Page 40 of Offside

“Karis, it’s okay. Look at me, I’m fine.” I motion with my hands over my body. Granted, my head hurts and I’ll still have to go through some neurological testing, but I’m no worse for wear.

Karis gives me a once-over and then gets to her feet. She begins to pace at the end of the bed, pivoting on her heels and repeating the process. She’s back to herdon’t fuck with me brilliance and offers me a look that says,it’s not okay, idiot.

“Do you mind telling me what you saw? What happened exactly?” I don’t want to upset her further but it’d help to get the play-by-play from a firsthand witness if possible. “I don’t remember much of what happened, only that Russo had been hurling insults at me through the entire first period, trying to get under my skin, but I didn’t play along.”

“Hey old man, you need a cane to go with those skates?”

“Is that the best you got? Old? At least I’m not fucking ugly, Russo.”

I snort at the memory. There was a lot more of that, but nothing prepared me for that dirty penalty against the boards.

Karis takes a seat on a chair in the corner of the room, a few feet from the bed, and after a long inhalation, she expels the air through her mouth like she’s practicing a yoga technique.

I get myself comfortable once more, fluffing the pillows behind me and keeping my eyes trained on Karis. She closes her eyes and massages her temple.

“Kip told me how much Russo dislikes you.”

I laugh wryly. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“I’m not sure what’s between you two or how far back it goes, but what he did? It wasn’t about playing hockey.” She casts her eyes down to the floor and shakes her head. When she lifts her gaze back and I see her concern and resolve.

“He was trying to end your career.”

18

Karis

Ballas sucks in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he rubs a palm over his temple.

“Yeah, I kinda get that now. The shit Russo pulled tonight was uncalled for.” He kicks off the sheet and clasps his hands behind his head to lean against the pillows. “Will you tell me exactly what you saw?”

I give him a nod and check my phone, hoping to have received a follow-up to my request by now from Nate McGowan.

While Ballas was getting his things together in the locker room after the game and receiving well-wishes from his teammates, I immediately went to see Nate in his office and told him to contact the commissioner and relay my message.

“I want the league to know that what Sergei Russo did to Keeney is unacceptable and I expect them to take action,” I’d said sharply, brooking no argument.

For once, Nate seemed to be on the same page with me. To say we’ve butt heads since I took over from my uncle is an understatement. There’s always an underlying current of misogyny in the way he responds to me. Sometimes it’s the way he glowers at me when he thinks I’m not looking, other times it’s the slight digs and condescending remarks that border on being rude and disrespectful.

I’ve let them slide for the most part because, truthfully, I’m a novice at this game and as a woman, I don’t want to seem like a whiny brat who can’t handle the locker room talk linked with professional sports. I’ve been forced to rely on Nate and his staff to educate me, just as I did with Marek when I took over the Pilots team several years ago.

But tonight, I know what I witnessed, and it was flagrant. The minute I saw Ballas’s head snap against the glass, his body ricocheting from the boards and falling to the ice, I knew the hit should result in something bigger than just a penalty.

“Russo does not deserve to play another day on our ice or any other ice until his actions are dealt with properly.”

And now as I tell Ballas what I saw, my temper flares once more on the type of swift and just punishment the league should give Sergei Russo.

“It all happened so fast. One minute you got the pass and you’re flying down the ice before passing it off to Costa, the crowd all cheering because Costa is owning it on the breakaway. The next moment, Sergei pummels you into the boards. You hadn’t had the puck for seconds, so you didn’t expect the hit.” I pause and lift my hand to chest as I mentally recall the image that stole my breath away. “Your skates literally left the ice, your body slammed into the boards, and you fell in a motionless heap.”

Ballas closes his eyes and grimaces in pain. I get up from my chair and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay? Can I get you some more pain reliever?”

Ballas’s hand covers mine with a gentle squeeze. “It’s all good. I just don’t remember any of that, so it’s a bit alarming, that’s all.”

Speaking of alarm, the doorbell chimes down the hallway with the order I’d placed twenty minutes ago. I’d let the doorman know to let the delivery guy in.

“That’s our dinner. I’ll be right back.”

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