Page 24 of On the Edge of Scandal

I don’t wait for her explanation or her excuse or whatever is going to come out of her mouth. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

Nguyen’s eyes go wide with shock, and I can’t blame her. I don’t swear at the girls, never ever. Yes, I sometimes curse in front of them, and I don’t shy away from profanity in the locker room, but it’s never directed at one of my players. Maybe a small distinction, but an important one. I’ll deal with the self-recriminations and apologies later, but for right now, I’m all hot rage and roaring protectiveness.

“It’s all fun and games until someone gets seriously hurt. There’s a gold medal on the line tomorrow, and Bronwyn’s one of our best.” At least I manage to get those logical protests out—even if I did call her Bronwyn instead of Perry—over what’s actually shrieking through my head.Mine. My Bronwyn is hurt, in pain, her career could be over just like mine.My stomach is rioting with panic, concern, and fury, but as I kneel down, I try to tamp them all down because she must be afraid. Suffering.

My hip screams as I drop to the ice but the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the emotional distress. We’ve been sleeping together for a week, and yet it feels like we’ve been involved for far longer than that. Maybe it’s that I’ve known her for years, maybe it’s the effects of the SIG snow globe, or maybe it’s that I can see us being a thing beyond the SIGs, like far beyond, but whatever it is, my heart is juddering in my chest, threatening to bust out of my ribcage if she’s really hurt.

“Hey, B. Don’t move, just talk to me. Can you do that?”

There’s a pause and then a sad hiccup that squeezes my heart until it might burst. “Yeah.”

“What’s hurt? Is it your neck? Your back? Can we take your helmet off?”

I want to touch her, offer comfort, but all I’ll get is handfuls of plastic, foam, and fabric. Absent that, I want to see her face.

“Yeah, nothing to do with my spine.” She reaches a hand up to unclick the strap of her helmet, but I beat her to it and help her ease it off her head. Aside from the exertion flush that’s coloring her cheeks, she’s paler than normal, but she’s alert, doesn’t seem in danger of passing out at all, no tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Then what is it?”

One of the SIG medics that’s on hand has finally made I over and is kneeling herself with her kit, starting to fire questions at Bronwyn.

“What is it?”Yeah, it’s rude but I need to know.

“It’s my hip, took a helmet to it in the pile-up.”

Her words are cautious and her breathing measured, and there’s a sheen of warning in her eyes. I open my mouth, and I’m not sure what’s going to come busting out first. Yelling at Nguyen more, chastising the medic for not getting over here sooner, assuring Bronwyn she’s going to be okay even though I’m feeling sick to my stomach because there’s the definite possibility she won’t be.

Before I can let anything fly, though, Bronwyn’s voice silences me. “Coach.”

Right, yes, Coach, that’s me.

“Coach,”she repeats, and when I meet her eyes, her meaning is clear.You are Coach right now, not Ash. You are acting like Ash, and that’s not okay. Knock it off.“I’m okay. I think it’s just a bruise. The hit hurt and I got the wind knocked out of me, but I’m okay.”

She’s using her gaze to plead with me for understanding, to play this game with her, and though my heart is rebelling with every beat, my head is smarter. She’s right. I need to chill. I need to pretend this is someone else. Don’t see her dark hair splashed all over the ice like a pool of blood, don’t see the corners of her mouth tight with strain, don’t see her golden eyes wide, and her skin pale.

I get up, wincing, and force myself not to pace while the medic interrogates her, by crossing my arms and trying to breathe. After a few minutes, the medic seems to be done with her questions, and she helps Bronwyn to sit, and then stand. I get light-headed with relief when she’s on her skates, pushing the reminder of my own freakish journey from my head, because there’s no way that would happen to Bronwyn, too. No way would I be punished like that by not only bearing it myself but having to bear it happening to someone I . . .

What would Bronwyn say if I told her I loved her? Probably shake her head, blush, and tell me my brain was getting cloudy in the SIG snow globe. It happens, to be sure, but I don’t think that’s what this is.

I grit my teeth as I watch Bronwyn clench her jaw against the pain, but she’s moving without help, plus she’s shooting me eye-daggers of death again, and it’s not a good idea to mess with her when she’s doing that. I swear to god one day I’m going to get her to make actual factual laser beams. Until then, I will keep my face shut and watch her like a hawk as she skates off the ice.

“Uh, Coach?”

I turn, and the rest of my team is standing around, helmets off, staring at me.

“Coach?” Ah, French, yes. Of course she’d be the one to break the silence.

“Yeah, French?”

“Should we finish out our scrimmage? Hit the showers? Time’s up, but . . .”

Fuck, yes, right, practice. That is the thing I should have been focusing on instead of worrying single-mindedly about Bronwyn. It doesn’t help that it looks like the entire team has got some questions about why precisely I am so very concerned. Not that I’m not concerned when any one of them gets injured, because part of my job is keeping these girls healthy, but this is above and beyond my usual professional attentiveness. Shit. No wonder Bronwyn was glaring at me.

“Let’s go over notes form the scrimmage. I’ve got some, and I know Coach Wegner and Coach Jackson have some as well.”

The girls make their way in dribs and drabs over to the bench to review our observations from the last few minutes of play, while I try to use my own eye lasers to burn a hole through the walls between here and the trainers’ office where I’m sure the medic has escorted Bronwyn.

Chapter Fifteen

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