Page 10 of Loving Ladybug: Part One
“He’s a smart man, and a good goalie. Not as good as Maria Barilla, though.” He chuckled. “The best revenge is tothrive.Show Austin you don’t need him. Just wait until you get signed by a PHL team.”
“Okay. I could hop on a group chat, check some housing boards, maybe ask around the rink.” I nodded. We didn’t have to give much notice for our place, thank goodness. I couldn’t afford rent on two places, anyways, and I wouldn’t want Austin to be stuck.
“Yes, ask around. If you need someplace for a couple of days while you get things sorted, my daughter is at camp. You can always put your things in a storeroom at the rink. You should get your things sooner rather than later, so he doesn’t do anything to it,” he offered.
“True–and thank you.” I rubbed my head.
“It might take a little time, but you’ll get this figured out. After all, you were the fixer in your relationship. You know how to make things work. Unlike him.” He snorted. “Here’s your phone and stuff. Oh, call Clark. He was upset to find you passed out and bleeding on the ice.” Tony handed me my bag.
“Clarkfound me?” I blinked. “I thought you did.”
“He found you, got the rink night manager, who then called me. He rode with you in the ambulance, which someone had already called. I made him go home as soon as I got here. I said you’d call,” he told me.
“Oh.” I sat up and looked at all the messages and missed calls on my phone. Clark had come to the rink. He’dfoundme.
“Why did youlie down on the ice?” Tony made a face.
“I enjoy lying down on the ice.” It was comforting.
“Hey, you can’t go back there,” a nurse said to someone.
“Don’t worry. Mariquita is my sister,” a familiar voice said. Mariquita was Spanish for Ladybug, which was the nickname the Knights had given me, since I was an EBUG–an emergency backup goalie–and a woman.
Hockey players were so silly sometimes.
Carlos Rodriguez, winger for the Knights, came in, wearing a Knights shirt, workout shorts, and flip-flops, his hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed… with someone. Which might explain thedo not disturbon his phone.
He’d grown up here and had gone to the same community college I had. We’d played together my first year there. Then he’d gotten signed and spent a year with the Bantams, the Knights’ farm team, before becoming a Knight.
With him was Dimitri Belikov, a defender, who, like Carlos, was going into his third year with the Knights. He’d played for Russia first. The Russian alpha was about the same height as Clark, but broader. His dark hair was slicked back, and he looked put together–and a little threatening–even in jeans, a T-shirt, and loafers.
Clark followed, wearing a green shirt advertising his parent’s tractor repair company, some workout shorts, and Defender League slip-ons, he also had a sweatshirt tied around his waist. He clutched a paper sack.
He rushed over to me, concern brimming in his big brown eyes as his black-rimmed glasses slipped down his nose. “Hey, how are you? Your clothes are covered in blood.”
“I told you she’dcall.” Tony gave them a hard look.
Clark held up the sack, unbothered. “Breakfast delivery. Also, I needed to make sure she was all right.” His hand brushed my pink hair out of my face, so he could see the gash. “That looks nasty. Not as bad as when I found you, but still.”
He’d brought me food? Clark was always thoughtful, which Austin saw as a threat.
“Why did you go to the rink if you were hurt, Bozh’ya Korovka?” Dimitri rumbled, using the Russian word for ladybug.He’d semi-adopted me since he was raising his teen siblings.
“I was going to use the first aid kit and get my head together while I found someplace to crash. Maybe hit some pucks and pretend they were Austin’s face,” I replied. “But… I’m glad you came, Clark.”
I’d texted Clark for safety, not because I’d expected him to find me.
Tony stood. “I’m going to find the doctor and see when you can leave.”
“Of course.” Clark’s brows furrowed. “I came straight to the rink when you didn’t answer my calls.”
Oh. A phone had been ringing. I looked away. “I was afraid it would be him. Thank you.”
“That’s what friends are for,” Clark told me, taking the hoodie from around his waist and throwing it at me. “Oh, here’s a clean sweatshirt. I have a washer at my place and we can wash yours.”
“I’m going to kick his sorry ass.” Carlos eyed my other injuries. The tan, dark-haired kappa wasn’t as tall as the other two, and more compact. However, he was taller than me. Also,fastand a daredevil on the ice.
Kappas were crazy fuckers. Literally, they were a designation of fun-loving adrenaline junkies with questionable judgment. There weren’t too many of them.
