Page 57 of Speed

“Okay, it happens, and when you wake up, I'll be there. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, his voice firm and unwavering. “I just found you, Brody. I’m not losing you now.”

The sincerity in his words broke something inside me, and I nodded, unable to find the words to respond. He kissed me, slow and soft, as though he was trying to pour all his love and determination into that moment.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against mine, his breath warm on my skin. “We’ll get through this,” he said. “Together.”

I nodded again, a small, tentative smile breaking through the weight in my chest. “Together.”

EIGHTEEN

Noah

“Together my ass,”I snarled as I taped up my stick. Brody had put his foot down, the lead one that was heavy as hell, and said I needed to come to practice instead of going with him for all the pre-op shit followed by a visit with the neurosurgeon who was doing the operation. “You need to stay focused on your hockey career, Noah,” I mimicked him as I wrapped black tape in a precise, but pissy, manner. “You’re on the team now, but they could send you down if you get sidetracked, Noah.” Nik jogged by in his cup with a red wig on. No clue. And I was too angry to question. “Go to the rink. Concentrate on hockey. Stay away from social media blah, blah, blah.”

“So is talking to inanimate objects like a hereditary thing?” Blake asked as he sat beside me clad in hockey pants, socks, and nothing else. I glared at him as I went to work on taping stick number four. Did I need this many sticks ready for practice? Nope. But if I didn’t do something constructive with my hands I’d be punching walls in sheer frustration and worry. “Your dad talked to his pipes all the time.”

“Pops is my father by marriage, not blood, and you can’t inherit something via mental congress, asshole,” I snarled.

Blake, as expected, drew back as if I’d slapped him. “Dude, chill the hell out. So sorry I don’t know your genetic markers and all that. Christ. I was just trying to make some pleasant conversation, maybe get you to smile.”

My sight flew from my stick to my linemate. “Here’s a thought, maybe you should mind your own business. Maybe, I don’t want someone coming over here talking shit about my family when they don’t even know that Stan is my adoptive father. Maybe you should find someone else to make smile.”

He stared at me for a long-ass moment, nodded, got to his stocking feet, and walked off. The dressing room was dead silent. Like mausoleum-still. I must have spoken louder than I’d realized. Damn it. Shit.

And now, here came Cap wearing his official captain face.

“We have a situation that I’m not aware of brewing?” Cap asked, standing in front of me like a sequoia, arms crossed over his wide chest. I shook my head. He didn’t leave. I returned to taping my stick. “Well, Gunny, that sounded like a situation. Is there a reason that you just tore your linemate’s head off that you would like to discuss privately?”

I chucked my stick to the floor, shot to my bare feet, and glowered up at Jack. “I have two metric tons of shit to carry around today, okay? The press is all over me like syrup on a pancake whenever I leave the house, my boyfriend is facing some pretty big medical drama, and my head feels like someone stuffed it full of cotton batting. Does that answer your questions, Cap, or do you want more intimate fucking details? Do you want to know what I ate for breakfast, when I last took a shit, and what Brody told me was?—”

He place a hand on my shoulder. I flung it off, my vision red, and took a swing. At my fucking captain. You could have heard a pin drop in that dressing room. Cap caught my shaky right fist, the roundhouse a mile off, and held onto my hand tightly.

“You and me are taking five,” he told me in a low, growling voice that brooked no further bullshit. He tore his gaze from me to whip the dumbfounded Railers gawking at us with his glare. “You chuckleheads get on the ice. Tell Coach Gunny and I are having an informal peer meeting and will join the rest of the team on the ice shortly.”

Fifteen men murmured a “yes, Cap.”.”

“This way.” Cap released my hand.

Head hanging, tail tucked, I trudged along after Jack, knowing I was going to get my ass chewed, and rightfully so. He opened the door to the skate-sharpening room.

Casper, one of the equipment managers, glanced up from relacing a skate. “Hey, guys, you need some skate work?”

“Could we get this space for five minutes, Casper?” Jack asked. Casper looked at the mound of skates requiring attention. “Trust me, it will only be five minutes. Maybe less. Go get some coffee and a donut in the film room.”

“Oh-kay,” Casper said, leaving us to it. Cap closed the door, turned, and studied me for a good fifteen seconds.

“I didn’t mean to take a swing at you,” I said meekly, his scrutiny making me feel just as I had when I was six years old and had called my Nana a nasty witch. Pops had come down on me hard that day. “I was caught up in some shit and… it was all personal. I’m sorry.”

He drew in a breath, his expression stony. “So here it is, you take this for what it’s worth. All of us on the team are fully aware that you’re carrying a crazy amount of stress for a rookie. Your relationship is everywhere. I can’t visit any social media site without seeing you, Brody, or Jemima. I get it. It’s stupid stressful, which is probably affecting your sugar levels. Am I correct in that stress will make your numbers go flaky?”

“Yes, sir, yes, that’s right.” Gods, lying was the fucking worst.

“As I thought. So, what we’re going to do, rookie, is this. You’re going to skip this skate due to some issues with your diabetes. Nothing severe, but you’re feeling out of sorts. You’re going to go home, rest, and get your head pulled out of your asshole. Because, and I’m saying this with all the love that I have for a tiny little newbie who looks up to me, if you ever take a swing at me again, I will drop you like a stone, son of a HHOF goalie or not. Do we understand each other, Gunny?”

“Yes, sir, yes, I understand one hundred percent,” I replied, keeping my spine stiff so he didn’t see me wilting outside as I was inside. “Thank you for covering for my… my?—”

“Assholery works, rookie. Now, go talk to Doc.” With that he gave me one long, firm stare before exiting the room. I stood there panting, my heart thundering.

“Noah, you are a fucking idiot,” I grumbled as I slunk off, passing Casper who watched me skulking past him like a whipped potato, to find the team physician.

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