Page 107 of Brace and Chase

The thought makes the doubts disappear for the rest of the flight.

I’m going to watch Nik experience family life for the first time in so long, and he’s going to be smiling the whole damn time.

We’re winningby two at the start of the third period and by now we’re just playing with these poor dudes.

Every time Nik and I get on the ice for our line’s shift, you can almost hear the crowd of LA fans groan with dread.

It’s been like that for a while, I realized after the first period, but I’m only noticing it now.

I spent the whole second intermission trying to remember when the last game was that a team scored while Nik and I were on defense, but I can’t fucking remember—and I have a good memory when it comes to mistakes I’ve made, believe you me.

So I’m hanging back by center ice with a wide fucking smile on my face while our baby forwards get into position, and I know without having to look that Nik is skating circles around one of the LA forwards by the boards.

I have another one on my tail, but I’ve been shaking him off all game so I’m not worried about him catching up, in fact I might just start goading him. I turn and make him skate backward, being aggressive with how fast I’m going, basically playing a game of chicken, but then out of nowhere I’m hit from behind and falling face first.

I hear and feel my stick snap under me, and my hand gets crushed at an awkward angle, but I’m fine. Disoriented but fine. After I take a breath, I turn my body a little and see about a million skates a foot away from my face. Slowly, I manage to raise my gaze and see Nik beating the crap out of an LA player.

Either my vision is shot to shit too or there’s a lot of blood on the dude’s face. I screw my eyes shut and open them again... Yup, that’s blood.

“Nik,” I mumble, but of course he can’t hear me. The crowd is going insane and every other player on the ice is shouting too.

Finally someone—oh, it’s Bear. He pulls Nik back andaway from the idiot who must’ve rammed into my back. I get up slowly, scared for a second that my hand is seriously hurt, because the lack of pressure on my wrist makes the pain a lot sharper, but then he’s there.

Nik.

He helps me stand on unsteady legs—which is always inconvenient on the ice—and looks way too worried for my liking.

“M’fine,” I mumble.

“You’re not,” he snaps at me, clearly still pissed and glancing down at the way I’m holding my wrist. Then he’s herding me along to the bench where paramedics are already waiting for me.

“No, I don’t need?—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Laney shouts at me, and I wince.

All right then, no need to be so aggressive.

“Santa, get to the fucking sin bin,” he snaps to Nik, and after a long, still-worried glance at me, he turns back to the other side of the ice.

“Heart, go get checked out, now,” Laney tells me, still shouting, and points at my wrist.

I’m not given much of a choice when the two paramedics take my arms and drag me away.

“It barely hurts,” I argue with them.

“You landed on it. You had your stick in that hand and it snapped so it’s better if we just get it checked out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble, and go along with them

They tell me ten minutes later that I have a very mildsprain—surprise, surprise—and it’s forty minutes later that Nik comes into the dark exam room, looking like he’s just come from a battle.

“How many more fights did you start?”

“Not nearly enough,” he says gruffly and closes the door behind him. Then he walks over, drags a stool to the side of the stretcher and sits.

Silently, he takes my healthy hand and leans his head on the bed right next to it.

I want to tell him we have to be careful, that people could come in at any second, but I can’t find it in me.

---