Page 25 of Ice-Cold Truth

Sam claps me on the shoulder, a proud grin splitting his face. “That’s what I like to hear, captain. Let’s get outta here. We don’t want to piss off Coach by arriving late to practice tomorrow, and you need about a hundred years of beauty sleep.” He nudges me with an elbow to my lower back.

“At least I have a chance of looking better. You’ll always be cursed with that ugly mug.” I toss some bills on the table, and we walk out, ribbing each other. It feels good to relax and let go.

As we head for the exit, I can’t help stealing one last glance over my shoulder, half-expecting Karina’s sneering face to materialize, but there’s nothing there except the empty bar and my own lingering doubts.

I shake off the unease. Karina is in the past, and it’s time I left her there for good.

***

Once we’re home from the bar, I take a shower. My shoulder is killing me, but I still consider slipping into Elyse’s room. Only the lack of light dissuades me. I don’t want to wake her up.

Rolling my shoulder, I walk to the living room where I left the bottle of pills from Dr. Kleiner earlier. Dropping onto the couch, I pick it up and stare at the bottle of painkillers in my hand, the plastic crinkling as I clench my fist around it. My shoulder throbs, a dull, insistent ache that refuses to be ignored. Gritting my teeth, I pop open the lid and shake two pills into my palm.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” I jump and swear under my breath. I didn’t even hear Sam come in from the kitchen. Turning, I find him leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his broad chest. Concern etches lines around his eyes. “Those things are hardcore, bro. You don’t want to get hooked on them.”

I snort dismissively. “It’s not like I’m gonna start popping them like candy.” Still, a sliver of doubt pricks at me as I eye the innocuous white capsules.

He shrugs but doesn’t push further. Smart guy—he knows arguing will only make me dig my heels in harder. Instead, he steps forward to hand me a glass of water before he nods toward my shoulder. “How’s it feeling?”

“Like someone took a sledgehammer to it.” I try to rotate the joint, wincing as the pain flares white-hot. “Damn thing just won’t heal right.”

“Maybe you should get it checked out again.” Sam’s words hang in the air as I consider his suggestion. “See someone better than Dr. Kleiner.”

I shift on the bench, my shoulder throbbing in protest. “You think Coach would actually let me see someone else after that shit he pulled with Vince?”

Sam’s expression darkens at the mention of our former teammate. “Low blow, bringing up Halstrom like that.”

Shrugging one shoulder—carefully, to avoid further aggravating the injury—I meet his gaze levelly. “You know I’m right though. Matthews doesn’t give a damn about our health as long as we’re winning games.”

He runs a hand through his tousled dark hair, exhaling a frustrated sigh. “He can’t keep sweeping things under the rug forever. Not with this lawsuit hanging over his head.”

The living room falls silent as we both mull over the implications of Vince’s legal battle against the team. If he wins his case, exposing Matthews’ shady tactics, it could bring the entire organization crashing down around us.

A wry chuckle escapes my lips. “Can you imagine the shitstorm if the truth came out? About the injuries he’s covered up, the players he’s bullied into keeping quiet…”

I trail off, memories of my own unpleasant encounters with Matthews flooding back. The man is a Class-A prick—manipulative and utterly ruthless in pursuit of victory.

Unconsciously, my hand drifts to my aching shoulder as I recall the heated argument in his office just a few weeks ago…

***

“Dammit, Ford, get your head in the game.” Matthews slams his meaty fist onto the desk, making me flinch. “I don’t pay you to pussyfoot around out there.”

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to snap back at the smug bastard. “With all due respect, Coach, I’m playing hurt here. This shoulder injury is no joke.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “So take a few painkillers and suck it up like a man. You think you’re the only one dealing with nagging aches and pains?”

The words sting, stoking the simmering flames of my temper. I open my mouth to protest, but Matthews cuts me off with a menacing glare.

“Don’t even think about giving me some excuse about needing time off or surgery or whatever. We’re defending a championship that we fought and bled for last season, Ford. I need you on that ice, one hundred percent, no matter what it takes. Are we clear?”

My jaw clenches as I force out a terse nod. “Crystal.”

Matthews leans back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk playing at his lips. “Good. I’d hate to see your life become…complicated.”

The implication hangs heavy in the air. I don’t bother to ask what he means—the guy’s a pro at thinly-veiled threats. Swallowing hard, I turn on my heel and stalk out, my shoulder screaming in agony with every step.

***

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