Worth the Fall

by Mara Jacobs

“Fine. I’m fine. Can we just get the show on the road?”

  “We’re going to take you down for an X-ray first, then the MRI most likely.”

  Alison stepped out of the way to let the nurses in. “I’ll go find Lizzie and your parents and let them know what’s going on,” she told him.

  “No,” he said quickly, firmly. “I don’t want them to know you’re back here—they’ll demand to be back here. At least my dad will. He’ll….” He looked at Alison, knowing she’d understand.

  And she did. She knew Dan Ryan would be in a very agitated state, and that was not a good look on him. “Okay. It’s fine. I won’t go out there.”

  “In fact, you can go home. Maybe you could just go out a back way or something, so my parents don’t see you. Then text Lizzie that I’m fine and that she should keep my parents out there for now.” He put on his trademark grin and said to the nurses, “I love my parents, but if they’re back here fawning all over me, I am going to need those painkillers.”

  Right. Somehow Alison couldn’t envision Lieutenant Dan fawning over his son, injured or not. It would be more like Dan badgering Scott to fix Petey up quick so he could get back on the ice.

  But she was absolved from the duty that should have been Lizzie’s anyway. She started to gather her bag and then saw…something…flit across his face. Relief? Fear? Pain? “I’ll stay until you get back from your X-rays,” she said, moving her bag from the chair she’d placed it on and sitting down.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I know.” A small look passed between them, but she couldn’t have identified it if she’d wanted to. And she didn’t. Textbook repression, but she didn’t feel like analyzing herself right now.

  He said nothing as they wheeled him away. “I’ll text Lizzie. See if she can’t get your parents to go home until we know what’s going on,” she called after him.

  She heard a snort of laughter—or disgust—even though he was already down the hall. “Yeah. Good luck with that,” she heard as Petey was wheeled through swinging doors off into the unknown.

  Three

  The physical, whatever its nature may be, is itself unconscious.

  ~ Sigmund Freud

  Of all the emergency rooms in all the world, Alison Jukuri had to walk into his.

  Technically, Petey supposed, he’d walked—wheeled—into hers, since she was already here visiting her dad.

  Still, hers was probably the last face he needed to see right now when all he wanted to do was howl at the injustice of surviving fifteen years in the NHL only to be brought low by his childhood home’s front steps.

  They’d taken his clothes off and put on one of those stupid gowns—though he’d insisted on keeping his boxers and tee-shirt on—and had done an X-ray and were now moving on to the MRI.

  But he knew. He totally knew what the doc—Scott, for Christ’s sake—was going to say. The tests weren’t even necessary—his knee was shot.

  He’d have surgery. He’d be fine. He’d be walking well in a few weeks. He could even lace up skates in probably six or seven.

  And he’d never put on a uniform again.

  If he were a younger man, it wouldn’t be a problem. There would be rehab for the knee through the rest of the season and the off-season, and be ready to go by next fall. But he wasn’t a young man—at least not by NHL standards. And to have that knee at full strength—full out, bruising defenseman, enforcer, goon-squad strength—wouldn’t happen in Petey’s remaining window of playing time. If he’d had any doubts about his body being on its last season, they were gone now.

  There was a sense of irony to it all that he was sure he’d appreciate more if he weren’t in excruciating pain. Something only Alison picked up on. Though if you tell nurses and doctors you’re not in pain, that you’re fine, they were probably supposed to believe you.

  Not Alison. Damn, he hated that she knew him so well. Especially since he felt like he never knew her at all, even after years of traveling in the same set of friends. Even after what they had gone through—No. He was not going down that road again. He’d worn the hairshirt long enough at the time.

  The irony of it all. Yeah, that’s what he’d been thinking about as the technician situated his leg onto the MRI bed—Fuck, that hurt—while he smiled and said he was okay. The irony of just having told the front office, and then his parents, that this would be his last season. And then to have his season ended with one small fall.

  No farewell visits to opposing rinks. No good-natured dirty hits from other teams because they’d never get another chance to plant Pete Ryan on his ass. No wave of his stick to the crowd at the Joe when he finished playing his last game in his home arena.

  Christ, he’d never step on the ice at Joe Louis Arena again. At least not with a jersey on.

  “Okay, Mr. Ryan, we’re just about ready to begin,” the tech said to him.

  Petey gave him a grin and replied, “Take your time, ‘cause I think I’m heading into surgery after you’re done with me, and I’m in no rush for that.”

  The tech seemed startled at that and Petey saw him look to the little windowed booth where his doctor sat. He couldn’t see what looks passed between them, but the tech was silent and a little more careful as he readied Petey.

  “Okay, we’re ready to begin. First, you’ll—”

  Petey held up a hand, interrupting the young man. “It’s okay. This ain’t my first rodeo.”

  Again, the tech looked beyond Petey and must have gotten the permission he needed to skip the preamble. He patted Petey’s shoulder—which Petey should have found comforting but didn’t—and left the room.

  The machine started up and his bed moved down into position. They were giving him instructions through the intercom, but he didn’t really hear them. He didn’t need to, as he’d been through this a few times. And he didn’t want to think about where he was and what was bound to come next.

  Think of something else. Think of—

  Her shapely legs wrapped around his waist as he drove into her, her ankles locked together like she couldn’t get enough of him. Later, her sweet little ass curled into him, letting him hold her while she slept.

  Aw, shit. So not where he wanted to go, even if it distracted him from the whirring of the machine that would be the messenger of bad news.

  He’d relived the night of Katie’s and Darío’s wedding a thousand times in the months since he’d awakened alone in Alison’s hotel room. Sometimes in frustration, sometimes in regret. Many times as a prelude to…well, the road could be a lonely place and there were nights where he just didn’t want to go through the work it’d take to leave the room and find a willing bedmate in a bar somewhere.

  And the memory of his night with Alison would be the final thought that got him off by his own hand in the shower.

  To see her walking toward him down the hospital corridor—after fantasizing about her for months—had made him wonder for a moment if the pain in his knee had driven him to hallucinations.

  She looked the same as she always did, petite but curvy body, smooth, flawless skin a few shades darker than most of the heavily Finnish population of the Copper Country. Alison was Finnish—and not just on the Jukuri side—but she was what was known as a dark Finn, her ancestors hailing from Lapland.

  So she didn’t have the white-blond, baby-fine hair that Katie—and many others in the area—did. Hers was a deep, rich brown that took on gold highlights in the summers when they’d all be outside all the time. She always wore it in a shorter style. Lately, it was cut with longer bangs in the front that kind of did this swoopy thing, but still short in the back, showing off her nape.

  Nothing sexier than a woman’s exposed nape.

  Nor did Alison have the blue eyes that so often accompanied the light Finns. No, Alison had the most amazing, huge, expressive brown eyes that could relay compassion (for others), and irritation (for him) with a single look.

  And those eyes had looked at him once—well, technically twice,
but he’d been too young and stupid to recognize it at the time—with such passion, intensity and all-around lust that sometimes just remembering that look in her whiskey-brown eyes was all it took in the shower.

  But she wasn’t there for him. Lizzie’d made her keep him company until the cavalry arrived.

  He’d let her off the hook and told her to go, but she said she’d stay. He didn’t really know what to expect as they finished up with the tests and wheeled him back to the holding area or whatever it was called.

  Alison was there with one of those electronic book readers in her hands. She looked up as they drew near and then stood. “How’d it go?” she asked.

  “They don’t tell you anything there. The doc will be around in a few minutes to tell me I need surgery.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He shrugged—Shit, even that seemed to hurt his knee—and said, “I know the drill.”

  She accepted that without question. They all knew when he’d had surgery for lesser injuries before. Hell, Lizzie’d been at the hospital in Detroit through all of them. Katie and Ron had sent flowers. Zeke, Lizzie’s twin and Petey’s other best friend besides Lizzie, had flown into town for one of them.

  Had Alison ever acknowledged any of his surgeries? A card? Anything?

  No, he would have definitely remembered it if she had. Sudden pissiness overcame him. “I thought I said you could go home.”

  She gave him a look of stone. “I’m sorry. I must have missed the memo that said I listened to you.”

  “Did you at least text Lizzie and give her the scoop?”

  “Yep. She and your parents are still out in the general waiting area. Your parents still have no idea I’m back here. Or that anyone’s allowed back here with you.”

  “Let’s keep it that way.”

  “What? I’m going to go out there and tell them I’ve been back here the whole time and they could have been, too? And deal with the wrath of Lieutenant Dan? Uh, that would be no.”

  And that’s exactly how it would happen, too. “Jesus, he needs to get a life.”

  “He has a life,” she said with the compassion he knew was there but seldom got to witness. “You. You’re his life.”

  He let out a long sigh that felt good. “I know,” he said softly. They both knew it to be true. “This is going to kill him. I mean, hours after I told him I was going to retire, you’d think it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

  “That was for real? You are retiring?”

  “Retired,” he said, motioning toward his offending knee, which looked perfectly fine. From the outside.

  “And you already told your parents?”

  He nodded. “That’s why I came home even though it’s just a couple of days’ break for the All-Star Game. I put in my paperwork this week. I’m done at the end of the season. I wanted to tell my parents face to face. Then I figured I’d need to see Lizzie after that.”

  She looked away for a moment, thinking. Always thinking, Alison. With that genius brain of hers that he never had a hope of matching.

  “What exactly would have happened in the next three months or so if you hadn’t fallen? Between now and your last game?” Her voice was low, soft and just a touch melodic, and he suddenly felt like her patients probably did—valued…important…safe.

  But he didn’t want her to see him as a patient. Had never wanted that.

  “I don’t know. Nothing much. Maybe a speech or something at the last home game. Hell, maybe even a bobblehead,” he said

  “You already have a bobblehead.”

  She knew that? Did she have one? And why did the thought that she did mean so much to him?

  “Stevie has all your crap like that.”

  Oh. But still, how would she know what Lizzie’s stepson collected unless—

  “He insisted on showing off all his Pete Ryan paraphernalia when I was over for dinner one night.”

  The woman was never going to give an inch where he was concerned. A lesson he’d learned long, long ago. But had recently forgotten.

  “I think there would probably be more than just a bobblehead. How many years have you been playing?” she asked.

  They graduated from high school the same year, though she from Hancock and he from Houghton. They graduated from college the same year, though she with honors and he just squeaking through. They’d both begun their careers right after, though she went on for more degrees and he played a game for a living.

  She knew damn well how many years he’d been in the NHL. Didn’t she?

  “Fifteen.”

  “Right. That’s a long time for hockey, isn’t it?”

  “For a defenseman, yeah.”

  “And all those years with just one team. That—”

  “I wasn’t with the Red Wings the whole time. I got traded and then traded back.” Christ, she really had no idea, did she? She’d been hanging with Katie and Ron up here all those years, and Petey knew they kept a close eye on his career. They wouldn’t have mentioned that one of their closest friends now lived in a different city, played for a different team? Had missed the Stanley Cup years with the Red Wings?

  Or was she playing him? Is this what she did with her patients? To do what—throw them off? Get them to open up more?

  He needed to get her off this patient tactic she was taking with him before she started spouting words like “closure” and “acceptance.”

  He was not one of her patients. Had she moaned and arched while underneath one of her patients? Not damn likely.

  “So. You and Doc Thompson? What’s going on there? Fuck him yet?”

  Her head came back and she pulled out of shrink mode. She blinked those huge brown peepers a couple of times. Yeah, that’s right. I’m not some poor sap who needs the couch. He sat up a bit straighter, though it sent a flash of pain through him, and waited for her to hiss and spit like the wildcat he knew she could be.

  “As if I’d tell you.”

  “Hmm, normally I’d say that meant yes. But with you….”

  “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Then set me straight. You and the good doctor….”

  She looked like she wanted to spar with him, then he saw her glance at his knee and he knew the instant she decided to go easy on him. Oh, hell no.

  “He’s totally your type, you know. Safe. Boring.”

  “Educated. Civilized.”

  There she was.

  “If you like that sort of thing.”

  She snorted a small laugh, and that familiar feeling he got whenever they verbally went at it came over him. Like her jabs were small tokens of affection.

  “I do. I do like that sort of thing,” she said quietly.

  Or like small daggers to the soul.

  “Listen, Al—” he began, not really sure where he was going, but also not sure how much of their seesaw he could take right now. He didn’t get the chance to finish as the doctor chose that moment to make his way back into the area, chart and printouts in hand.

  “Mr. Ryan, you were right. It is the ACL and the meniscus. You really did a number on this knee.” He turned to the nurse who’d come from the desk area to join them. “Let’s get some Percocet for Mr. Ryan right away.”

  “That’s not necessary,” he said.

  The doc shook the papers in his hand, as if trying to remind Petey how messed up his knee was. Oh, he knew, all right. “Mr. Ryan, you must be in tremendous pain. I really think—”

  Petey held up a hand, stopping him. “No meds. At least not until you have to put me under for surgery.”

  “Don’t be an ass. Take the painkillers,” Alison said.

  He ignored her and asked the doctor, “How soon can you do the surgery?”

  The doctor nodded as he said, “I’m glad you’re okay with doing the surgery here. I assumed you’d want to have it done in Detroit. Maybe by team physicians?”

  He waved that away. “This needs to be done ASAP. And I can’t keep it immobilized for
that drive or flight.”

  The doctor was nodding along with him, but also seemed surprised. Like he didn’t think Petey had it in him to be so astute. Christ, did everyone in the room think he was just a dumb jock?

  “Since it’s so late, I’d like to keep you overnight and do the surgery first thing in the morning. I’ve already called Dr. Wright in Marquette and he’s on standby to drive over tomorrow morning. I’ll assist.”

  “You’re not going to do it yourself?”

  “No. He’s an orthopedic surgeon. You’ll be in better hands with him. For minimal invasion and a much smoother recovery, he’ll go in arthroscopically. Which, given your scars, you’ve obviously had done before.”

  “But you’ll be there?”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t know why that would make him feel better, but it did. “Okay, Doc, let’s get this show on the road. Find me a bed.”

  “Fine. Good. About the painkillers….”

  “Nope. Nothing until the drip tomorrow morning. I’m good.”

  The doctor looked at him skeptically, but just nodded and walked away, giving instructions to the nurse who followed. He looked away from their retreating backs. He’d known what the doctor was going to say, had been dead on about the shape of his knee. So why did it feel so shitty to be right?

  “Fuck.”

  He felt a small, warm hand gently touch his arm. “Want me to go get Lizzie?”

  “No.” He paused and shook his head slowly. “She’ll care too much. So will my parents. They’ll all be really upset.”

  “As opposed to me, who could give a shit?” she said with just a touch of sarcastic bitch in her voice. What had he called it? A dash. Yes, just a dash of bitch on that one. The hand stayed on his arm, though. And damn but he liked it.

  “Exactly,” he answered, not heeding her sarcasm. “That’s exactly what I need right now. Somebody objective. Removed. Pretend I’m one of your patients or something.”

  “And when did you first know you wanted to sleep with your mother?” she said in a mock, low, smooth, therapist-y voice.

  “Fuck,” he growled. “Fine. Go get Lizzie. And my parents. Your shift is over. You’ve done your duty.”