Page 63 of Cross-Checked

McCabe

My heart pounds so hard and fast I can feel it rattling against my ribcage. My breath is coming in short, deep pants, and my entire body is on high alert as the blood races through my veins.

“Hey,” a sweet, soft voice soothes as I feel a warm hand press against my cheek. “Hey, it’s okay.”

What the hell?

I open my eyes, and even in the darkness, I can see AJ lying next to me, her face only inches from mine. She swings her leg over my hips, pulling me to her in a full-body hug.

“What . . .?” I exhale.

“You were having a nightmare.”

And then it all comes tumbling back—standing on the ice, the glass separating me from the crowd as I watched AJ get pushed forward with Abby strapped to her.

“I...In my dream, we were back at that game when the fight broke out in the stands, but instead of you falling backward, you fell forward and landed with Abby underneath you.” I woke up right as they hit the seats in front of them, but my body’s reacting like I just watched my child get crushed between the hard seat backs and AJ’s body.

Realistically, I know she might have been able to break that fall without injuring Abby because her hands would be in front of her, but all I can picture in my mind is Abby getting crushed. That fall could have had a catastrophic outcome, and my mind clearly can’t let go of that, even though Abby is safe and AJ’s injuries were much less severe than they could have been.

Leaning forward, she kisses my forehead while smoothing the furrowed line of my brow with her thumb. “Everything’s okay. Abby’s just fine.”

“Yeah, but you’re not,” I say, running my hand down her arm until I get to the splint that’s around her wrist.

“I’m fine, really.” Her voice is vulnerable in the quiet, and it’s such a turn-on to see this other side of her, when she’s not wearing the armor she shows up in every day. “The swelling has mostly gone down, and when we get back to Boston, they’ll put a cast on. I’ll be good as new once it’s healed.”

I’d traced the bruises on her back last night while buried inside her, thankful she wasn’t hurt worse but also feeling the double-edged sword of guilt, knowing that if she hadn’t been injured at that game, then we probably wouldn’t be here, together.

Or maybe we would be? This thing between us was set in motion when I kissed her in her office, but her injury definitely accelerated things—gave me a reason to see her more, gave her less of an opportunity to push me away.

My voice is still gruff from sleep when I tell her, “It shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I should have spoken up about the fans’ behavior when you asked me to?—”

“I doubt that would have prevented what happened.”

“We’ll never know because I didn’t do what I should have. But I will. You just need to have someone ask me about the fighting again.” There were no questions about it after last night’s game, which could mean a lot of different things—eitherpeople have already forgotten about it, or the reporter who asked at the home game wasn’t at our away game, or AJ meant what she said about not asking me again until I’d gotten some coaching around what to say.

When I ask her about it, she says, “I think that you need to talk to someone in PR about this before you’re asked again.”

Pulling her tight against me, I kiss her forehead. Outside, I can hear the low thrum of a city on the verge of waking up, while the soft orangey light of sunrise filters through the slit where the heavy hotel room curtains meet.

“It’s early. Let’s go back to sleep and we can talk about it later.”

She murmurs her agreement and rolls over, snuggling her back into me so I’m spooning her. I lie there, my thoughts still running wild as I listen to her breathing slow and become more rhythmic, until I’m certain she’s sleeping.

My body is often restless when I first wake up, like it can’t wait to start moving again. I know there’s no way I’m falling back asleep, so I cuddle her until I can’t stay still any longer. When I roll away from her and stand up, she doesn’t move. So I pull my clothes back on quietly, grab my phone off the nightstand where I left it last night, and slip out of her room almost silently.

I’m thankful it’s early enough that I don’t run into any of my teammates in the hallway. I bet most of them are sleeping off the partying from last night. With a big win yesterday and no practice today, everyone celebrated—even Colt, Drew, Zach, and Walshy, who rarely go out after the games except to grab some dessert.

I change and then shoot her a text so she’ll know why I’m not in her bed when she wakes up.

McCabe

I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I’m going to the hotel gym. If you don’t have plans today, don’t make any.

I’m half an hour into my workout when Colt and Drew amble into the small exercise room in the hotel. They’re mid-conversation as they open the door, chatting about Colt and Jules’s engagement, and freeze when they see me.

“You’re up early,” Colt says as he takes the bike next to me, while Drew heads to the treadmill. Running is my nemesis...something I do only when forced to.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I say, but as I reach for the towel hanging on the handlebars and bring it to my forehead to wipe away the sweat dripping from my hair, I catch a whiff of AJ’s scent—sweet but musky—on my hand. I press down the memories of last night that resurface at the smell of her, and focus on the way Colt is rambling about how he can’t sleep anymore without Jules.

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