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“Stranger things have happened.”
I give him a critical once over, wondering not just why he’s being so chill about this, but why he’d spare me from the people’s wrath. My dick isn’t that spectacular.
“Sure, we can go with that plan. You tripped over your own big feet doing something you probably mastered when you were one. Now what?”
“Now, I find out how bad this is.”
“How?”
“I call the team doctor and ask him to make a house call.” He pulls his cell from his pocket and selects the doctor from his contacts, pausing to give me a forlorn look before he makes the call. “You should probably head home, just to make sure you aren’t linked to this.”
He’s right—the only way to stay completely out of this is to make myself scarce—but I don’t jump up and make my exit the way I should. Even though I’m zero help right now, maybe even less than zero, it feels pretty shitty to leave him hurt and alone. Especially, when he looks so lost.
It goes against everything in my free-spirited, no-strings, me-first persona, but I can’t abandon him. Not now.
“What if I just hide until the doctor leaves? Then if you need that beer, I can get it for you.” Omigod did he almost smile? I really am getting better at comforting him or whatever.
“That won’t work if he sees your car in the driveway.” Noah’s face reverts to the pitiful look he was wearing when he suggested I go home.
“I’ll stash it in your garage.” I lift a shoulder to my ear. “It looks big enough to be its own car lot.”
“It only holds three cars.”
“Do you have three cars?” I ask pointedly.
“No.”
“Perfect. You have room for mine then. I’ll put it away and hide in your bedroom until the coast is clear.” Coast is clear? Great. Now, I’ve invoked Scooby Doo. Too bad I can’t ask Noah’s doc for an MRI because something is clearly off with my brain.
I hop up before my mouth can do any more damage to my totally badass image and head off to find my keys. But before I can make it too far, I hear my name.
“Tripp?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.” Noah offers me a sad smile, and it hits me that he’s scared of what comes next.
You and me both, big guy.
Chapter 15 – Noah
Dr. Cutter checks the images he took with the portable x-ray on his laptop while I sit helpless on the couch, trying not to panic.
Given our performance last year, and the way we’ve been looking so far, I know in my heart we have a shot at the cup this year. Or we did. Not to say our backup goalie can’t do the job, or to sound cocky myself, but there’s a reason he’s the backup. He doesn’t have my reflexes. Or my size. He’ll give us a fighting chance, but guys like Niko will have to step up, and he’s already playing at an elite level at the most elite level there is.
It's not realistic to think we’ll get through an entire season without suffering some injuries among the team, but to start the season that way… To get hurt off the ice no less… I fucked up. Put the entire team and our season at risk. And now I’m going to lie about how it happened.
Tripp doesn’t deserve the fallout that will come his way if people find out he was here. We were both horsing around, but I’m the only one with a contract that states I won’t take unnecessary risks. And while I regret that my decision could affect the team, I don’t regret those moments with Tripp. We were flirting, both of us, and it felt natural. I liked it. I want to do it again, without the chasing and the injury, of course.
I knew before I hit the ground that something was seriously wrong. The pain hadn’t even come, it was just the unfamiliar motion of my ankle that tipped me off, and I was probably on the ground a full two seconds, knowing I was in trouble, before the agony hit. It’s faded to a dull ache now thanks to the ice, which gives me some hope that things might be better than I first thought. The fact that the doctor hasn’t said anything for nearly fifteen minutes isn’t helping my mental state though.
God, I wish Tripp was sitting next to me.
Knowing he’s in the house helps, but if he were here he’d probably say something ridiculous to distract me, like, “I wonder what my dick looks like on an x-ray?” to which Dr. Cutter would probably gasp and turn beet red and maybe even have to wrestle the thing away from Tripp when he tries to take his own picture.
I know the man is an acquired taste for most, but I envy his ability to say whatever comes to mind. It’s refreshing. And even though it’s sometimes obnoxious, I like that he’s not afraid to be himself.
“Do you need anything for the pain?” Dr. Cutter interrupts my imaginary scene as he finishes wrapping my ankle.
