Page 61 of Pucking the Grump

Despite everything, I find myself smiling. My girlfriend loves me and is proud of me and is already sending along screenshots of people shit-talking Shields.

At least something’s going right tonight.

The ambulance doors close, and a very nice older woman with a gray ponytail offers me something for the pain. Deciding I’m done being a hero—for now—I gratefully accept an injection in the side of my ass.

As the medication starts to take effect, I drift into a hazier head space, one that numbs the pain and the fear that my career might be over sooner than expected.

Chapter 17

Remy

The fluorescent lights of Portland General cast a sickly glow over Stone’s narrow bed. He looks smaller somehow like this, asleep beneath the thin hospital blanket with an IV in his arm and tubes snaking out from beneath his flower print hospital gown. His injured knee is encased in a thick, padded brace and propped up by a special orthopedic pillow, but the swelling is visible even beneath the bandages.

It’s a serious injury.

This could be it for him, the end of his career.

No last chance at the cup, no going out on a high, no time to say the kind of dignified goodbye to the sport he loves that a player like Stone deserves.

I know I’ll be sad for him if that comes to pass, but for now I’m just deeply and profoundly pissed.

I spent the entire drive down from Seattle plotting ways to get revenge on the meathead piece of shit who hurt him. A suspension isn’t enough. Shields deserves to pay in Grade A human suffering, the same way Stone is paying, only worse. Stone is suffering for doing the right thing, for being the kind of good, honorable man who looks out for other people.

Shields deserves more heinous retribution.

And no, I’m not crazy enough to take out a hit on the man’s kneecap or anything, but I have other weapons at my disposal.

As I sped south, I worked out a multipronged attack, starting with leveraging my extensive NHL connections to make damn sure Shields doesn’t get called up—or signed—by anyone with influence once his contract with Nebraska is over. Then, I’ll woo my media and influencer contacts into covering the story in the most brutal way possible, all while waging a ruthless social media campaign behind the scenes, that would put Guillaume the intern’s delightfully bitchy side to excellent use. By the time I hit the Oregon state line, I was riding high on visions of Shields crying alone in his Neanderthal man cave as his prospects dried up and the court of public opinion howled for his blood.

Then, I stepped into Stone’s room and saw him like this.

Now, I just feel sad.

And scared.

My heart hurts for him, a fact the nurses clocked the second I stopped in his doorway, my eyes filling with tears. They’ve brought me tea—twice—and the head nurse just dropped off a blanket and pillow for the recliner on her way to clock out.

It was sweet of her, but I can’t sleep, not until Stone wakes up. Not until I tell him face-to-face that he’s not alone. I’m here to help with anything he needs, from taking Barb out for walks, to cooking the meals (for once), to buying craft supplies, so he’ll have plenty to keep him busy as he recovers.

Because he’s my person.

That was becoming pretty obvious even before last night. But the second I saw that hit, any doubt about what Stone really means to me was burned away in a rush of white-hot terror.

When the camera panned right, following the puck as Stone went down…

When I couldn’t see what was happening to him for a few minutes…

Those were the longest minutes of my life.

I never want to feel anything like that again. “From now on, I’m watching every game in person,” I whisper, reaching over to smooth his hair from his forehead. “That way I can be down on the ice in five minutes or less, kicking ass.”

In my head, I imagine how he’d respond if the painkillers weren’t keeping him under. Probably with something about how happy he is to have my righteous redheaded fury on his side. Or how scared Shields should be. Sure, he’s twice my size, but I’m faster, smarter, and every bit as ruthless when it comes to protecting the people I love.

“I love you,” I add, hoping some part of Stone can hear it. “Don’t worry. We’ll take it step by step and get you the best care possible.”

“Hello, sorry to interrupt.” A nurse I haven’t seen before with curly gray hair and kind eyes peeks through the doorway. She must be with the morning shift. The sky outside Stone’s small window is starting to turn a bruised, reddish brown, promising sunrise is just around the corner. “I just need to check his vitals. Won’t be a minute.”

“Of course, I should stretch my legs anyway.” I stand, wincing as my lower back protests my time crouched in a hard plastic chair instead of the plush recliner in the corner. But I wanted to be as close to Stone as possible and the big chair is too heavy to move. “Any word on when the doctor will be in to follow up? The night nurses said it would be sometime after seven this morning, but…”

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