Page 19 of Slap Shot Daddies

I bite my tongue, not quite managing to hold back the retort itching to escape. "They could’ve been better if…"

Not the time, Kenzie.

The doctor types something into the chart with quick, efficient keystrokes, then fixes his gaze on me. “You’re going to need a course of antibiotics,” he informs me, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

“Right, bird beaks are basically bacterial horror shows,” I mutter under my breath, recalling the sharp, unexpected pain of the bite.

He smirks, a small, knowing smile. “Exactly. You’ll take these for two weeks, and no skipping doses. If the wound starts getting red, hot, or swollen, come back immediately,” he instructs, his voice carrying the weight of experience and caution.

I nod, feeling grateful for the in-house pharmacy, I accept the medicine bottle.

“I mean it, Miss Wood. Bird bites aren’t something to mess with,” he emphasizes, his eyes narrowing slightly to drive home the seriousness of his words.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” I reply, my voice laced with a mix of sincerity and impatience.

Braden leans over, whispering conspiratorially to Ambrose, “Did she just lie to that doctor?”

Ambrose smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “She absolutely did.”

Jerks.

The nurse returns and finishes her task, wrapping my hand. “You’ll need to keep it clean. No lifting anything heavy.” Her instructions are clear, leaving no room for compromise.

I groan, the thought of restrictions adding to my frustration.

Ambrose nudges my knee lightly with his, a reassuring gesture. “Don’t worry, Doc. We’ve got you covered.” His words are meant to comfort, though they leave me slightly apprehensive.

I raise an eyebrow, skepticism etched on my face. “I don’t even know what that means.” The uncertainty of their intentions lingers in the air.

Braden winks, a playful glint in his eye. “You’ll see.”

I don’t like that answer.

Not one bit.

I blink at them, momentarily unsure if my ears have deceived me, questioning whether I truly heard Ambrose correctly. “Got me covered? With what?” I attempt to laugh, but the sound that escapes is feeble and uncertain.

Braden stands with casual confidence, his arms crossed, and his green eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “Your clinic.Your workload. Your very obvious, very stubborn refusal to let anyone make your life easier.”

I roll my eyes dramatically, a sigh escaping my lips. “You guys don’t have to do that.”

Reggie leans forward, his grin widening, elbows resting on his knees in a posture of earnest persuasion. “You just admitted you’re short-staffed, your hand is full of stitches, and your entire business depends solely on you,lass.”

Ambrose, the ever-reluctant yet dependable knight in shining armor, gives a nonchalant shrug. “Seems like you could use some extra hands.”

I huff, shaking my head in disbelief. “Don’t you all have a lot going on? You’re professional hockey players, right? You all have lives of your own!”

Braden shrugs again, his expression unruffled. “Sure. But we also have time to help. And we’re offering. Unless you’d rather struggle out of pure spite?”

I glare, folding my arms across my chest defiantly. “I don’t do anything out of spite.”

“Oh, I think you do.” Ambrose’s lips curve into a teasing smirk, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

He’s not wrong, and we both know it.

"We'll take you home," Reggie declares with a decisive clap of his hands, as if sealing the deal with the sound. The finality in his voice leaves no room for argument.

I blink in surprise. "Wait, what? I can drive myself," I protest, though my voice wavers.

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