Page 50 of One Pucking Heart

“How’d you get a knife through security?” It shouldn’t be my first question, but I’m curious.

He shrugs. “I didn’t go through security. I came in with my uncle.”

“Right.” I nod, dabbing at his hand with the towel. “Why an apple?”

“Because the food here is not healthy at all. I can’t eat that stuff.”

The coach’s nephew is different from most high school boys I’ve worked with. “Makes sense. Well, good news is you did not cut your finger off, not even close. In fact, you don’t need stitches.”

“But all the blood.” He stares at his hand, wide eyed.

“Fingers are one of the places on your body that bleed a lot. The amount of blood can be deceiving.” I finish cleaning him up, put some antibiotic ointment on the cut, and wrap his finger in a Band-Aid. “You’re good to go.” I throw out the gauze and towel and discard my gloves in the trash.

“Wow. Okay. Thank you.” The boy looks at his hand like he’s grateful his finger is still there.

After a trip to the bathroom to wash my hands, it’s almost time for the second period to start. It was so warm in the sound booth I forgot all about my torment. Yet as I descend the stairs and get closer to the ice, the air becomes more chilly, and I’m once again reminded of the torture that awaits.

Beckett is leaned over his skate, adjusting his laces. “Where were you?”

“Coach’s nephew needed me.”

“Oh.” Beckett nods as if no more explanation is needed. He finishes up with his skate and reaches for something on the bench. “I brought you something.” He hands me a navy blue Cranes jacket.

I could literally break down and cry. “Oh my gosh. You’re my hero.”

He leans over and gives me a kiss. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“Good luck out there.”

“I don’t need luck. I have talent.” He winks and skates out onto the ice.

I shake my head with a chuckle. That man needs to learn how to be humble. Then again, if he were, he wouldn’t be Beckett. I zip up the jacket and release a contented sigh. I’m immediately warm. The jacket is big on me and falls past my hips, bringing toasty relief to most of my body.

“Nice jacket.” Eddy nods in approval. “Great number.”

I look down at the white block number eighteen on my chest. I laugh and look up to find Beckett grinning like a fool out on the ice.

In the end, he got me to wear his number. I can’t even be mad because I’m infinitely happier with this jacket on, and though I’m afraid to admit it, in more ways than one.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ELENA

Jaden and I are the last ones in the locker room. Hands outstretched behind him, he’s propped up on the bench. His right leg is extended, resting atop a hard surface—and he has a heat compress on his knee.

He drops his head back, letting it fall between his shoulder blades. “You’re killing me, Doc.”

The team has been unanimously calling me Doc, and I’m so grateful to Beckett for making it clear that they were not allowed to address me as Hottie. No self-respecting sports med doctor should be referred to as such.

“No, I’m helping you. If you don’t want your tendinitis to get worse, you have to take care of it.” I grab the roll of athletic tape and a towel and walk over to Jaden.

He looks up at me. “I’ve been playing with it for years. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Yeah, well… you’re lucky you’re young. Your body bounces back more easily, but that won’t always be the case. There’s no reason you have to be in pain. We can manage it so it doesn’t bother you.”

“It barely hurts. I hardly notice it. But I am very aware that all the guys are out celebrating our win, and I’m stuck here. I don’t think you realize how awesome the bars are here in Seattle.” He pins me with a pleading stare.

I shake my head. “I’ll have you out of here in two minutes.”

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