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The door opens behind me, and I take another measured breath, ready to help this doctor see it’s time to send me home—except it’s not a doctor or a nurse or one of the guys the team sent over.
“Allie.”
Those big blue eyes rush over me, taking in the stitches above my ear and on my forearm, the bag of ice wrapped around my knee. I’m glad I’m wearing my sport shorts and a T-shirt instead of one of those gown things that make everyone look frail and fucking weak, because this girl looks like she’s had all she can take.
“Are you okay?” she whispers, worry etched in every line of her face and filling her already red-rimmed eyes with tears I don’t think I can handle. But then the first one slips past her lashes and—fuck—I’m done.
Crossing what’s a thankfully small room, I pull her into my side and wrap my arms around her. “I’m fine. Few stitches and a couple bruises. They’re just being careful.” Ruling out a concussion like Baxter’s and any significant damage that would keep me off the ice. “How’s your brother?”
A little nod. “He’s okay. They’re doing some more tests, just to be safe.”
I’m glad to hear it. The way Baxter went down tonight—that was rough.
Natalie buries her face against my chest and I can feel her breath over my heart. I shouldn’t push it, take more than she means for me to have, but I can’t keep my hands from running over her hair and smoothing down her back. I can’t keep from touching her like she’s still mine.
But if she were mine, I’d be pulling her up onto that shit hospital bed with me and holding her until she felt better.
After a moment, she draws back, but just enough to get a look at me. Her fingers come up to feather over the skin near my stitches. “Does it hurt?”
Yeah, but not the way she’s asking. The ache I can’t get past is all about her. “Not much.”
She nods, and her touch trails lower, whispering over my jaw.
Jesus, that feels good. Too good. I swallow roughly, my hand fisting at the small of her back so I don’t slide it into her hair. But she feels it and her eyes come back to mine.
That look. Searching and uncertain. Vulnerable.
Baby, don’t look at me like that.
Her thumb skims the edge of my bottom lip, below the split. It’s soft and light and I feel it all the fucking way through me. It short-circuits my brain and jumpstarts that lifeless organ in the center of my chest.
Catching her hand in mine, I tell myself it’s to stop that too-good touch before I do something we’ll both regret. Only once my fingers close around hers, the last thing I’m thinking about is pulling her away. Instead I rub my open mouth across the pad of her thumb, the sting from the cut blurring with the heaven of this not-quite-kiss.
Her breath hitches and her lips part. Her eyes dropping to the point of contact between us—to where I’m drawing her hand down to my chest—then climbing back to my mouth as I move closer. Dip lower. Find that spot where our breath meets, warm and wet in a space that’s nearly gone.
Knock, knock, knock…
She jerks back from my hold as the dickhead I’ve been waiting to discharge me comes ambling in, nose in my chart, completely oblivious to the cockblock he just served up. But one look at Natalie’s too bright eyes and the way she’s hugging her arms around herself like she’s afraid she might come apart, and I know I should probably thank the guy.
She wasn’t here because she missed me. She was here because she was worried about me. And maybe she needed a little comfort.
Not some dick looking for the first opportunity to take advantage of her.
I know it, and yet I can’t make myself look away from her long enough to meet the doctor’s eyes, because I’m still hoping I’ll see something that tells me I’m wrong. That even though I’m a fucking hockey player and I’m leaving, she wants me anyway.
“Everything looks good, Mr. Vassar. We ought to have you out of here in the next few minutes.” He looks over at Natalie, a furrow digging between his brows. “Is this your ride home?”
She shakes her head, backing toward the door. “No, I was just… checking in. I should see if Greg’s back. Glad you’re okay, Vaughn.”
Chapter 21
Vaughn
I’d be an asshole if I wasn’t relieved to see Baxter at the practice rink this afternoon.
But I’d be a liar if I said being first line these past two and a half weeks and having a bullshit-free locker room wasn’t fucking nice too. No glowers while suiting up. No conversations about Natalie I tell myself I don’t need to hear but can’t stop listening for. No feeling like an outsider on someone else’s team.
Whatever.
