Page 43 of Power Move
He doesn’t say anything. The longer we stay here like this, the more my eyes prick and my face burns.
I back away, banging into the closet, and that vibration sends fresh pain into my hand. Muttering a curse, I cradle it to my chest. “You don’t have to worry about me being kept out of the game. The doctor said I had to be able to grip a hockey stick. With enough tape wrapped around the top of my stick, I can do it.”
Wincing like breathing is painful, he attempts to stand, but the struggle is too much or not worth the pain because he gives up trying. “You shouldn’t play. If the fracture doesn’t heal correctly, you’ll make things worse. You could need surgery and lose months of playing time.”
“It’s a broken finger.” But I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince more, me or him.
He levels me with a look. “It’s your index. Not your pinky. Not having it will throw you off.”
I cross my arms over my chest, puffing up, though everything in me wants to crumble. “I’m gonna do whatever I can to play. Just like anyone else would. Almost all the guys are injured somehow. You want them to not play, too?”
The air is thick, a wall of tension between us. We’ve reached an impasse. Of course, the point is moot if I can’t grip a damn hockey stick. That worry is getting louder and louder, overtaking my brain, and I can’t talk about it, not to him. Not now. I need to get out of here before I explode.
Shifting on the bed, he hisses a breath and his features twist in pain. He fists the bedding, but a moan breaks free. “I can’t fight with you right now. My head’s fucking pounding. Feels like a truck ran me over.”
Concern and worry for him compounds my anxiety. “You should rest. I’m gonna go.”
I can’t stay, not like this, and he doesn’t ask me to. Which hurts worse than my throbbing finger, because I know he’s as angry as I am.
I turn off the light by the door, leaving only the one by the bed on for him. Suitcase in hand, I slip out of his room. Maxim went into the one next door when we arrived. I knock there.
It opens, and he stands before me in gray sweats, a sleep mask pushed into his hair. “Sage?”
“Can you stay with Rhys or look in on him? He’s in a lot of pain. I’m afraid to leave him alone.”
His brows draw together. “You aren’t staying?”
I shake my head.
He cuffs me on the shoulder. “I’ll handle it. Are you okay?”
I’m too tired to pretend. “No.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He’s Rhys’s friend. I don’t want to put him in the middle. “No. Thanks for taking care of him. See you tomorrow.”
“Night, buddy.”
The throbbing pain in my hand flares, stealing my breath. The cold pack the trainer gave me on the plane is warm now. I need pain meds, more ice, and my friends. I head to my room, texting Morgan and Remy.
They show up with ice from the machine and Remy brings his stash of candy. We sit on the bed together, and for the first time in hours, I can let my guard down. The urge to cry overwhelms me.
Remy sits behind me, rubbing my shoulders. “Tell us what happened.”
“Rhys thinks I shouldn’t have fought Chad. Apparently, there are people for that.”
“Please,” Morgan scoffs. He lays a fresh ice pack on my hand, then hands me pain pills and a bottle of water. “Maxim fought someone the other night. So did Quinn. So did I, last week. Sometimes, you gotta step in and handle business yourself. Rhys knows that, he’s done it himself. A ton of guys were ready to go after Chad.”
I eat the cookie Remy insists I take, then follow it with the meds and water. Maybe the sugar will help. “He also thinks I shouldn’t play until my finger heals.”
The shoulder massage pauses for a second. I catch Morgan looking over my shoulder at Remy, then Remy asks, “Canyou play?”
Panic rushes over me and the urge to run riots under my skin. “I don’t know. I can’t move it at all. My hand’s swollen worse than it was earlier. I messed up what I’m actually good for, which is scoring, and Rhys is frustrated with me for that. If I can’t play, I can’t help the team. Ihaveto try.”
Morgan kneels in front of me, placing his hands on my knees. “Hey, breathe. Come on, slow in and then slow out.”
Deep breaths aren’t helping. “I’m worried about Rhys. He’s in a lot of pain. And I don’t like fighting with him. It’s making me feel sick.” I press my hand to my stomach. “I also just realized I won’t be able to play guitar until this heals. That sucks.”
