Page 99 of Rookie Move
But there was no scenic route, and Leo picked up the pace. He turned left and spotted the long hallway they needed. And this one had an arrow stenciled in paint on the wall beside the words “training facility.”
“Here we go,” someone said as they all turned in the proper direction, finally.
They walked onward. And it was really just happenstance that Leo lifted his chin toward the distant end of the hall at exactly the right moment. He saw two figures through a doorway at the opposite end of the hall, and one of them was Georgia. He knew the shine of her hair and her supermodel posture even in bad lighting at a hundred paces. He might have called out a greeting, except the man beside Georgia raised an arm and grabbed her, yanking her out of sight, into the shadows.
Later, he wouldn’t even be able to recall the fifty yard sprint down the hall.
The same instincts that allowed him to reach a puck traveling seventy miles per hour across the ice had him racing toward the shadowy place where she’d been taken. The sounds of his teammates’ voices dimmed to only a warble on the edge of his consciousness. There was only his speed, and the acidic bite of bile in his throat as he launched his body toward the target. His vision tunneled down to include only the doorway where she’d disappeared.
Seconds later he flew through that doorway at the man who had Georgia around the waist, on the fuckingfloor. Not a half second after that, his own hands dug into the perpetrator’s flesh. A shout of rage tore from his own throat as he threw the man aside.
But the next sound was Georgia’s shriek. And as he fell to his knees beside her, she grabbed his arms and yelled “STOP.”
She kept talking, but it wasn’t possible to understand. He was too caught inside the moment—the memory of that arm yanking Georgia out of his sight, tossing her into the shadows. It was all he could see.
His teammates arrived a moment later, their voicescrowding his head. “Is Doulie okay?” “Shit—what happened?”
Someone helped O’Doul off the floor. The captain raised a hand to the back of his head, and came away with a smear of blood. And Leo’s eyes finally focused on Georgia, in her yoga pants and a Bruisers T-shirt, babbling about “sparring” or something. His brain told him he’d made an error of judgment. But his stomach still wasn’t sure. And even though he’d gotten to his feet again somehow, the weirdest sensation crept up his arms and legs. It was an unfamiliar chill in his fingertips, spreading rapidly up and toward his core.
“Leo? Are you okay? He’s turning gray.”
Standing up wasn’t really working for him. So he put out a hand toward the nearest wall. But the nearest wall turned out to be Silas. So Leo bent over to clutch his knees instead.
Then his stomach heaved, and he vomited all over the floor.
***
Half an hour later, Leo sat on a table in the medical facility, leaning his head back against the cool wall.
The team doctor had come and gone. Leo had explained himself. Sort of. It was all a stupid misunderstanding. He was horribly embarrassed, and hoping for a chance to apologize.
If only his stomach would stop rolling.
He’d also insisted to the team doctor that he was okay to play tonight. They’d handed him some of the sports drink, and he’d choked part of it down. And he continued to clutch the half-empty bottle in case anyone else came into the treatment room. He didn’t want anyone to notice his hands were shaking.
Jesus Christ. Of all the bullshit he’d pulled, freaking out on O’Doul was the worst yet. He’d bet any amount of money that they had the captain in another exam room right now so that they could evaluate him for a possible concussion. He’d thrown O’Doul on the fuckingfloor.
But the guy had had his hands on Georgia, as if...
Leo’s gut clenched again and he swallowed hard as another wave of nausea rolled through him.Don’t go there, he told himself.Don’t think about that. It had been a simple misunderstanding. He’d reactedverybadly. There would be repercussions, but there was also a game to win. If he could just stay focused on that, everything would be okay. He took another sip of the sports drink and closed his eyes, picturing the rink. Too bad he hadn’t made it to yoga. Right now he could really use some positive visualization or what-the-fuck-ever.
The door opened after a minute and Leo opened his eyes, expecting the doctor. Only it wasn’t the one he’d expected.
“Hi, Leo,” said Dr. Mulvey, the team shrink. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” he said tightly.
“Your hands are shaky?”
Fuck. A chill ran through his body, and he did a poor job of fighting it off. “I think I might be fighting off the flu or something.” Why else would he feel so shaky? Maybe they could give him a vitamin shot and some Advil before game time.
“The flu, huh?” The doctor perched on the table beside him. “You ever have panic attacks?”
“Fuck no,” Leo grumbled.
“There’s a first time for everything.”
Leo pressed the back of his head against the wall and sighed. “Who’s getting cleared for the game tonight? Is O’Doul okay?”Please say yes. In the first place, he really hoped that O’Doulwasokay. And in the second place, if O’Doul really wanted to make a stink about it, he could get Leo in a lot of trouble. Shit, he could call the cops if he really felt like ruining Leo’s day.
