Page 47 of Just Forever

He shakes his head and blinks. “I think I might’ve just discovered a new kink. Eat some more of that burger. And do it slowly.”

“This makes me feel both flattered and a bit dirty, but not in the good way.” I take a bite anyway. Ryk laughs, and a sudden bolt of longing shoots right through me. He’s only been away three days. I should really get a grip because this is just the first of many away games he’s going to be traveling for this season. It’s just that the first one is the hardest.

Common sense fucks off to parts unknown.

I miss him.

It’s an ache in my chest. An absence that can’t be filled by anybody else.

Why, exactly, did I think falling in love was a good idea?

No clue.

But it’s too late now anyway. We’re already here.

And now he’s on his third day of a five-day road trip and everything sucks.

“Congrats on the win,” I say. I watched the Blades eke out a narrow 3-2 victory against Chicago earlier, biting my fingernails to shreds and shouting at the TV. Ryker scored a last-minute goal, and I’ve been on cloud nine ever since.

“Thanks. It was a good game.”

He leans back on a mountain of pillows, and his bare chest comes into view. I hungrily take him in.

“Enjoying yourself?” Ryker asks teasingly.

“Aim the camera a little lower.” My voice has gone husky, and the food is all but forgotten.

He does.

And the abs are just as great as the chest.

With one notable exception.

I let out a string of curses when I see the massive bruise on the left side of his body. You’d think I’d be used to it by now—seeing him like this right after a game when, more often than not, he’ll come out of it looking like somebody’s spent an hour pummeling him with a mallet.

“What the hell happened?” I demand, back going stiff, even though I know perfectly well why his whole side is a nice purplish-blue color.

Ryk frowns and looks down his body, clearly unaware what might’ve caused that outburst.

“Oh.” He laughs again when his eyes zero in on his side, and he catches up. “Got slammed into the boards. It looks worse than it is.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. It looks pretty damn bad.”

I will never understand how hockey players can just shrug off their injuries. Like my husband is doing right now.

“It sucked, but hey, this time I didn’t break anything, so there’s that.”

“You’re a real silver linings type of guy.”

It’s only recently that he’s started making jokes like those, which is a good sign, I figure. I imagine it’s pretty damn hard not to flinch away when giant hockey players barrel toward you at top speed, especially after an incident like that left you with a broken femur not too long ago.

Ryker seems unbothered by the prospect though, so I try to curb the scowling and the overprotectiveness. As if I could do anything to stop him from getting hurt. I mean, I could start following him around everywhere he goes, like a groupie, and then… Yeah, Lake. Then what? Then you’ll jump on the ice whenever somebody approaches him and drive them off? Great plan.

“Stop glaring at the bruise.” Ryker rolls his eyes. “How’s the studying going?”

“Slowly,” I say.

I have an exam coming up, so I’ve been back in the familiar territory of keeping my nose in a book. It’s not that I expected medical school to be easy, but I somehow still underestimated just how much work it entails. I have quizzes every Monday and biweekly tests, and now I have my first block exam approaching. There are three each semester and they’re supposedly like finals. I guess we’ll see if that’s true.

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