Page 16 of The Price of Ice

“Why...?” He swallowed. It was a stupid question. He knew why, because Levy was his friend and Kallen hadasked himto look after him during this heat. That had been enough to get him to defy their captain. Why would it not be enough to make him miss practice? He looked away. “I’m okay, you should go.”

“You sure?” Levy tried, and Kallen avoided his gaze, only gave him a firm nod.

“The team needs you,” he offered, way too serious and awkward, but he couldn’t do any better, not right then, half naked and feeling like Levy had probably seen a lot more than his arse.

His friend had pointed to his charged mobile phone on the bedside table and insisted on bringing a bottle of water for him first, but he’d gone.

HE WAS WARMLY COCOONEDin strong arms, an equally strong leg tangled with his own and the scent of safety all around him. There was laughter in his ear, a low satisfied rumble, and when he twisted to expose his neck, he got nuzzled right where he was most sensitive. He hadn’t known it was possible to feel this good.

So of course he turned, seeking more of it...

And he woke up on the edge of the double bed.

The shock of nearly falling had nothing on the disappointment of finding himself alone.

Of course he was alone, he’d sent Levy to do his fucking job. Only...Was that real? Had they really been like that last night?Heat hormones were like a drug and post-heat wasn’t much better, a shot of oxytocin straight to the brain that facilitated things such as bonding.

Levy had said they’d slept together, that Kallen had wantedskin-on-skincontact. Did that mean Levy had been...? He buried his face on the sheets, muffling a frustrated growl, and got a noseful of their mixed scents for his trouble.

His cock twitched where it was still bare, and Kallen rolled onto his back with vicious satisfaction.No fucking way, he’d had sex for hours the day before and no way was he going to jerk it to his best friend in the team cuddling him. Especially not when his team could be playing right that moment.

Levycould be playing. That helped clear his head some, and he glanced around until he spotted the remote across the room on the other bedside table.

He hated the idea of getting out from under the covers, but he went slowly and his legs proved willing to hold him up when he got on them.

He stumbled to grab the remote and dragged the phone to his own bedside to put a call through to room service. Then he made the effort of putting on underwear and the baggy bottoms Levy had selected from his own luggage. Selected perfectly too, since Kallen had brought them for afterheat.

He needed more than soup if he was going to get on a plane with his team in a few hours.

Finding the channel felt like an odyssey, even though hockey games in the Premier League mostly played on one specific channel, the hotel seemed to have assigned a different numberto it somehow and he had to surf through what seemed to be every sport ever invented before he got the right one.

He sighed in relief when he saw they hadn’t scored and were only ten minutes into the game itself. And then there was a crash in the corner of the ice closest to the Otters’ goal and his throat seized with terror. It couldn’t be... But the announcer was already talking about number 19 being down.Levy. One of the Otters’ defenders had crashed into him, even though he hadn’t had the puck. The guy was actually hovering around as several of the Cats skated over ahead of their harried medic.

Kallen threw the blankets off, ignoring the remote bouncing on the floor, and stumbled to his feet, catching himself on the edge of the bed to avoid falling over himself. He stole another glance at the screen, but the camera angle wasn’t showing anything useful, and the announcer’s words weren’t quite penetrating. His sneakers were by the door but his socks were nowhere to be seen, so he put them on without, shoved the keycard in his pocket and paused long enough to think to grab his wallet and his mobile.

He ran into the room service guy on his way out and managed to explain he didn’t want the food because there was an emergency. The guy even walked him down to reception and made them call him a taxi to take him to the Otters’ stadium, and in the meantime, he went on his phone to try to find an update from the game. The Cats had scored, that was all he could find, like it mattered when Levy was hurt. When they’d probably scored on the power play after the man who’d hurt him had been temporarily sent to the penalty box.

He was disorientated enough that he couldn’t manage to tell the cabbie to go around to the players’ entrance, so he ended up walking the distance, heart pounding and teeth clenched. At least once he got there, the security guard let him in with just his driver’s license—God knew where his official identification was.

Somehow, he made it to the bench area, and Coach Weller was there to catch him before he stumbled right over an abandoned stick. “Guin, what are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Levy,” Kallen said. “Is he...?” His throat seized.

The coach blinked at him. “He’s with the medics, nothing broken, but...” He glanced about and waved at someone, who turned out to be Catwoman. “Take him to see Pollack and get him to calm down.”

“No problem, Coach.” Cat took him by the arm and started leading him away, stronger than she looked since she was practically dragging him down the corridor. At least Levy was still in the building, so it couldn’t be that bad, right? Otherwise, they’d have sent him to hospital; the team wouldn’t risk his injuries becoming aggravated.

When they finally got to the medic’s office, Cat had to insist to be allowed inside and the field medic, Andrews, looked pissed at being interrupted. “What is it?” He frowned. “Guin? Aren’t you out on heat leave?”

“I’m fine,” Kallen said, stepping in like he was being dragged inside by an invisible force. Levy was lying on the bed, one arm propped on a pillow, and wearing an eye mask. “Is he okay?”

Levy made a complaining noise on the bed and Kallen placed a careful hand on his shoulder, whispering an apology, “Sorry.” Levy turned his face towards him, his soft curls brushing Kallen’s knuckles. He looked up at Andrews, “Concussion?”

“Possibly,” the medic agreed with a huff. “But definitely a headache, which is why I’m letting him rest his eyes, but not sleep.”

“And his arm?”

“Just a sprain, I was about to tape it up for him whensomeonedecided they knew better than me and barged in here when I said I was busy.”

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