Page 132 of Stick Side
The second period went much the way of the first, with both teams having great opportunities to score, but no one was able to get the puck in the net. The teams were evenly matched with luck not seeming to favor either side.
Harrison, a real hot dog of a player, skated by Ben, his flow somehow oddly fitting his showboating style of play.
“Come on, boys. Let’s light the lamp!” Coach McGuire encouraged from the bench.
Ben dug deep and raced to cover Harrison, having a sixth sense the puck was headed his way.
His intuition proved correct, which granted him the opportunity to catch the puck with the tip of his stick, effectively blocking the pass.
Ben raced to the boards and tried to dig out the puck before Harrison could. He’d just gained possession when he was slammed into the boards.
The metallic scent of blood hit Ben’s nostrils just as crimson red splashed against the inside of his visor. He took another hit from Harrison, who was fighting desperately to steal the puck. In the fracas, Ben lost his footing and went down.
Chapter 67
Melody
Ifanyonehadaskedher, Melody could swear her heart stopped when Ben went down. And that was nothing compared to how she’d felt when she saw blood splatter across the ice.
As she raced through the stadium underground, waving her VIP badge at anyone who looked inclined to stop her, she couldn’t help but ruminate on what an idiot she’d been. Had she really been thinking of tossing aside an exceptional relationship just because of something as silly as the possibility of periodic media involvement? When she looked at all the potential issues that could affect a relationship—physical violence, substance abuse, actual infidelity—finding herself splashed across the gossip rags didn’t seem quite so bad.
Did she like it? Absolutely not, but the real tragedy would have been allowing other people’s idle tongues—and keyboards—to torpedo her relationship.
Melody had felt reassured when Ben had been able to get up and skate himself off the ice under his own steam, but that didn’t necessarily speak to the severity of his injuries. Adrenaline was a powerful thing and hockey players were used to playing throughpain. Many of them would practically have to be hit by a Mack truck to be kept down.
Melody was just this side of frantic by the time she reached the dressing room. The guard recognized her, so he just held the door open and waved her in.
Melody took an educated guess and sped toward the medical treatment rooms. She skidded to a halt when she saw Ben sitting on an exam table, shirtless, with his head tipped down and a cloth to his nose. A few drops of blood peppered his chest.
She took a step forward, wanting to leap into his arms and assure herself he was okay, but quickly stopped herself. She didn’t know what injuries he had. Until she did, it would be better if she kept her distance.
The squeak of her sneakers must have caught his attention because he lifted his head and turned to look at her.
“Melody?” he inquired, blinking in surprise.
Oh, God.Did he have a head injury? Was he unsure who she was?
She felt the blood drain from her face when he pulled the cloth away from his nose. It was saturated with blood. She stumbled back in surprise.
Ben glanced at her no-doubt ashen complexion and then at the blood-soaked cloth.
“It’s okay,” he reassured as he slowly got up off the table, threw the dirty cloth in a garbage can, and grabbed a fresh one. He held it up to his nose for a few seconds before pulling it away and studying it.
Melody let out a relieved breath when she saw the cloth had come away clean. Thank God. That had to be a good sign, right?
Ben tossed the still-white cloth on the exam table and took a few steps toward her. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “It was just a nosebleed.”
Melody blinked. “What?” she asked, confused. “But you went down.”
Ben’s lips pulled to the side in a minor grimace, but he kept his gaze reassuring. “I was distracted by the blood and didn’t shift my weight properly when I was hit,” he explained. “The force of which caused me to lose my balance.”
“So, you’re okay?” she sought to confirm, her tone no doubt conveying the extent of her worry.
A warm smile lit his face. He seemed to like knowing she’d been concerned about him.
“I’m really okay, sweetheart,” he consoled, the honeyed tones of his voice helping to soothe the rest of her fears away.
He took a few more steps forward, until he was just in front of her. “It’s all the dry air from the airplanes and hockey rinks,” Ben explained. “It doesn’t usually happen during a game, but the chronic low humidity results in a nosebleed or two a season.”
