Page 84 of Slap Shot

“It’s okay.” I blow out a breath when the air hits my bare skin. “It had to be done.”

“Hudson.” Madeline’s fingers graze my right shoulder. They dance down my arm then back up to my collarbone, and the featherlight touch is like a balm on the ache. “This is a nasty mark. It’s definitely going to bruise.”

“Not pretty, is it?” I glance down at the souvenir courtesy of my dickbag opponent. “I’m sure it’ll be worse tomorrow.”

“Does your body always look this banged up?”

“No. I mean, I’m sore after games, but it’s from exerting myself. I don’t normally have battle wounds besides the occasional cut or scrape. Tonight is an exception.”

“I would’ve decked the guy if I were you,” she says under her breath, and I laugh. “What? I’m serious.”

“Fighting is one of the reasons people watch hockey. He wasn’t going to just let me score. The hit was aggressive, yeah, but he was doing his job.”

“Wouldyouhave hit someone that hard?”

“No.” I think about the time I accidentally high sticked an opponent. He had to leave the game to get stitches, and I felt terrible for weeks. “It happens, unfortunately.”

Madeline doesn’t say anything else on the matter. She takes a step back, eyes dropping to my pants. “Do you need help with those?”

“Oh. Um.” I blush and clear my throat. “It’s only one button. I think I can get them.”

“Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.”

“You aren’t,” I hurry to say. “Thanks for the offer. I have some pajama pants in my dresser. Top drawer. Could you grab me a pair?”

“Any preference?” She goes from the bathroom to my room, and I do my best to make quick work of the button of my pants and the zipper. The thought of her touching me in that way makes my head spin even more than it already is, and I want to speed this up. “Plaid? Navy? Do these have unicorns on them?”

“You can thank my teammates for those.” I stare at my reflection in the mirror and frown when I get a good look at the aftermath from the hit. It’s not pretty, and it makes sense why I’m ready for some more pain medicine. “We did movie night at an away game last season. Everyone had to bring a ridiculous pair of pajama bottoms for a teammate. Maverick thought hewas being cute when he handed me those. I gave him ones with pickles on them, so I got the last laugh.”

“You know that’s the pair you’re getting, right?” Madeline calls out.

“I would’ve been disappointed otherwise.”

She walks back into the bathroom. Her eyes drop to my briefs, but they don’t linger there for very long. She moves her attention to my face and offers me a wide smile. “Here you go.”

“Mind if I hold you while I put them on?”

“Use my shoulder.” She bends over and taps my left leg. I step into the first side, accidentally pulling her hair when I almost topple to the side. “Easy there, hockey guy.”

“Sorry. My balance is off. Did I hurt you?”

“Lucy pulled my hair much harder when she was younger. I’ll survive.” Madeline touches my right thigh. She tips her head back to look at me with wide eyes. “You have athightattoo?”

I grin and reach down, dragging my thumb over the collection of flowers inked above my knee. There’s a rose and a hibiscus. A lily and a red chrysanthemum. They all form a heart bouquet that takes up a six-inch space on my skin. “I do.”

“Can I… would it be okay if I touched it?”

“Yeah,” I rasp, closing my eyes when her nails trace over the design. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. It’s so intricate. And the colors are gorgeous. What do the numbers mean?”

“It’s the day my life changed.”

I don’t mention it, but they mark the last time I held Mom’s hand. It’s the last time I told her I loved her. It was the last time she was in pain, and it didn’t feel right to get the tattoo without including that pivotal date with it.

Flowers were Mom’s thing. She watched the social media channels of some gardening guy down in Florida and learned how to grow her own garden out in the backyard. I’d come homeduring the summer and see her hands covered in dirt while she planted the new seeds she picked up at the farmer’s market. There was always a vase on the coffee table in the living room, a different bouquet every week.

After she passed, I wanted to find a way to carry her with me. I wanted her at every game—even the ones I lost. If she were here, she’d probably give me a damn earful for permanently marking up my skin, but this seems like the perfect way to honor her.

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