Page 139 of Gloves Off

After a beat, I give her waist a squeeze. “My turn.”

“Go for it.”

“Why didn’t you want to help me? Why’d you call me a lost cause?”

She’s not lazy, I know that now. She cares about her patients and she works hard. She loves what she does. She wants to help people.

So why didn’t she want to help me?

The amused spark dies from her eyes. She won’t meet my gaze. “I couldn’t be impartial.”

I’m confused. I can feel myself frowning.

“When you got your concussion, I just, um.” She presses her lips together, looking like she’s going to be sick. “I couldn’t check out emotionally the way I can with other patients. It wasn’t ethical to keep you as a patient.”

“You didn’t transfer me because I was too injured to play?”

She rolls her eyes like I’m exasperating. “Alexei, are you serious? No matter how many times you get injured, you’re still one of thebest players in the league. You’re like Wolverine or something. You got a career achievement award while you’re still playing.”

There’s that pulse of warmth again behind my sternum, like her opinion of me matters. “What do you mean, you couldn’t be impartial?”

She looks at her hands. “I don’t like watching the physical side of hockey.”

“With me.”

A nod.

“It’s a contact sport.” That’s one of the things I love about it—the rush, the intensity, the chaos.

“I’m a doctor,” she says lightly. “I don’t like it when people get hurt.”

“WhenIget hurt.”

Again, silence. So that’s a yes. And I get hurt all the time. “What about fighting?”

Her arms fold across her chest, tucking into her sides like she feels sick. “Not my favorite.”

I feel weird. Unhappy and worried. “It’s part of the game. That’s my job as an enforcer, to make sure the other team knows they can’t get away with things.”

“I know.”

“I need to protect my guys.”

“I know.” Her eyes meet mine, soft and sad, and the quiet way she says it does something unwelcome to my heart.

“You don’t like it when I fight.”

She lifts a shoulder.

“You don’t like it when I get hurt.”

She doesn’t say anything, just keeps her gaze on the rest of the room, shoulders tense.

“Do you watch my games? The ones you’re not at?”

“I try not to.” Her eyes dart, wild and worried. Like I’m learning her secrets.

“I have to fight,” I say, almost desperately.

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