Page 44 of Until He Scores

“You’re compensating,” he murmured. “You sure you’re okay?”

Damn it. In my haste to pretend nothing was wrong, I’d screwed myself. “Yeah. Not sure what’s going on. I think I might have overdone it.” Not a lie but not the full truth. “I planned to ice it after the game and check in with Doc Brown.”

He frowned, glancing at leg. “You could sit out tonight. I can have one of the conditioning coaches run the plays for you.”

I shook my head. “Not this close to playoffs. You and I both know they need us out there. You take me off the bench and they’ll fuck up.”

He exhaled. “You’ll sit if I tell you to.”

I nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll sit even if you don’t.”

“Tomorrow you’re getting your knee looked at. I won’t have you traveling if you can’t stand up.”

“Planned on it. I’m sure it’s nothing,” I stated, trying to assuage Alexander while also attempting to calm my rapid thoughts.

On the ice, the guys took laps while stretching one last time before announcing the starting lineup. The cold air of the rink cooled my heated skin, giving me a small reprieve from the fever. I kept telling myself I could get through the next sixty minutes as long as I concentrated on my job and not my body. But it was hard to do particularly when my knee itched and burned like I’d ripped a strip of hide off the joint. Not to mention the bone deep throb. It was almost as if the joint had its own heartbeat the way each pang pulsed through the area.

To take my mind off everything, I glanced up into the stands and came face to face with a row of familiar faces. Then my gaze settled on him. Fuck. My heart quickened. My breath lodged in my chest for another reason.Pope.What was he doing there? Guilt ate at me. I thought about all the messages I’d yet to answer. The few phone calls. Knowing Derrick could also pop up at any moment didn’t make the situation easier. Speaking of which, I heard my name called behind me and when I turned, there he was.

I cringed.

He wore my sweater and blew a kiss at me while giving me a knowing look. I shivered in revolt. Or maybe that was the fever breaking. Hell, for all I knew, this was one big fever dream, and I wasn’t here. Matter of fact, when I opened my eyes, I’d be backin bed with Pope and everything that happened over the last few weeks was just my anxiety getting the better of me. I probably had my leg at an odd angle too, causing the pain.

I snorted.

Not a chance in the world. I wasn’t that lucky.

Ignoring Derrick, I glanced back at Pope who stared a hole in me. His fierce obsidian gaze swirled with anger and resolve. Then his eyes drifted higher into the crowd behind me. The downright disgust on his face couldn’t be masked, and I didn’t think he tried to either. I knew the object of his abhorrence. If Derrick realized he was on Pope’s shit list, he didn’t act repentant. Instead, he sat there with two of his D-list besties from some reality show and laid his act on thick.

I motioned to one of the drink attendants and asked for a bottle of sports water. If I was going to make it through the game, I’d need at least one each period. Overkill? Sure. Drawing attention, too? Yes. But doing so allowed me to focus on something other than Pope and Derrick, because I had a feeling there’d be a reckoning by the end of the night.

When the staff member handed me the bottle, I cracked the seal and swallowed down a quarter of the bottle, grateful for how cold the drink was. The buzzer sounded and the puck dropped at center circle. With the lights down low, I could concentrate on the ice and not everything around me. The guys looked good out there. Strong. They kept their shape as they glided over the ice, helping Pavel keep the other team from scoring on us.

On the third pass up the ice, my world tilted. I gritted my teeth and pretended nothing happened. At the same time, the heat of my fever rushed back, and my cheeks felt as though they conducted heat. I drank more of the sports water hoping the coldness and electrolytes would offset my rising temperature.

Again, I wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box.

Stubborn too.

I’d never fight anyone on that.

Locking my knees, which was stupid because doing so made the pain worse, I clung to the tattered remnants of my health, unwilling to admit defeat or something more significant was wrong. I wouldn’t lose this battle. The longer I stood there, the closer the last buzzer would sound. I kept repeating those words over and over in my brain. Unfortunately, I didn’t think my body agreed with my willpower.

By the middle of the second period. My fever raged like an out-of-control inferno. Concentrating on the ice made me motion sick, while my eyes couldn’t focus on the action out there. Thankfully, with as well as the guys played, I didn’t have many notes for them. Had it been any other night or earlier in the season, we’d be fucked.

“You don’t look good,” Alexander said, snapping me out of my stupor. “You’re burning up.”

When had he touched me? Was delirium part of a fever? I shook my head, grateful for the wall behind me keeping me steady. Without it, I’d probably be on my ass. “I’m good. I’ve got this. I’ll hit up the doc afterward. You and the guys need me right now.”

“Not if it means passing the fuck out on the bench and messing with their heads.” As it was, some of the guys were staring at me instead of paying attention to the ice. “Have you taken anything?”

I nodded. “Yep. I’m good.” I showed him the now empty bottle in my hand. “Keeping my levels up.”

I took a step to call the staff member back over for another bottle, when my world tilted again, harder this time and everything began to spin as my vision swam. I reached for anything to keep my balance, but everything seemed out of reach or moving away from me. The cheer of the crowd and noise ofthe arena took on a distinct far away quality while an annoying buzz filled my ears.

I knew that sound.

My stomach dropped. My heart sped up. A cold sweat dotted my brow, giving me a moment’s reprieve from the unbearable fire racing through my veins. Panic seized me, even as my stomach roiled. One of two things was about to happen. Either I’d puke my guts up, which might not be such a bad idea, or I was going to pass out. I didn’t get a chance to say anything. As I opened my mouth to say help, I was already going down. The last thing I heard was a collective gasp and someone saying, “someone call 9-1-1.” Stupid, because we had a full medical team in the locker area. Besides, a fever didn’t mean shit.

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