Page 39 of Player Misconduct
But only because of her, not from the quarantine. I’ve been told enough times in my life that I’m lucky to be alive.
I need the game. The routine. The smell of the ice, the drag of tape between my fingers, the burn in my thighs on the first stride. It’s the only thing that still feels like solid ground.
We’re one game from elimination. Winning the Western Conference isn’t just a goal anymore–it’s oxygen. The one thing that keeps me from replaying every second of that night until it drives me insane.
Still, I keep checking my phone between drills.
Just once more, I tell myself. Maybe she changed her mind.
But the screen stays dark.
Just silence.
The arena buzzes with the dull echo of pucks against boards and players on the ice.
Colorado’s already lined up in the opposite tunnel, helmets gleaming, their captain laughing like he doesn’t know what elimination means. The crowd is still filtering in, a low roar growing louder by the second.
I should be stretching. Visualizing. Focused. But all I can think about is whether she’s here.
Theo’s at the bench, clipboard in hand, but there’s no Kendall.
Then, out of nowhere, she walks in sporting a black Hawkeyes jacket with turquoise lining, dark slacks, hair pulled up in that no-nonsense way that makes her look like she could command a room full of chaos.
My chest loosens a fraction.
The last time I saw her, she was lying naked in my arms in a motel in the middle of nowhere.
Now we’re back in the same city, breathing the same air, in the same stadium but my hands still feel empty without her in them.
There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to relive that night with her one more time.
I just need to break through to her that there’s something between us worth trying for.
I skate toward the boards, slow, casual, like I’m just doing another lap. She’s talking to Slade, checking his wrist brace. Theo catches my glance and smirks knowingly before walking away.
I glide to a stop in front of her. “Hey, Doc.”
She startles slightly but recovers fast. “Aleksi.”
That sound. My name on her lips. It always sounds different when she says it. Better in some way.
“Did you make it back from Nevada okay?” I ask. “No more passed out passengers on board with a heart condition that it turns out no one knew about?”
“I did.” Her voice is smooth, professional. She takes a quick look around as if to see who’s listening in. “And no, my flight home was boring at best. Thanks.”
“That's all I get? A thanks?” I try to grin, but it feels weak.
Her eyes soften briefly, and for a second, I see the woman from that night. The one who laughed in a motel room while chaos swirled outside. But then her expression shutters again. “You should be focusing on the game.”
“I am. I just wanted to make sure we are okay.”
We are. But we agreed it can't happen again. Remember?" she whispers. “I left a note.”
“I know, I got it.” I say, and that kiss you left on my lips before you snuck out.
Her eyes flicker. “You’re a player. I’m the team doctor. I already have a history with the board and if they even sniff impropriety–”
“I don’t care about the board.”
