Page 43 of Until He Scores

She giggled and sighed. “He’s really missed you, you know?”

It took me a second to decipher whichheshe was talking about. “Me too.”

“Good. You know, he’s always hated himself for what happened between you. He thinks he destroyed everything.” She nibbled on some popcorn while the teams went through warmups.

“Nah, it was never about him,” I said. “Miscommunication is all and my skeletons.”

“Yeah,” she said, “he told me about your mom. I’m so sorry, Pope. That must’ve been horrible for you.”

I shrugged off her empathy. Not because I was a dick, but sometimes, I didn’t know what to do with sympathy, especially when I didn’t know the person very well. “Thank you. I got through it. You know?”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“So, are you here for Thierry, too?”

She grinned. “We try to get to as many home games as possible. Since it’s the off-season now.”

Yeah, I’d seen somewhere that theRaptorslost a nail biter of a wildcard game. “Thanks for, you know, being his friend when I couldn’t be.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said. “I never minded holding your place. He’s been the best friend I could ever hope to have.”

Yeah, that was the one thing about Thierry. When he made friends with someone, he counted them as family.

Man, I missed that feeling too.

Chapter 17

Thierry

After the meeting with Alexander, the itch in my knee had become a full-on ache. I could blame the weather. It had turned decidedly colder and there was a hint of snow in the air. Blame the back-to-back games. Standing more than sitting. Working hard for a team that was feeling like home to me. I could blame the fact I hadn’t been taking care of myself because Derrick wouldn’t stop blowing up my phone or finding me. I’d honestly questioned how he’d found me.

None of that mattered, though, when a prickle of perspiration beaded at my hairline on the back of my neck or when my shirt dampened. Truth was, I’d felt off for the last few days and just went about my business, acting like nothing was wrong. I chalked it up to long hours of traveling with brief intervals of rest. The fear of losing another job I was falling in love with as much as being on the ice. Stupid me, too. I kept pushing aside the symptoms I’d experienced since we’d landed in Georgia four days ago and they seemed to worsen when we arrived back home.

Still, I didn’t tell anyone the full truth.

I pushed through each game, taking over-the-counter meds, icing the knee and prayed the pain would resolve itself withouthaving to run to an urgent care to get checked out. Then this evening, after the team warmup, three small red bumps formed on the scar line or maybe they’d been there, and I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge them.

Sitting there with Coach Alexander, I should’ve told him the truth. Trepidation and conditioning kept me from opening my mouth. I grinned. I said all the words to appease him while deep down worry ate at my stomach. Especially when the low-grade fever didn’t go away like I’d hoped.

Since the injury, all I could think about was my knee. Anxiety nipped at my heels every day. Most of my neurosis derived from the surgeries and learning how close I came to losing my leg. Now, the thought returned. Could I coach with a prosthetic? Sure. Getting back on the ice? Never. That’d been the end goal for me. Returning to the ice in some capacity, even if it was just to instruct my guys. Without my leg, I’d never lace up another pair of skates.

Ever.

So, I did what I’d always been good at; I ran away from the issues. I went along with the program like nothing was wrong all while freaking out on the inside. However, when the ear thermometer beeped, and I looked at the reading, I knew there was only one person to blame for the situation I was in. Me. The 102.3-degree fever wasn’t low grade anymore, and if the dizzy spell that led me to check my temp to begin with, was any sign, I had a raging infection brewing inside of me.

What kind was the only question that mattered.

Rather than doing the right thing, I downed another eight hundred milligrams of ibuprofen and got ready for the game. Playoff standings mattered even in the AHL. We’d made up significant ground and if we wanted a home ice advantage, we couldn’t lose. Which also meant I had to suck it up a few more days, then I’d get everything checked out.

Stupid, I knew that. But if I had to choose between running this by the team doc and risk not being on the bench for the guys or sticking it out and going later, I’d always take the less invasive option. Call me whatever name you deemed appropriate. I understood the sentiment. I’d do the same if I was in your shoes.

With a last check of my temp, I headed out to the pre-game meeting after warmups. Since I’d drank some water and grabbed a cool shower the stomach-churning dizziness hadn’t returned. I also wasn’t as hot as before, too. I opened the door and stepped into the locker room seconds before Coach joined everyone.

The speech was simple. If they wanted to win, they had to be present on the ice. Keep their eye on the puck. Support Pavel and the forwards. Most of all, if they went down by a score, they couldn’t give up. Several times over the last few weeks, they’d had a bad habit of quitting when the game got rough. They needed the remaining games if they wanted even a sliver of a chance at being champions.

Now was not the time to shit the bed.

With Coach’s last words of encouragement, they headed out to the ice for the pre-game announcements and introductions. Coach’s hand on my shoulder as we walked, had panic welling within me. Had he figured out I was sick? I’d tried not to limp even though my knee was on fire, and it hurt like hell to stand on. Had he noticed how sweaty I’d gotten earlier? Or witnessed my dizzy spell?

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