Page 126 of Slew Foot
A little reluctantly, Mickey lowered his legs.
“Be very slow and careful as you shift into a seated position,” Dakota instructed. “The sudden change in blood pressure could potentially trigger some dizziness.”
Mickey did, and to his relief, his head didn’t swim the way it had earlier.
“How do you feel?” Dakota asked when they were seated cross-legged facing each other.
“Pretty good,” Mickey said, surprised but glad to be proven wrong. “I … there’s no dizziness right now. No ringing. Just the whooshing, which isn’t so bad.”
He’d prefer if everything would go back to normal, but he could probably live with the whoosh, if he had to.
The rest of it had to go if he wanted to play hockey though. And then he cringed at the thought of how much worse it would get in the noise of the arena.
“That’s great news!” Dakota beamed. “Now, you’re safe to do any of these poses at home on your own. There’s no danger of overdoing it, although I’d be cautious of the ear pressure pose. I wouldn’t do more than we did here today. And no more than once or twice per day.”
“Okay,” Mickey agreed. “Thanks. This went a lot better than I expected actually.”
Dakota’s mouth quirked up into an amused smile. “I get that a lot.”
When Mickey left the yoga studio, guys were coming off the ice after practice. The familiar smell of cold air and ice resurfacer fluid made his chest ache. He watched his teammates trompdown the hall, big and lumbering in their skates and gear, and he rubbed at the Harriers logo on his T-shirt.
Rafe was laughing at something Tanner said, and a flash of jealousy went through Mickey. Not jealousy over them having fun together, but because he wasn’t a part of it.
There was a chance he mightneverbe a part of it again.
He was only twenty-three. What if his career was already over?
“What’s wrong?” Rafe asked a few days later as he sat up. His lips were swollen from kissing, and his hair was a mess from Mickey’s hands. He was shirtless in nothing but a snug pair of briefs that showed off his hard cock.
He was the most beautiful thing Mickey had ever seen.
But if he hadn’t been reading his lips, Mickey would have struggled to know what he said. As is, it was hard to tell for surewhathe said with that damn ringing sound in Mickey’s ear but since it was only the one ear and he’d been facing Rafe and staring at his lips when he spoke, he’d caught it.
Rafe leaned in. “Is it your head?”
Mickey bit back the urge to snarl, “Of course it is. What else would it be?” but he knew Rafe was simply worried about him.
“Yes,” he admitted aloud.
“You should lay down,” Rafe said. Or at least, that was what Mickey was pretty sure he’d said because he started to turn away.
Mickey grumbled but he carefully shifted to his side, hoping Rafe would want to keep going. But he reached for his sweatpants instead, pulling them on.
“No,” Mickey protested, even as his stomach swooped dizzyingly at the change in position. Yoga had helped, but it hadn’t helped for long.
Mickey had done yoga and deep breathing until he was thoroughly sick of it but it hadn’t fixed anything. It hadn’t cured anything. No one had promised it would. Not Dr. Pope or Dakota. They’d only said it might help. Offer him temporary relief.
But a small part of him had been hoping for a miracle.
“Yes,” Rafe said, settling beside him, gently forcing Mickey to lie still.
He pulled Mickey closer, and Mickey buried his head in the crook of Rafe’s neck and breathed him in. Rafe ran a large, warm palm up and down Mickey’s back. It was soothing, as was the scent of Rafe’s body.
But Mickey hated this. He hated it because this wasn’t what he wanted.
He wanted to pin Rafe to the bed. He wanted to play hockey. He wanted life to go back tonormal.
He let out a frustrated groan and Rafe pulled him closer. He whispered something but he was talking in Mickey’s left ear, and he couldn’t hear him.
