Page 42 of Power Move
Patting my shoulder, he sighs. “Keep the splint dry. I’ll communicate with the coaches and trainers as soon as they’re available. Your hand may continue to swell tonight, so don’t forget to ice it, and sleep with it elevated.”
“Okay. Thanks, doc.” I stand, cradling my hand to my chest, and make my way to the dressing room.
The noise level is high with teammates fired up about the crap officiating and incensed over what happened to Rhys. A quick scan of the room shows that he isn’t back yet.
Walking through the room, I try to smile and act like I’m not in pain. Half the guys I pass say they would’ve stepped in and taken out Chad if I hadn’t. That makes me feel good, and even better when they clap me on the back and tell me I did a good job defending our teammate.
I get to my stall, allowing myself to drop the smile.
Tossing his jersey into the laundry bin, Morgan eyes my splint. “What’s the word?”
“Broken finger. I’m fine. No big deal.” I sit, then untie my laces one-handed, but loosening them so I can get my skates off is a slow-going, frustrating process.
He crouches in front of me. “I got it.”
Sighing, I lean my head against the side of the stall. “Thanks.”
Skates off, he helps me out of my socks and shin guards, then sits beside me and leans in, lowering his voice. “Is it actually no big deal?”
“I don’t know, but I hope so.”
The hotel’s hallways are quiet. It’s late, and we’re all exhausted. Most of us are on this floor. Doors open and close as guys head into their rooms. I walk with Rhys, wheeling my suitcase.
He didn’t say much when we boarded the bus after the game to go to the airport. And he didn’t talk much during the flight to LA. He’s in pain and spent most of the flight with headphones on and his eyes closed. The doctor said he doesn’t have a concussion, but he messed up his shoulder, and has deep bruising in his back. I want my fist to meet Chad’s face all over again.
I get his room unlocked and open, and let him enter first. Going to my room feels unnecessary. I want to hold him and reassure myself he’s okay. And at this point, after what happened tonight, I don’t care if anyone saw me enter his room with my stuff. “Can I get you anything? Water? A snack?”
“No thanks.”
I set my suitcase beside his. “Do you need help taking your clothes off?”
He sinks onto the side of the bed, and sits, elbows on his knees, cradling his head in his hands.
Worry flairs, and I move closer, unsure if I should sit with him or run and get someone to help. “Rhys?”
“You got hurt tonight. I don’t like seeing you hurt.” The level of exhaustion in his voice matches the way I feel. But there’s another layer too, something harder that sounds a lot like anger.
“I’m fine.”
His fingers rub circles at his temples. “You’re not fine. You have a broken bone. And bruises from his fists hitting you. You shouldn’t have fought him.”
The words are like a slap, sharp and stinging. “He hurt you.”
He raises his head. Blue eyes burn with pain and anger. “He hurtyoutoo. I watched the replay of the fight.”
“Then you know I hurt him more.”
“I don’t care.” His volume doubles, and he winces, grabbing his head. “That’s not your job. We have people for that.”
My stomach aches like someone kicked it. “Maybe I overreacted because it was you, but come on. Teammates stand up for each other.” I don’t know what I expected. Maybe a thank you and a kiss? Certainly not this. “You were appreciative when I stood with you in Anaheim.”
“I was also right there to keep you safe.” He lowers his hands, one to his lap and one to massage his shoulder. “Look, I appreciate you standing up for me tonight. But you’re too important to the team to go seeking out fights. We need you to be a scoring presence on the ice, not sitting in a penalty box, or tossed from a game, or worst of all, kept out of the lineup due to an injury.”
I’m annoyed and hurt and embarrassed. With each word, my stomach sinks and something inside me shrivels. How dare hechastise me like I’m some rookie. “I wasn’t seeking out a fight for the hell of it. I went after someone who deliberately hurt my boyfriend.” My voice wobbles, and Ihatethat. “Tell me right now that you wouldn’t have done the same if he’d gone after me.”
His eyes flash and he lifts his hand toward me. “Sage…”
“See? Then what’s with the bullshit double standard?”
