Page 37 of Fate on the Ice

“I do,” I say.

“And you still want to be with her? You athletes are fucking stupid. Too many hits to the head. You’re a hell of a defenseman, but you’re an idiot of a man.”

And that’s it. I’ve had enough. I don’t need to sit here and listen to him say things about Grace to my face that I know simply are not true, and then to add salt to my wounds, he’s talking about my personal intelligence and the hits to the head, today’s being his fucking fault.

“I think it’s time for you to go, Coach.”

He shakes his head once as if he finds me completely unbelievable. I find him the same way. I just have the respect for his position, not him as a man, though, to not call him out on it.

“You’d be making a mistake if you went after her. Sure, she’s pretty, like her mother. That blonde hair, big doe eyes, and brick shithouse of a body. But it’s not worth it because she will only ruin your life. I regret every fucking day that I married that woman.”

I decide not to respond to that because it’s not worth my response. This man isn’t worth it to me. Watching him for a moment, I wonder if I can even play for him any longer. I don’t respect him at all.

Granted, I don’t think I have a shot of getting picked up by anyone else right now. The doctor has made it very clear that I won’t be playing for another six weeks. He’s also instructed me to get a caged mask, which I’ll be wearing from now on for games and practices. Because I do not want to do this shit again.

It’s not the pain or even the surgery. It’s the weeks out of the rink that kills me. It’s letting my team down. It’s feeling like a piece of shit for not being the best player that I can be for my brothers.

“This is my personal life, and my mistake or not, it’s mine to make, not yours to dictate my moves. In the rink, you are my coach. In my personal life, you are not.”

I've said my piece. Burns either respects it or he thinks that he won’t be able to talk me out of it, which would be correct. Grace isn’t a bad person, she’s not a gold digger, and she definitely isn’t a mistake by any means. At least not that I can tell, and I pride myself on being a good judge of character.

“I expect to see you in the gym at least working out when you can. On the ice when you get a doctor's clearance.”

“You will,” I confirm.

Although in the back of my mind, I’m pretty sure I’ll be on the lookout for another team. Which I fucking hate because I love my teammates, but if my dating and falling in love with Grace is going to be a problem, I don’t plan on working with him much longer.

Thankfully, he turns and walks out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. And those turn to Grace. I try to find even a modicum of the woman who Bruns described. I find absolutely nothing. I just don’t see it. Grace Burns is perfect for me.

Then she walks into the room, and any doubt I had disappears simply at the sight of her.

Chapter

Eighteen

GRACE

Otto doesn’t say anything to me after my father walks out of the hospital room. I don’t know if it’s for my benefit or his own. And I’m too scared to ask. So, instead, I just continue what I’ve been doing since I walked into this hospital. I take care of him. Because he is my concern, not my father.

I also do this so I can avoid thinking about the inevitable—finances. I’m going to have to figure something out, and soon, to pay my bills. I love working at the salon, but they don’t pay me enough to cover my bills. They know it, and they told me ahead of time. But I wasn’t in a hurry, not until that conversation with my father.

Now I’m in a rush.

The doctor marches into the room, his iPad in hand, and I watch as he swipes his finger around without saying a single word. Then, after about two minutes of silence, he lifts his head and gives us a quick, tight-lipped smile.

“It looks like surgery went well. You’ll be swollen for a bit. About six weeks of recovery, and I want you to see the doctor I’ll be referring you to next week. Make that appointment, and he’ll take care of the rest of your treatments.”

“Do I need to call him?” Otto asks.

The doctor shakes his head, his focus back on the iPad before he answers. “No, his office will get in touch with you tomorrow,” he murmurs. “You’ll be discharged today. The nurse will give you all your paperwork and care instructions. Do you have anyone to help you and to drive you?” he asks.

“I will,” I say before Otto can reply. “I’ll be taking care of him, and my car is here to take him home.”

The doctor nods a few times, his fingers flying over his screen, and then he tells us good luck and is out of the door. I watch the door close behind him, then shift my attention over to Otto, who is staring at the door as well. His gaze flicks to mine, and he snorts.

“Okay, then.”

Smiling, I dip my chin in a single nod. “Yes, okay, then.”

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