Page 11 of Reckless On Ice

He called me Reckless.

I’m still hung up on the tragic nickname Knox decided on days later. He’s been away for an out-of-town game, and I’ve had the condo to myself, but training camp has been brutal, so it’s not like I’m throwing a rager every night to spite him. Nope, I just want to order a pizza from the Detroit-style pizza joint I found and soak in an Epsom salt bath so my hips and quads can get some relief from the dry land training session today. I had a cold plunge and spent time on the bike to work out the lactic acid, but that couldn’t keep up with Scotty, our trainer's regime, and I’mfeeling it.

Knox is on the couch, one arm draped across his stomach, with some sports highlights show on the TV even though his eyes are closed. I freeze, my hand hovering over the side table with the keys dangling from my fingers. If I drop them into the bowl, it’ll make a shit ton of noise and probably wake him up if he’s sleeping, and that would make me a total ass. I roll my eyes for even caring, but I set the keys down gently, anyway.Look who isn't reckless all the time, jackass.

“Hey,” Knox says, eyes opening and stretching his arms out from his spot on the absurdly long couch. No wonder he got one so big, he needed an extra-large couch to be able to lie down on the thing comfortably. It’s L-shaped, so there’s a whole other section open, too, so even I could fit. He gingerly sits up, adjusting an ice pack I hadn’t noticed on his neck, and leans his forearms on his giant quads. He squints and brings a hand up to shade his eyes like the low light in the room is too bright.

“You injured or just recovering?” I ask, keeping any sort of concern out of my tone as I grab a water bottle from the refrigerator and feign disinterest. I don't care, but it bothers me to see anyone in pain, and he’s not moving right as he stands, favoring his left side.

“It’s nothing. I took a hard hit at the game yesterday. The med staff were worried about a concussion but cleared me. Just a strained trap and a nasty headache. I’ll be fine. How’s training camp?” He follows my lead and gets a bottle of water before sitting on one of the stools along the island while I leanagainst the counter in the kitchen.

He’s light-sensitive like he has a concussion. Why did they clear him if he still has a headache a day later? Did he downplay his injury so they wouldn't put him on an injured reserve list and pull him out of the next game?

What the fuck am I doing? It’s not my place to care about Knox or if he plays. He asked me a question, I just have to answer that.

“It’s a whole lot of work, and Coach seems to think running us ragged now will make us like each other better.” I roll my eyes. This is a brand-new team with some of the best talent in the league brought together. Having the most talented players—and some of the biggest egos—makes for a few difficulties in connecting and playing together. “If my defensemen would stop fighting each other long enough to defend me, I might have a bit more confidence in our ability to stop another team effectively. I guess we’ll see at our first game.”

“Good luck with the game, but I’m sure you’ll do great. You’ve always been an amazing player, and the team has to be good, going by the early speculation I’ve seen.”

I grind my teeth as my fingers curl around the edge of the counter, tightening until the stone bites into my skin. I swallow the shitty comment about him being obsessed with me that instantly bubbles in my throat and stay silent instead of throwing the barb. His unwavering faith and kind words despite me being a dick any chance I get kills me. I want himto fight back, say something as nasty as I would so I don’t feel like human garbage when he continues to rise above.

How can he be nice despite our history? He should hate me more than anyone. He has every right to. I’ve been horrible to him, yet he’s undeterred by my old habits that just won't die. No matter what I say that is intended to make his life a living hell,again, he somehow manages to turn the other fucking cheek. I could try to bait him, keep pushing him until he snaps, but I know Knox, and I’m betting he’s set himself some impossible goal of being the bigger person, and I’ll never measure up. Not only that, I’ve been thrust on him as some sort of charity case he has to work on and house because I fucked things up. He’s the shining example of what a person should be. The best athlete for an interview. The better man in every situation.

Ugh, it makes me want to throw up. Somehow, I have to prove to the Hydras organization, Mark,andKnox, that I’m not always a loser that runs my mouth.I can be nice. The fact that we’ve been civil for this brief conversation proves it. I haven’t said anything mean, and I’ve had nice thoughts, even if they stayed inside my head, which he said I needed to learn to do, anyway, so there’s that. I’m not going to be the one that fucks it up for once. Hell, I can even offer a nice gesture.

Take that, Golden Boy.

“I’m ordering some Detroit-style square pizzas from Via 313. I can’t decide between the extra pepperoni and the meat supreme, so I’m getting both. There will be morethan I can eat if you want some.” See, easy-peasy. This Mr. Nice Guy shit is a piece of cake.

Knox looks up, surprise overtaking his features for a moment before smoothing out. “Yeah, thanks, that would be great. I won’t have to think too hard about dinner with this fucking headache.”

“I can show you some eye drills and nerve glides for neck pain and headaches, too, if you want to try them out while we wait for the pizza. I do so much vision training work I’ve figured out what helps with the strain.”

That’s two nice things. Just wait, I’ll have a W by the end of the night the way this is going. Knox doesn’t have the fucking monopoly on nice. Regular guys can do it, too.

Knox’s shoulders sag with relief as he rubs his temples. “Sure, I’ll try anything that’s not a pill at this point. I just want my head to stop pounding. It’s like it wants to split me open.”

I bite my tongue at the pounding and splitting joke that’s justright there. It’s like he’s setting me up for it to test me. Instead, I pull my phone out of my pocket and order the pizzas. This holding back the jokes and thinking before I speak thing is fucking hard, but look at me acing it tonight. We go back into the living room and sit on the couch, where I walk him through the nerve glides and eye drills like I promised while we wait. Thirty minutes of eye drills is more than enough to make anyone sick if they’re not used to the strain on their optic nerve, so I stop him even though the pizza is going totake longer.

“Feeling any better?” I settle back on the couch. It’s pretty comfortable. No wonder Knox chose to nap out here earlier rather than in his room.

Knox rolls his neck a few times and looks around the room. “Actually, yeah. It’s a dull throbbing now, and the light doesn’t feel like glass shards in my eyes.”

I cringe. Been there, and yeah, that fucking sucks. “You sure you don't have a concussion?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Guess my skull is harder than I thought.” He inclines his head toward the TV. “Want to play a round of Mario Kart?”

I laugh. “You still have that game? It's like a classic now.”

“Classic for a reason. It’s on like version eight now, and there are international competitions for it,” he retorts, standing up and getting the controllers. He tosses one to me, and I easily snag it out of the air.

“Okay, grandpa, nice story. Were the dinosaurs cool, too?”

“Damn, bro, you’re like two months younger than me and played this game, too,” he says with a laugh. “We camped out at Best Buy for a video game launch, so you can’t be hating on Mario Kart.”

“We did,” I say with a laugh. “But it was one of the Call of Duty games, so there’s more street cred there.” That was a fun weekend. We were thirteen, and it feels like one of our last good memories together. One of Knox’s older brothers took us into Detroit, and we stayed up all night with a bunch of other gamers outside the store.

“Get ready to lose on Rainbow Road, street cred or not,” he says, queuing up the infamous racetrack.

---