Page 8 of Blindside Me
Or there won’t be one.
“Did you actually sleep last night?” Ryan asks, quieter than the rest. His voice is calm, but I can hear the real question,You good?
I nod, even though it’s a lie. “Yeah. Enough.”
He doesn’t buy it, but lets it go. That’s Ryan. He sees more than he says. Always has. Probably why Coach Howell trusts him like a son, and why he got picked up last season.
“Still can’t believe he benched you,” Ryan says after a beat. “You’re the best D-man we’ve got.”
“Doesn’t matter if I’m not on the ice,” I mutter. “Coach says jump, we jump. Or sit. Whatever.”
The truth is, Ineedthat ice. It’s the only place I ever feel in control. Where the noise dies. Where it’s just the puck, the goal, and that rush in my chest that says I’m alive.
And now, to prove just howluckyI am, Coach is having me interviewed by his niece. But everyone knows this isn’t luck.
It’s punishment.
It’s Howell reminding me who’s boss.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s a test.
I don’t even know what kind of girl she is. Wild, sweet, cold, indifferent, it doesn’t matter. She’s off-limits.
Which means she’s dangerous.
Which means I’m already screwed.
Needing a shower, I stand, shove the thoughts aside, and make the biggest mistake of my life. I drop my pants.
“Holy shit, what thefuckis going on with your dick?” Ryan blurts. “Did you let some puck bunny autograph your stick with her teeth?”
Heads whip around. Silence hangs for half a second before the entire locker room zones in on me.
Exposed. A fat, dark purple bruise right on the tip of my junk.
Perfect.
I throw my arms out, like, here you go.“Told you she went hard.”
Laughter explodes. The whole room loses it. I force myself to act chill, even as heat crawls up my neck. It’s just a bruise. A massive, shame-stained one, but still. I won’t let them see that it gets to me.
“You weren’t kidding,” one of the forwards says. “That’s insane.”
“Dude, I think you’re supposed to use protection for that,” someone else jokes.
“If only Roman knew how hard his sister gave head, he wouldn’t have thrown the first punch.”
“Yeah, I think his sister left the bigger bruise.”
Guilt lands heavier than I expect. Her brother started it, but she’s the one taking the hit. And yeah, maybe shedidknow who I was. Maybe shewantedthe fight. Still, blaming her for another girl’s work feels off.
“She got you good,” someone else says. “What’s her number?”
I shrug, pretending it doesn’t matter, but still wanting to protect Mystery Girl.Strange. “Thought she was just some random puck bunny.”
“Looks like a rabid one,” the transfer mutters.
Guys start crowding around, drawn by horror and curiosity.
