Page 46 of Penalty Box
I let her pull me down through the rows, past security, and into the lower tier hallway just outside the locker rooms. A small crowd had gathered, mostly local fans hoping to score a puck or selfie. The team filtered past in twos and threes, laughing,sweaty, bruised, and busted up. But happy about it. Hunter gave a bow to a fan who thrust a sign into his hands that readGoalie God.
But my eyes were only searching for one face.
He trailed the pack, his gait a little stiff, favoring his left side. To relieve the pressure on those ribs, no doubt. His face was flushed, hair damp, jersey hanging loose and out of shape around his hips.
He saw us instantly, confusion and surprise flashing in his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Hallie shrugged and sidled up to me. “I’m with her.”
“Smooth, little sis,” Mason chuckled. “But if you don’t mind, I need to borrow your meal ticket for a second.”
“Ice bath,” I said once he had me away from everyone else.
His gaze burned into mine, tired but sincere. “I’m sorry, Cass. That reporter—”
“No,” I said quickly. “Don’t. You don’t have to explain.”
“I hated saying it.” His sapphire eyes seemed to penetrate into my soul. “Ineedyou to know that.”
I gave him a small smile, but couldn’t hide the concern I was feeling. He’d never looked this roughed up after a game. “I know, Mason. And we’re okay.”
He nodded, then a slow smirk crept onto his face. “For the record… I’m still bruised. Very platonically.”
Smooth, Calder. Even in his state of disrepair, he was committed to the game.
“Fine,” I gave in. “I’ll check your platonic bruise. Meet me in medical in five.”
He winked at me, then disappeared into the locker room.
14
Mason
Cass’ fingers pressed gently into the muscle just below my collarbone, and I cursed under my breath.
“Sorry.” Although, she didn’t sound sorry at all.
Because she didn’t stop what she was doing.
Her hands moved with a quiet kind of focus, calloused fingertips brushing over the tender edge of the bruise blooming across my chest. I tried to sit without flinching, to breathe evenly. But every shift, every accidental graze, sent a fresh ripple of heat through me that was only partly due to the pain I was in.
Cass stood close, so close the smell of her shampoo tickled my nose. I so badly wanted to lean in and just… shove my nose into her hair. Breathe her in.
“You’re lucky it’s not dislocated,” she murmured, more to herself than to me. “But you’re going to feel it a lot more in the morning.”
I was already feeling it. But I didn’t say that out loud.
“Don’t give me that look,” I said, keeping my tone light. “Not like I went in there planning this.”
I moved to take off my jersey. The sweat had dried, making the fabric cling to my skin like it had grown roots. I lifted my arm, and sucked in a breath when white-hot pain tore across my shoulder. Felt like I was ripping it off my body.
“Don’t.” Her hand came to rest over mine, light and steady. Her palm brushed my knuckles, and I looked up. Her eyes met mine, soft but unflinching.
I dropped my hand, leaving hers there to do the work.
She stepped closer, and began easing my jersey up, careful not to pull too fast, or too hard. Her fingertips barely grazed my ribs as she worked it up over my head. I bit back a groan and closed my eyes for a second, not wanting to make her feel bad. She wasn’t the one hurting me. This was allmyfault.
“There we go,” she murmured when it was finally off. Her voice was a soothing balm working through the knots of tension in my neck.
