Edge(4)

A flash of discomfort passed over his face. “You okay?” I asked. “Did you go too far with the lunge?”

He returned to a standing position and folded his hands behind his head. His biceps were massive for a hockey player. A body like his was the result of a devoted weight training regimen. But at his level of play, that didn’t surprise me.

“I need to go zone out before I hit the ice,” he said. “Thanks for your help.”

“It’ll feel good to get out there,” I said, hoping to calm his nerves. “Just take it slow. Ease yourself back in. Your body knows what to do – you just need to let your mind relax and remember.”

He nodded, but his expression was still uncertain. It looked like he was about to say something else when Tony Moretti, another player, walked in and glanced between the two of us.

“You guys done?”

“Yeah, I’m leaving,” Luke said, walking out of the room.

“Can you look at my hand?” Tony asked, holding it out toward me. “It’s really sore.”

I furrowed my brow as I examined it. “Are you switching hands when you jerk off, or is this one doing all the work?”

“It takes two hands to hold on to my sausage, baby.” Moretti winked and I laughed.

“Please.” I shook my head. “Sit down and I’ll have a look.”

“Bigshot wasn’t hitting on you, was he?” Moretti was a wiry New Jersey native with a protective nature.

“Nope.”

“Good. You let me know if he does.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not his type. My boobs are too small and my IQ is too high.”

“You deserve somebody who’s gonna treat you right, D.” He met my eyes as I palpated his knuckles and fingers. “Ah! That fucking hurts.”

“Sorry.”

“Hey, what about our doc? He’s got a thing for you. Why don’t you go out with him?”

“Landis?” My voice rose with surprise. “He doesn’t have a thing for me.”

“Yeah, he does. Go out with him. You belong with a doctor type.”

I snort-laughed. “I belong with Kyler. I’ve got no interest in a boyfriend.”

“Whatever you say.”

I released his hand and he gingerly sat it on his knee. “I say we need to ice your hand.”

Why did people always assume I wanted a man in my life? I’d gotten my fill with my ex. My life was just right; I had Ky, my work and Sadie for adult conversation. Men just complicated things. I met my entire quota for dealing with men’s crap through my dad. And then some.

***



Luke





The easy glide of my skate blades over the ice settled my nerves. I knew this like nothing else. Hockey had been my life since my dad taught me to skate when I was four. Maybe I’d be a little rusty at first, but my game was embedded in me unconsciously. I’d shot the puck tens of thousands of times – I couldn’t forget how to do it if I tried.

A few laps around the rink was the catharsis I needed. The past two months had fucking sucked. Being laid up and worried about the future was bad enough, but having no one around who understood had made me into a caged animal. Daily phone calls from my dad asking when I’d be back on the ice had only intensified my worry. His concern wasn’t for his son, but for his paycheck.

I was the opposite. Sure, the money was nice, but it was mostly sitting in the bank. Besides the money wired to Dad every month, I only had my own living expenses. If the knee injury had ended my career, I would’ve been okay, but I wouldn’t have been able to support Dad anymore.

For me, it was all about the game. The adrenaline rush of moving up and down the ice; the high that only a win brought on; the faint taste of blood after a good fight.

A blow of Coach Welch’s whistle brought me out of my train of thought. I was white-shirted today – no one could make contact with me during the practice – but I didn’t even give a shit. I was on the ice with a stick in my hand. All was right with my world again.

Dell had taped my knee before practice, and it felt good. I was a little slower than usual, but that wasn’t a surprise.

I hooked my stick around the puck and passed it, loving the fluid familiarity of being in formation. The hours of physical therapy had kept me in good shape. This rehab assignment was my last stop before everything would be like it was before that asshole John London knocked me down with a cheap knee to knee hit.

The next time we played his team, his ass was mine. I’d fantasized so many times about slashing him with my stick before throwing it down and kicking his ass.

Welch made eye contact with me and I nodded slightly. He was asking if I was good. Hell yeah, I was good. I was great. Tomorrow night’s game was my ticket to getting called back up to my team. It was so close I could taste it, and that was even better than the tang of blood after a fight.