"Oh." I pick at the blanket with my other hand. "Well, let's talk about the plan then."
We meet each other's eyes and I can see hurt in hers, though I can't figure out where it's coming from. I haven’t been able to work out why she bailed on me at the LINQ.
"What did I do, Pamela?"
Her jaw clenches. She lets go of my hand and backs up, sitting in the chair and pulling out her work notebook and a pen. "The concussion is the trickiest," she says. "Let's give you a week to alternate heat and ice on the ligament and ankle. The hospital will recommend a thousand milligrams of Ibuprofen every six hours, and I'll concur. No need for heavier-duty pain management. Especially not since you…"
She stops mid-sentence but I know what she was going to say. "Have dependence concerns? Am possibly an alcoholic? No need to give me more shit to get addicted to." I sound bitter.
Pam looks sad. She opens her mouth and shuts it again. She takes a deep breath. "Yes. It seems too risky. And frankly, I know you'll want to get back on the ice as fast as possible and opioids will dull your reactions and thought processes. You don't want that in a game like this."
"Okay. I agree." I’m abrupt, and so fucking ready to be finished with this conversation.
"With a concussion, it's hard to know how long it will take for full recovery. I saw the video. You got your clock cleaned pretty good, but that the concussion was fairly mild. I'm sure your doctors will tell you that, on the hopeful side, it might be forty-eight hours, but it could also be weeks. Limited brain activity, big decision making, exposure to electronics…will all help the healing go faster."
"Well, I don't use my brain all that much, so it should go pretty fast," I say with a laugh, which instantly hurts my head and makes me cringe.
Pam barely laughs. She'll barely look at me. "The ligament and ankle, we can start with electric muscle therapy, heat, and ice. We'll do some massage work on the muscles and then work our way back into stretches and strength. Sound good?"
"It all sounds fine." I stare at her and wait.
Finally, finally, she looks up and meets my gaze. Her eyes are still watery from crying. I can feel that my mouth is set into a deep frown. "Pam, what happened? I thought we were becoming closer? Now you're all professional and whatever that was the other night never happened? I don't get it."
She's quiet for a few moments, then says, "It killed me to see you get hurt, Georg. I watched it on television. I wanted to come straight here. To crawl into bed beside you."
"So why didn't you?"
"Because I thought maybe I'd have to wait in line," she answers in a whisper.
"Wait in line?" I ask, not comprehending. "I mean, Coach was here. Evan came by. Is that what you mean?"
She shakes her head and bites her bottom lip, looking out the window for a long moment. She seems to settle herself and with a big sigh, looks back at me once more. "So, now you're on the IR—what does that mean for a trade?"
Great. Now she's changed the subject once more. I let out a sigh that's equally weighted to hers. Let her see I'm frustrated, too. Damn it, I'm the one who’s hurt here.
"No one wants an injured player added to their rosters. I'll be off the table for trades for now," I answer flatly. "It's a good thing. And Coach said he needs me out there, healed up, so I feel like I'm on the other side of all of this trade talk. I really do need to get in there and get something in writing, though."
I hate this. I hate that she won't talk to me.
I look up at the ceiling, count to ten…and then push her one more time.
"Pamela." I wait until she lifts her sad brown eyes and looks at me. "Please, will you fucking tell me what happened the other night?"
Twenty
Pam
THAT'S ONE WAY TO HOLD OFF A TRADE
I put my hand up over my mouth, as if to forcibly keep inside everything I want to say to Georg. He looks so pathetic in the hospital bed, hooked up to wires, his gaze somewhat unfocused. His expression is confused, hurt, even a little angry. There is longing there, too. He's wearing it all right now, I think because his injury prevents him from controlling himself like he normally would.
He's never had a very good poker face in the first place. When he feels silly, he looks silly. When he's happy, it's obvious. When he's mad, you know it. Georg really feels whatever is on his face in a given moment. Or rather, his face shows what he’s feeling in a given moment. And right now, I know I owe him an explanation.
"I'm sorry I ran out the other night," I start. "I really am. It's just that I saw Devon's Instagram feed and there was a picture of you two together. Hearts and such in the caption. It was like a blow to the stomach to see it."
"What picture?" he asks. He seems genuinely confused.
"It looked like you were in her car or she was in yours," I say. "Taken not too long ago. I mean, I knew you were friends but I…well, we had just done something very intimate and I just—"
"You got spooked thinking I was two-timing you?"
"It's not that—it's impossible to two-time someone if you're not in a relationship with them," I say sadly. "We've never defined this thing between us, and it's fine if it's just casual. I just…I don't know. I work with her. I don't want there to be weirdness between us."
"Devon is my friend, yes, but she's just a friend. She helped me do an intervention with Ned. We drove him to a rehab facility. The only picture I know of is one she took right after we dropped him off."
"I still don't understand why she would caption it like she did. It says 'this guy' and has a string of red heart emojis. Like she wanted people to know she was with you. That you were special to her." I know I sound jealous and petty, but I can't help it. I feel the tears bubble up again and choke them down.
Georg just shrugs. It's a really frustrating habit he has. "I don't know what to tell you. She’s my friend. She helped Ned. She's helping me. But there is nothing else between us. I already told you I’m only interested in one woman, and she is you."
Just then, Dale comes in. He gives me a fist bump as he strolls past to appraise the patient.
"Got yourself into a bit of a pickle, hey there, champ?" Dale asks cheerfully. "That's one way to hold off a trade."
"Yebat' sebya," Georg growls in response.
"Yeah, I looked that one up, buddy," Dale says. "That's not very nice. Also physically impossible."
"You're so loud," Georg says, teeth gritted in annoyance.
"He does have a concussion," I point out. "Maybe take it down a notch. We were discussing his rehabilitation plan. It'll be a few days, I suspect, before we can start any real work. And maybe one or two before some light work in the gym with you."
"Guess I was late to the rehab party," Dale says, only somewhat more quietly. "But really I came to wish you a speedy recovery. You've been playing great lately, and I hate to see you on your ass."
"Thank you?" Georg's response comes out more like a question.
I rehash the plan with Dale with the doctor in the room, but as we talk, I can see Georg nodding off, so we head into the hallway. Once we're all in agreement, Dale offers to take me to get some coffee.
We head to the hospital coffee shop, and when I take my first sip of my mocha latte, I close my eyes and make a sound of satisfaction.
When I open my eyes, I find Dale grinning at me. "That good?"
"Better than I expected from a hospital. And much needed. Thank you. This was a good idea."
"You're welcome. So, are you and Georg a thing or what?"
My eyes about bug out of my head. "What? No. No, we've hung out a few times but we're not…he's not…"
I'm stammering. And Dale is smirking. "He's not what? Not your boyfriend? Not interested in you? I have to disagree. He can't keep his eyes off you when he's around you. Not that I blame him. I've been trying to get your attention since day one. Are you not into guys? Please tell me you're a lesbian or something, so I can feel better you haven't noticed me yet."
"I'm not a lesbian,
Dale."
"Damn."
"I do care about Georg, though," I say, not sure if I really should admit that to Dale. I’m not blind, and I have noticed that Dale is interested, but the mutual attraction just isn’t there? I know I'm not supposed to fraternize or whatever, but we started hanging out before I worked for the Crush. I don't know if it can go anywhere, as I don't perceive him as a guy who settles down, though he's told me it's what he wants. He wants to stay and play here, settle in for a while."
"Well, that's what he wants for his career," Dale argues. "It doesn't mean he's ready to settle down in other parts of his life."
"I get that," I say. "And I've never been a settling-down kind of person either. I don't even know if I want that, specifically, with him. But I'm interested in figuring it out."
"So…you're saying I have no shot?"
"I didn't know there was a shot requested until three minutes ago."
"Well, I'm shy. I was scared to ask you out."
I give him a massive eye-roll in response. "Whatever. Your heart's not that broken."
"You're right," he says with a cocky grin. "But I do think you're smart and sexy. When things crash and burn with Georg, I'll be here to soothe your broken heart."
"I'm pretty good at protecting my heart," I answer with wink, standing and tossing my cup into the nearest trashcan. "Boom. Two points."
I walk away knowing he's watching, knowing he sees a confident woman walking away. But it's a façade. I'm a fraud. My heart has already been compromised by someone who makes me feel anything but confident that it will ever work out between us. It’s not that I think Georg is a liar, but he’s been proudly single for a long time now, and I’m not sure if I’m the girl who could truly bring about such a change in him. “I’m only interested in one woman, and she is you." I want to believe…
I so want to believe.
Twenty-One
Pam
POUR SOME SUGAR ON ME
“I can't watch this," Evan says. "I'm feeling seriously sick watching this shit."
The Crush are playing like total garbage. With Georg out on IR and Evan on a brief paternity leave, the team is relying heavily on Mikhail and Viktor, and they just aren't playing well together. Viktor is an enforcer. He's big and solid but he's not a strategic player. He's not quick. And Mikhail is struggling without a solid defenseman at his six.
I'm watching the game at Holly and Evan's house, and while Holly assures me that little Danya could sleep through a hurricane, I'm still nervous every time I yell at the television. This game is brutal.
"What the hell is going on with these refs?" Evan groans. "Seriously bad calls in every period. I shouldn't have taken this much time off."
"What, you being there would magically make the refs call the game better?" Holly asks.
"No, but I could be there to help Mikhail. It's like he's all alone out there."
"Well, he needs a lesson like this, babe," Holly argues. "He thinks he's hot stuff and it's good for him to see holding down that level of play is not as easy as he thinks."
"I suppose," Evan says dubiously, "but this is just painful."
Holly gets up and stretches. "I'm going to get a snack, anyone want anything?"
"I'm good," I say, looking down at the sleeping baby in my arms. She's a beautiful little thing with a button nose and a head of dark hair.
"Can I have a beer, my love?" Evan asks.
"Sure thing," she says as she heads toward the kitchen.
Danya starts to fuss a bit and before I can even try to calm her, Evan has swooped in and taken her from my arms. He puts her on his shoulder and pats her back, planting a kiss on her tiny head.
"Sucker," I mutter.
"Yep. I am totally whipped," he admits cheerfully.
Holly comes back in with a container of hummus and a bag of carrots. She puts Evan's beer on the coffee table and gives him a lopsided grin.
"Back to healthy, are we?" I ask, eyeing her snack. "No more ice cream or fried cheese?"
"Ugh," she says. "I'm so glad those cravings are gone."
"Got her an awesome new jogging stroller," Evan announces proudly. "She'll be back to doing half-marathons by summer."
The doorbell rings and I head over to open it. It's Scarlett, who's in tears.
"They're really sucking out there. And people on social media are being really mean," she says as she plops down in a chair.
"Well, social media feeds don't control game outcomes, for one," Holly says. "And second, don't take it personally. They need a common place to vent their frustration."
Scarlett turns to Evan and asks, "Why aren't you out there tonight? You played like three days after the baby was born…"
"Evan is allowed to take time off, Scarlett," I jump in, my tone sharp. "He deserves to take time off to enjoy his family. It's not a one-man team, so the team should be able to function without Evan for a couple of games."
"And Georg. It feels like there’s no team without you two," Scarlett wails. "Ugh. I can't wait until everything goes back to normal, and I can just go back to prepping press passes and writing press releases. This is too much stress."
Evan now has the baby in his lap and is cooing softly. At first, I don't realize what he's saying but tune in when I hear him say to Danya, "You're the baby here but that girl's acting like a baby, too. Who's the bigger baby?"
This makes us all laugh, even Scarlett, who apologizes, her cheeks turning as red as her hair.
"What's the prognosis on Georg?" Holly asks.
"He'll be fine as long as he avoids his Xbox while his concussion heals. We've got a good plan and he's in better shape than he's ever been, so I think he'll be back on the ice in no time."
"And the prognosis on your relationship with Georg?" Scarlett asks with a smirk.
"There isn't one. Not really." Scarlett is sweet, but there are times when she rubs me the wrong way. Like now. She has no clue how hard it was for me when I saw the picture of Devon and Georg, but I’m not exactly an open book. And judging by my knee-jerk reaction and the tears in the hospital, clearly my heart is so much more invested than I believed. So, for once, I’ll offer her more. "We had a great date and I bolted when I saw a picture of him on Devon's Instagram page. He’s explained when the pic was from, but the heart emojis? I don't know…"
"Well, he said it was nothing, and he wants to be with you. So, do you believe him?" Holly asks pointedly.
"Do you?" I return sharply.
"I do," Evan says, still making silly faces at the baby. He looks up at me and says, "I know him. He cares about you, Pam. Devon is not a conversation we've ever had."
"Maybe you should ask Devon," Holly suggests. "Get it out in the open. If she has feelings for Georg, you'll be able to tell."
"It's just a big messy disaster." I flop back against the couch cushions. "What good would it do to talk to Devon about this?"
"Well, if they are just friends, you can put it behind you," Scarlett offers.
"And if they're not?" I ask. "I'll feel like a big idiot."
"But at least you'll know," Holly says.
Yeah. At least I'll know. And then my heart will be ripped to absolute shreds, because I’m not the long-term girl. My mom’s blood runs in my veins, and surely no man will ever want to get that close to me.
* * *
What are the odds I run right into Devon on the day I'm supposed to start therapy work with Georg. Nothing like facing your fears whether you're ready to or not.
"Good morning, Miss Pam," she says cheerfully, balancing her coffee cup, keys, jacket, and bag as she steps toward her office door.
"Morning," I say. "Need a hand?"
"Oh, thanks." She hands me her coffee while she unlocks her door. "Like the rest of my life, my morning ritual is perpetually overcommitted."
I put her coffee on her desk for her and make to leave but decide to just get the question out into the open. Sometimes you just have to rip off the Band-Aid and bear it. At least it's ov
er quickly. "Are you and Georg Kolochev an item?"
Devon's eyes go wide at first, then crinkle at the edges as she lets out a hearty laugh. "No. No we are not."
"I just saw the picture you posted on Instagram and thought maybe…"
"Oh, I was just really proud of him that day. He had to do a hard thing, asking his agent to go to rehab. He and I have talked a lot this season, mostly about his commitment to his own health. But there's nothing romantic there. I mean, he's cute and all, but no."
Now I feel stupid. I can feel my cheeks going hot and Devon appraises me further, tilting her head. "Are you in love with him?" She gentles her tone quickly, "Don't worry, I won't tell the fraternization police."
No sense in lying, right? "We've spent time together and I really do like him. I just didn't want—"
"To get your heart broken? To find out he wasn't a one-woman guy?" She's nodding at her own statement and I can see something in her eyes. Pain, maybe? It's distant, but it's there.
"Yes," I say simply.
"Well, for what it's worth, he's a really good man. He's not always acted with the most maturity but he is loyal to those he cares about. And he's evolving, every single day. I think he's worth your time."
I push my lips together and nod, taking in a big breath, letting it out. "Thanks, Devon."
* * *
The butterflies in my stomach are having a field day as I eye the clock. It's nothing new. I've been feeling this way all day long. Because Georg is coming to see me today. He's my last appointment. And I'm a freaking wreck waiting for him to show. I don't know what to expect at all. We haven't resolved anything between us since he was injured. Although that's partly because he was barred from using technology while recovering from his concussion, so we couldn't really text or FaceTime. I've spoken to him twice on the phone, but mostly to check in from an official standpoint, so we could coordinate his physical therapy appointments. He's been doing everything right to get healthy and back on the ice, and my job is to support him in any way I can, helping him to meet that goal. I have to remember that.
Sin Shot: Vegas Crush #2 Page 13