Page 60 of Punchline
A second later, though, I realized it wasn’t my equilibrium giving up the ghost—it was Jake rolling over beside me. Because we were in his bed.
I exhaled, letting my eyelids slide closed. No wonder I was so much more comfortable than I’d been at the hospital. Jake’s bed wasthe best.
Especially when Jake was in it. Which he was. Because he’d been there last night. At the hospital—right?—but also at the game.
Where he had an unobstructed view of…
Before I could stop myself, I groaned aloud.
Beside me, Jake whipped around and pushed himself up on his elbow. “Hey—you okay? You good?”
No, I kind of wanted to die, but that wasn’t what he was asking. Face burning, I met his concerned gaze. “I’m good.”
His brow was pinched so hard, the muscles in his forehead must’ve been aching. He touched my shoulder. “Do you need a pain pill?”
The pain wasn’t so bad, but the offer was tempting if only because the drugs would make me stupid enough not to care about my boyfriend witnessing my on-ice fuckup.
“Hey.” His fingertips brushed beneath my jaw. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I just feel like shit.”
Jake grimaced. “I bet. Your X-rays looked… ” He shuddered.
“You saw them?”
He nodded.
“How bad is it? I’m pretty sure they told me, but… ” I gestured at my head. “Last night’s all kind of foggy.”
That made him laugh softly, which relaxed his features a little. “You did seem to be flying pretty high.” He paused, and he must’ve seen the renewed embarrassment on my face because he carefully slid closer and kissed my cheek. “You put up a damn good fight, Ethan. You did good. Seriously.”
“Except for… ” I gestured at my broken hand.
He smiled and smoothed my hair, then pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “That happens. It happens to top-tier fighters. Sometimes it’s just bad luck, you know? He moved in a way you didn’t expect. You misjudged the angle or the distance. One of you shifted just right because, you know, you’re on ice?” He chuckled. “MMA fighters do that shit all the time, and we’re fighting on mats, not ice.”
I searched his eyes, and I found nothing but kindness, sincerity, and sympathy. Slowly, I started to relax. “So I didn’t fuck up?”
“Nah. I mean it—you put up a good fight. I don’t think that fucker knew what hit him.”
I laughed. “Well, that’s good, I guess. I’d been wanting to kick his ass all damn night. Just didn’t think it would cost me my whole season.”
“Doesn’t sound like it will.”
I raised my eyebrows.
Jake half-shrugged. “From what Marek and the doctor were saying, you’ll be in a cast for a few weeks, and you’ll need to rehab it. But there’s still a lot of season left. Marek said you’ll be back in time for the playoffs for sure.”
For the first time since my face had connected with that dickwaffle’s cheekbone, I managed to smile and really feel it. “Well,hopefully they can play good enough without me tomakethe playoffs.”
“You guys are pretty firmly in a playoff spot, aren’t you?”
I couldn’t explain why, but it made my heart flutter that Jake knew my team’s standings. “If the playoffs started today, yeah. There’s still a lot of time, though—plenty of time for us to tank or a dark horse to come along and elbow us out.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“Often enough that everyone starts side-eying the standings a month or two ahead of the playoffs to see if anyone might make the jump. It isn’t like football where you kind of know two weeks into the season who’s going to the playoffs. In hockey, anything can happen.”
“Wow. Do the dark horses ever win the whole thing?”
