Page 15 of Hard Check

"Wrong, how?" He rubbed small circles around my kneecap with his thumbs.

"Like pressure building. Not really pain, but..." I tried to find the right words. "Like something trying to push out from inside."

He nodded. "Fluid. The joint's retaining fluid. You should've iced this an hour ago." His voice continued to be low and gentle, not accusatory.

"I didn't want anyone to ask questions." It was a sudden moment of truth for me.

"Yeah, well, I am." He shook his head. "And you need to start giving better answers."

I swallowed. "Like what?"

"Like ones that don't end with you washing out of hockey at twenty-three. Some things matter more than looking invincible."

Carver rested his fingers at the edge of my kneecap, no longer probing. "Why are you hiding this?"

His face was so close to mine. There was no way I could hide the truth any longer. The words suddenly spilled out. "Because I can't afford to be the guy who got hurt and never returned. Because one good season doesn't guarantee anything. Because I need to prove I belong here."

He blinked and then glanced down at my knee again. "You won't belong anywhere if you destroy this joint."

The gentle connection lasted a few seconds longer, and then Carver cleared his throat and pulled his hand away. He stood upright. It was like cold air had suddenly rushed in between us.

"You need to ice it properly and give it actual rest. Can the masochistic bullshit you were doing out here."

The gentleness was gone as he crossed his arms over his chest. I rolled the compression sleeve back down. "I know how to treat an injury."

"That's why you were out here making it worse."

He strode off the ice, and I followed. He led me to the trainer's room and grabbed an ice pack and medical tape. He gave me instructions as he shoved them into my hands. "Twenty minutes on. Twenty minutes off. Elevate and take anti-inflammatories when it hurts. And stay off the damn thing until the pre-game skate tomorrow."

I nodded. "Thanks."

Carver shrugged. "Don't thank me. I'm only doing what the team's paying me for."

Something about the comment stung. I found my way to a bench in the locker room and began taping the ice pack to my knee. "Right. The mentorship thing."

He shoved his hands into his pockets as he watched. "Yep, just doing my job."

After a few awkward, silent moments, Carver backed toward the exit. "Make sure you head home soon and elevate that."

My voice sounded soft and weak. "Yeah. I will."

Then, he was gone, footsteps echoing down the concrete corridor until the heavy exit door clanged shut behind him. I remained seated for several minutes, replaying the interaction in my mind.

Coach's words from our first meeting echoed in my mind. "You need someone who won't blow sunshine up your ass. He needs a legacy that matters."

Was that all that was happening? Was it only a veteran player fulfilling his assignment and ensuring his mentee didn't destroy himself before the season got fully underway?

It didn't feel that simple.

And that realization disturbed me more than my knee pain.

I'd dated Amanda for a year in college and Kelsey for three years in high school. I'd never questioned the straightforward clarity of those attractions—comfortable, expected, uncomplicated. Even when they ended, there was no confusion.

This—whatever had just happened with Carver's hands on my knee and his eyes meeting mine—was unmapped territory. It wasn't admiration or respect or even friendship, at least not what I'd experienced from any teammate before.

I mumbled out loud. "This isn't happening." My racing pulse suggested otherwise.

The drive home stretched longer than usual, each stoplight offering another opportunity to replay Carver's touch in my mind. I caught myself running my fingers over the same spot on my knee where his had been as if checking for some tangible evidence of whatever had passed between us.

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