Page 4 of Their Obsession

The recurring nightmare that plagues me is still rattling around in my mind, though. I hate that I have to relive the worst day of my life when I close my eyes. The day I foundthatin my locker was the day my life spiraled completely out of control. I’m still fighting to regain control over the chaos, even all these years later. I hate that I can’t seem to ever be free of my nightmare. I hate that he still impacts me so strongly.

The anxiety bubbling inside me is reaching an uncomfortable level already. A panic attack is looming on the horizon. There’s only one thing that helps me get out of my head when I feel like this. I know exactly where I need to go.

I love the feeling of fresh ice beneath my skates. The way the slick surface is free of any divots or grooves as my blades effortlessly glide across the rink; it makes me feel like I’m flying. The sting of the cold air biting at my lungs and nipping at my nose fills me with excited energy. I always get to the rink early, much earlier than the players, in order to get a skate in before work. My job can be stressful, so it’s nice to clear my head before the chaos of the evening begins.

The impending panic attack floated away on the wind the moment my feet hit the ice. It’s funny—you’d think the rink would remind me ofhim, but I feel the most at peace when I’mon the ice.

Being a sports psychologist doesn’t sound like the world’s most stressful job, but it definitely has its challenging moments. Don’t get me wrong—the unlimited access to skate whenever I want, the free hockey games, the ability to travel with the team, and the considerable salary are all incredible benefits. However, there are times when dealing with a six-foot-three, two hundred and fifty pound brute with a concussion is slightly more cumbersome than your average nine to five. Plus, there’s the persistent pressure of being a woman in a male dominated world. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do and wouldn’t trade it for the world, but I have to be on top of my game with a clear and focused mind. I have to prove I’m more than capable and qualified every single day just because of my gender. That’s another reason I changed my last name–I didn’t want anyone thinking I got this job because of nepotism. I’ve worked my ass off to get to where I am in my career, and I did it all on my own. It’s rewarding, but stressful. Which is why these early morning skates do me good. When I’m on the ice, everything else just melts away.

I come to a slow stop at one end of the ice before turning to look back to the other. It’s hard to tell when watching on television but the average professional ice rink is two hundred feet long. In order to build up enough speed to race across the ice, it requires a lot of leg strength and stamina. Pushing off from the boards, I pump my legs, letting the burn in my quads and calves fuel my fire. It’s the motto I’ve lived by since moving out on my own after high school nearly ten years ago—just keep pushing and don’t look back. I left that life behind and I have never looked back. I’m strong, smart and capable. I’m proud of who I’ve become.

“Hey!” a deep, angry growl rips through my thoughts, distracting me from my motions.

Turning my head to see who’s yelling, my toe pick catches on the ice causing me to stumble. I careen forward, unable to stop myself from falling. I throw my hands out instinctually in front of me, but it’s no use—the impact is blinding. At first there’s no pain, just blackness. And then all the sensations come rushing in. Throbbing intense pain radiates through my wrist and knee and stars dance across my vision. Cradling my aching wrist, I’m able to roll onto my back. The cold ice is soothing against my flushed skin. The bright lights of the arena shine down on me from the rafters. And then something blocks them out—no, not something,someone.

“Shit, Lilly—I mean Dr. Stevens, are you alright?” a familiar voice asks, but I can’t quite place it. It’s like I’m underwater and he’s very, very far away. The lights behind him have blurred his face so I can’t see him either. He sounds worried, though.

“You yelled,” I mumble as I try to sift through the haze of my injured mind and piece together what happened. “And I got distracted. I fell.”

“I know.Shit. Doc, I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize it was you out there. I thought maybe someone snuck onto the ice.” His voice is sweet and soothing. I don’t want him to stop talking.Shit, that was a weird thought. I might be concussed. Did I even hit my head?Double shit, I can’t remember if I did or not.

“My wrist hurts,” I tell him as I continue to hold the tender limb against my chest, mind still reeling over what happened.

“Alright, I’m going to lift you and carry you to the back so we can get you checked out. Is that alright?” He sounds sincerely concerned, it’s cute.

I nod in response as large, warm arms wrap around me. He lifts me with such ease that my stomach flips. I squirm in discomfort but he pulls me in tighter, tucking me in close against the hard planes of his chest. The dots are still sprinkling my visual field as I glance up, preventing me from seeing who it is. I assumeit’s one of the players, but I’m not entirely sure. Whoever he is though, he smells amazing. Like coconuts and vanilla. I snuggle up against him, savoring his warmth and scent.

“Almost there, Doc. Just a bit longer,” he whispers softly in my ear as he races through the corridors in the back of the building. The fluorescent lights back here hurt my eyes and I find myself hiding my face against the steely wall of muscles I’m pressed up against.

“Noah, what the hell?” another voice asks as we push through a doorway.

This voice I instantly recognize—Karmine, our athletic trainer extraordinaire. I work closely with him and am always awed by his kinesiology knowledge. I’m good with the basics, but his ability to understand the complexities of human muscular functions is incredible.

I’m gently lowered onto a squishy, smooth surface. It must be the exam table.

“She fell. I think she landed on her wrist but she might have hit her head too,” the voice carrying me informs him.

I think Karmine called him Noah. I rack my brain. Do we have a Noah on the team?Ugh. My brain feels fuzzy, as if I’m trying to sift through sand. He tries to pull back and disentangle himself from me, but I hold tightly to him. A small whimper that I don’t even recognize as my own slips from my lips. I cling to him, as if he’s my life preserver in a stormy sea of chaos.

“Hey, Doc” he says, low enough that only I can hear. His other hand rubs soft circles on my back. “It’s okay, I won’t leave you. I’ll be right here the entire time.” The comforting smell of vanilla and coconut wraps around me as I breathe him in.

“Lilly?” Karmine asks in a much softer and calmer voice than his normal boisterous tone; talking to me like you would a cornered and skittish animal. “Can I look at your wrist, please? I promise to be gentle.”

Slowly allowing my arm to unfurl, I wince as pain radiates from my wrist. With one arm banded around my waist, holding me in a warm embrace, and the other hand still rubbing in circles around my back, my mystery man tries his best to calm me.

“Karm will get you fixed up,” he tells me with such conviction that I can’t help but pull my head back to look up at him.

Smiling softly above me is a ruggedly gorgeous man. His blonde hair is perfectly swept back, exposing his stormy gray eyes. They’re the color of afternoon thunder clouds. His high cheekbones sit above his crooked nose, clearly having been broken several times. Short stubble covers the lower half of his face including a strong, square jaw. I have the urge to reach out and run my fingers along the hair there to see if it’s coarse or soft against my skin.

And then it clicks—the memory of who exactly he is slides into place. My rattled brain finally finding the neural network that leads to the memory of who exactly he is. Noah Kolgrim, a hot shot defenseman who joined the team a few years ago. The veryyoungdefenseman who I was just drooling over.Oh shit.

Oh my god. How hard did I hit my head?

“Well, Doc,” Karmine says after pushing and prodding at my swollen wrist. “It’s not broken, but it’s definitely sprained. We have some strong pain killers around here for the players but they might make you drowsy. With how hard you hit your head, you should probably head home and have someone keep an eye on you. Is there someone there who can take care of you?”

My cheeks heat with embarrassment. No, there’s no one. I ran away from my home, from my past, the moment I graduated from high school. I’ve never let anyone else in, preferring to rely entirely on myself. You can’t get hurt if you never let anyone in. The only one left is Emily, but I don’t want to bother her with this.

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay,” I mumble as I try to push up off thetable. The room spins, causing me to fall back onto the padded surface.

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