anything happening to her is unbearable.

“Not when brutish hockey players are lurking everywhere.” A playful glint reflects in her eyes.

I grin, loving her easy nature. The sting intensifies as she tugs and pulls, reinforcing my torn stitches. “Ouch,” I wince.

“My star cancer patient is braver than you.” She laughs softly. The amusement in her eyes makes my heart lighter. “She never complains. I don’t want to be the one to tell one of your fans that you’re scared of a little ole needle.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” I protest. “Just pointing out that it stings. And here I thought you were the one with a good bedside manner.”

“Careful,” she teases again. “I’m the one with the needle, remember?”

I like that we can banter. It helps fill the gaping hole inside me. Lauren’s touch is gentle yet highly skilled, much better than the botched job Daniel did earlier. She furrows her brow in concentration as she weaves the gash together with the precision of a surgeon.

“Tell me about this patient of yours, the one who’s a fan.” As much as I enjoy the push and pull of our friendly banter, I’d like to know more about Lauren and what a typical day looks like for her.

“She thinks you’re tough but nice.” Lauren catches my eye, that playful spark still shimmering in a sea of blue. “Like me.”

“I’ll take it.”

“We watched a little of the game tonight.” She moves slightly as she’s finishing up. Her leg brushes against mine, and I’d love to pull her into my lap. “She thought the player on the other team got what he deserved for throwing that punch. Life’s dealt her a pretty crappy hand, but she still sees things through the eyes of a child, expecting a right for every wrong.”

“I like her already.” If only life were as black and white as the kid sees it. “The guy who threw that punch is lucky he didn’t throw it at me.”

Lauren pauses and straightens to look at me. “That’s what Emily said.” Her expression softens as she smooths a fresh bandage over my shoulder. “Do you enjoy the fight, or does it have to do with what you hinted at before, your dad and expectations?”

A mix of emotions stirs in my gut. The sting of the alcohol and needle was nothing compared to the raw turmoil churning inside me now.

“Honestly? It’s more complicated than that. Standing my ground on the ice is how I release frustration, expectations, and the pressure to perform and succeed.” The weight of it all is often overwhelming, and I’m constantly pushing myself but getting nowhere. I need Lauren to know I’m better than all that. “It’s not what I want to be known for. I’m trying to change.”

“What do you want to be known for?” Her inquisitive eyes meet mine, full of understanding and no trace of judgment. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. A wise man once told me that.”

She winks, easing the seriousness of the conversation. I’m used to getting the third degree about changing my behavior, but no one’s ever tried to understand why I react to things the way I do. Lauren’s different. It’s no wonder she went into nursing. She really cares and takes the time to listen.

“Tell that to my dad.” I’m not used to opening up about my inner demons, but her genuine concern makes it feel okay–safe even.

“Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener, and–” she mimes a turned lock over her lips, and I know without her saying that my secrets are safe with her.

My heart beats wildly against my chest as I contemplate how much to tell her. Will she think less of me, feel sorry for me, or will I still find understanding in her eyes? I push my hesitation aside and take a chance.

“I got pushed around at school a lot when I was younger. I took it for a while until I finally cracked under the pressure and fought back. I thought my dad would be proud of me for taking charge and handling my problems.” My lungs feel heavy with the weight of my confession.

“But he didn’t,” Lauren states rather than asking.

“Worse, he didn’t care about how I felt, only how my behavior marred his image. I felt ashamed, like I’d done something bad.” I ball my hand into a fist, anger flaring in my gut as it does every time my father and I get into a disagreement. “And then I got angry. My own father wouldn’t stand up for me. What if other kids were bullied and felt helpless with no one to fight for them? I gave up trying to please him a long time ago.”

“That’s a lot to carry.” Lauren knits her brow. “Is that why you don’t hold anything back when you’re playing?”

“I’m compelled to fight for the underdog, for fairness. An eye for an eye.” A thread of panic weaves through me. Of all the people I need on my side, it’s Lauren. I need her to understand me. “I don’t act out for the hell of it if that’s what you think?”

“That isn’t what I think.” She rests her hand gently on my arm, her touch grounding me. “I think you care more than you allow the world to see. I understand more than you know.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected. We stare at each other, connecting in a way words wouldn’t do justice. Lauren has carried her share of burdens, which she did it with purpose and out of love. She held everything together when her mom was sick, caring for her and easing Zach’s guilt for chasing his hockey dream. She carried the weight of her family’s struggle and continues to do so with the young cancer patients she cares for.

Her empathy and strength draw me in beyond the physical attraction. She knows what it’s like to shoulder heavy stuff and keep pushing through when things get tough.

The air between us is charged, thick with an electric current that’ll either shock us or breathe life into what remains unspoken. I brush a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering longer than necessary. Her eyes lock onto mine, a silent understanding passing between us.

I tug her gently toward me, and she leans in. Our breath mingles as I cup her cheek in my palm. When our lips finally meet, it’s soft and tentative. Everything melts away–the past, the pain, and the nagging doubts.

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