Page 56 of Body Check

“When you’re ready to tell me, you will,” he says confidently. “I trust he won’t get wasted and need help back to the hotel tonight?”

“I’m not the teams’ keeper. I don’t know where he or the rest of the guys are going.”

He hums. “Sure, you don’t.”

“Patrice talked about this dive bar on First Street,” I mention to deflect the conversation. “It sounds good.”

“I’m always down for a dive bar.” He gives me one last scrutinizing look. “It would be okay, you know? If you did have a thing for him.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t have a thing for him.”

“Just… take care of yourself.” He squeezes my arm. “He has a lot of shit going on. I hope he can give you what you need.”

“Right now, what I need is you getting out of my space.” I only have a few minutes before Jenkins shows up.

To my surprise, Robby envelops me in a hug. “Love you, Meels,” he murmurs into my hair.

With a sigh, I sink into him. “Love you, too, Robby.”

He means well, misguided as he is. There’s nothing between me and Jason. It was one night. That’s all it was. That’s all it will ever be.

Buffalo won’t give us an inch. I’m in the tunnel with the rest of the staff, clustered together to watch the action a few feet away. It’s the middle of the third period, and the boys are rowdy. They don’t like being down two goals, and they especially don’t like three penalty kills in seven minutes.

And only one of those was actually Jenkins’ fault. The other two were circumstantial at best, the result of sloppy play and lack of discipline. The situation is getting dicey, and that means someone’s about to get hurt. Hopefully, it’ll be someone on the other team, and not one of my players.

Derek is the tape and glue guy; he patches together what he can, and Doctor Hudson will stitch any facial injuries, if it comes to that. My job is more of the recovery and maintenance variety than acute treatment. For most of what I do, the patient has to rest and ice first before I can assess the damage and put together a plan of attack.

The game is getting chippy, and the chirps are decidedly less than polite. I don’t know what Jenkins did to draw the ire of the entire Buffalo bench, aside from existing, because they’ve been after him all night long. When he finally snapped and tripped Hastings, it was entirely justified.

Well—mostly.

Hockey is still a team sport, and he’s letting his frustration get the better of him rather than let the team shut Hastings down.

Mainly because the team as a whole is failing to shut anything down. MacGregor loses the face-off, and the Buffalo forward passes the puck to Hastings.

Logan tries to block him and deflect the play, but Hastings saucers the puck across the ice. McKittrick tries to get a stick on it, but his poke check only succeeds in poking Hastings’ skates, and the opposing forward falls to the ice.

The ref blows the whistle and calls the penalty. Tripping.

Fuck.

The staffers in my immediate vicinity sigh and groan as the Buffalo stands erupt with cheers.

McKittrick is pissed. He skates to the penalty box with murderous intent on his face.

Coach Turner calls a time out, but as the players huddle around the clipboard, my eyes are on the captain across the ice.

He’s stewing in his frustration, his face red from anger and exertion. His dark hair is soaked with sweat, and even from across the arena, I can see the way how wild his dark eyes are, darting around the ice like a caged animal.

It’s only two minutes.

The ref blows the whistle, signaling the time out has ended, and I watch as Larsson, MacGregor, Logan, and Sinclair take the ice, ready to kill off the captain’s penalty.

They’re mostly successful. They keep Buffalo on their toes for one minute and forty-seven seconds.

And then when Logan clears the puck, it ends up right on the tape of fucking Hastings, and the asshole snipes a shot on goal.

Luckily, Henry’s on top of it, kicking out with his pad to deflect the shot. But he isn’t fast enough to control the rebound, and another Buffalo player—I can’t see his name from here—cleans it up, firing left side high.