by Stacey Lynn
The good thing about crutches is I’m figuring out all sorts of ways they’re helpful, like gathering clothes off the floor and flinging them across my room.
Shit. I’m in a seriously bad place mentally if scooping up dirty clothes is the most exciting part of my day.
If I can’t nail down Katie and soon, it might be best to head back to my place in North Carolina. At least there I’ll have teammates and likely their annoyingly helpful and chirpy wives to keep me from climbing walls.
After my room looks decent, which sucks because I’m usually a pretty damn good clean freak, I clunk and clink my way back to the kitchen where I drop the dishes into the sink. It hurts like hell to bend over and do normal, simple things, like loading and unloading a dishwasher, so I’ve taken to hand washing all my shit.
Which again. I’m a fucking professional hockey player and I can’t grab spoons from a dishwasher. All the things I can’t do are adding up, making me feel more pathetic by the day.
I have a split second thought where I should text Katie to go back home. I’m not sure I’m in the right headspace for anything but her soft sighs when her lips are on mine and the feel of her hair tangled in my fingers.
A text comes on my phone and it’s her telling me she’s here. I text back to tell her to come on up and the door’s unlocked so when she finally enters—which feels like forever, thanks in part to the slow as molasses elevators and my increasing impatience—I’m only a few feet inside the doorway, resting a shoulder against the wall.
“You step inside this place and I’m going to kiss you.” Yeah, that’s the asshole thing I say to her first. Not hello. Not wow, you’re beautiful in Storm gear but you’d look hotter wearing my jersey.
Which might be equally douchebaggery.
To the delight of the blood rushing straight below my waist, she steps inside and lets the door close behind her. “I didn’t text you for that, but I won’t turn it down.”
I jerk my chin up. “Then get your sweet ass over here.”
She doesn’t even hesitate, which means I’m grinning when she reaches me. I grab her hand and yank her the rest of the way, loving the way she slams into my chest with a quiet oomph.
Before she can blink or reconsider, my hand is at the back of her head, mine is lowering, and I press my lips against hers, sliding my tongue inside her mouth without hesitation.
Everything inside me from my chest to my dick sparks and sizzles and for the first time in weeks, possibly longer, I feel alive and strong and exactly where I’m supposed to be. I’m resting on the wall, one arm settled over a crutch. It makes kissing her without falling over difficult, but after an adjustment, I’m able to get both of my hands on her cheeks, fingers in her hair, thumbs at her jaw. I tilt her head and move, pressing my back to the wall and bring her with me.
Her hands are above my hips, holding me tight, clutching the fabric of my shirt and my balls are so fucking full with the need to release just from a simple kiss, I’m afraid of what will happen if she presses her stomach against mine.
But she’s moaning, whimpering needy little breaths straight into my throat. I can’t stop or slow down. She tastes like peppermint with a hint of alcohol and I like knowing she’s graduated from beer to what hints of gin.
“Shit,” I groan, taking a breath before devouring her again. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
She huffs against me and pulls back, her lips brushing against mine. I’m hard from a kiss and an old memory of how good she feels when she’s wearing nothing at all.
“I came over to talk.” She’s breathless, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated with desire.
“We are talking.” I slide my mouth along her jaw. “Don’t you understand what I’m saying?”
Who needs words when we have our bodies?
She has to know mine is screaming I’m yours.
Her lips part and those hands on my body tighten. If only we could be in my bed, naked, bodies pressed together, but I’m not even sure I can have sex properly with my leg all screwed up. It’s pounding with pain from the pressure I’ve put on it.
I press against the wall and my hands slide from her cheeks to her shoulders and then her waist. She shivers as I run my hands down her body even though she’s tucked warmly in a coat, scarf, and her hat and gloves have been dropped on the floor along with her purse.
“I should have started this night with telling you how beautiful you look, now and on the television.”
“You saw me?”
“I watched the game.” Watched it, craving a beer to wash away the taste of bitterness in my mouth. “Ice Kings are playing now.” I try not to let it bother me. Lots of players miss games. Sometimes for illness, other times for minor injuries. I had a groin pull that kept me out for two weeks a couple years ago. But this is different, because there’s the chance I might not return.
Ever. I can’t not watch hockey but watching it makes me wants to stab the television.
She must see my frustration because her eyes slide toward the massive television where my team looks almost life-sized.
She scrunches her face. “You doing okay with that?”
I ignore the question and reach for her coat, pulling down her zipper. “They’re winning.” I’m distracted now by her breasts. The sweatshirt she has on fits her body like a glove and I run my hands up and down her ribs beneath her coat.
“Jude.” She covers my arms with her hands and when I pull my attention off her body to her face, my lust vanishes like a whip.
“What?”
“I’m worried about you. And so is Garrett. Why haven’t you seen him since you’ve been in town?”
Ah, so this is the talk she wants to have. Not us, even though she made it clear she wants something from me with that kiss.
I drop my hands from her sides and gather my crutches. “Want anything to drink? I have wine left.”
“Sure and I’ll get it. Why don’t you take a seat?”
My jaw tightens and I’m barely able to bite back the snide comment on the tip of my tongue. It takes a lot out of me these days not to be an asshole and she’s the last person who should feel my wrath.
Instead, I jerk my chin up, letting her know I’m not happy. I hobble to the fucking couch. It’s seen so much of my body in the last couple of weeks the cushions are going to be permanently imprinted with the shape of my ass.
“Glasses to the right of the fridge,” I call out, irritated and pissed. I’m also still turned on which isn’t helping anything with the sweats I’m wearing. I do a quick readjust, quietly recite stats from my high school playing days.
Her sigh of equal frustration follows me and I hear the rustle of her coat, the clatter of her shoes hitting the wood floor before she goes to the kitchen. I focus on the game. We’re tied at one in the beginning of the second period. I should have cheered and sent my brother a dumbass text when he scored our only goal so far, but instead I gripped the remote so hard I almost broke it.
It should be me out there with him, lining up on his opposite side, assisting him. Instead, it’s Newman from the second line and what pisses me off even more is that the team seems to be playing better without me than we were doing before.
And isn’t that the cherry on the top of this spectacular shitty sundae I’ve been served up.
Cupboards open and close, the faucet turns on and then off and soon, Katie’s blocking my line of sight as she twists around the couch and coffee table before she curls up at my side. Feet tucked under her, her shoulder rests against mine and I shove to the back of the couch to make more room for her.
I kiss her temple without even thinking about it as she sips her wine.
“Change your mind on the water?”
She chuckles. “I had some. Figured wine would help me relax.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what she has to be stressed about, but now that I know the main reason she’s here, I’m in no hurry to talk anymore. Unless it involves more talking with our mouths pressed toget
her.
“How are you really doing?” she asks as soon as the game goes to a commercial.
“Shitty, Katie. I’m doing shitty.” At least it’s honest but I don’t think it’s going to get her to back off.
“I’ve looked at your records.”
I peer down at her. Her eyes are on the television screen but her cheeks are pink. I run my finger along the blush and chuckle. “Isn’t that against the rules? I vaguely recall knowing something about patient confidentiality.”
“Yeah.” She shrugs. “I was worried about you.”
The problem these days is that everyone’s worried about me. Coach and the team trainer and my agent have called so many damn times I’ve stopped answering the phone. Which is why I never got my mom’s missed calls last night.
“So what’s my chart say?” I turn back to the game when it comes back on and my hand behind Katie pulls into a fist. Newman’s good. And he’s gelling perfectly with my line. There’s a chance he could actually take my spot on the team even though he’s barely twenty-one and new to the league.
I played in my first game at the same damn age and I don’t think I had his finesse. He’s an awesome teammate. Now though, he’s possible competition and I hate the little prick for being so good.
When Katie doesn’t answer, I glance at her, peeling my eyes off the screen. Her lips are pulled to one side, her eyes wide. As I make eye contact with her, her smile is shaky. “This game is pissing you off, isn’t it. I’ve never seen you mad.”
Mostly, I’m scared, but I don’t want to tell her that.
“My chart?”
“The surgery was clean. Couldn’t have gone better. Your flexibility is exactly where it needs to be right now and it’ll only improve if you keep doing the exercises at home. You’re young and strong and a pro athlete, Jude. You shouldn’t have any problems being in top form.”
“But not this season.”
It’s December. Even if I can get back out on the ice in a few months, that’s putting me back right around playoff time. The dumbest time to risk another injury or getting back too soon before I’m fully healed.
Trust me, I’ve been counting the days daily.
“No. Probably not.” She takes a drink like she has to wash away the bad news she so softly and kindly delivered.
It’s what I need to know, but not what I want to hear.
“Why’d your coach send you back here?”
“Because I was being a dick to everyone and he wanted me to have family around. Thought it’d be good for me.”
“Is it?”
Newman takes a shot at the goal and my body tenses but Seattle’s goalie blocks it at the last second. Carolina’s preparing for a ten day away game road trip and then they’ll come back with only a few days for Christmas before playing in a home game again. The trips are exhausting after a couple of years and the longer we stay on the road, the harder it is to keep up the momentum.
“What? Is being around family good for me? I mean, Mom was there to take care of me but if I’d stayed in Charlotte, I would have just hired a nurse or something.” My eyes are zoned in on the game. On Newman. On my brother executing passes to him like they are mentally talking to each other… exactly like we can do together. My jaw aches and I stretch it wide.
“Do you want to turn this off?”
“No.”
“Do you miss the team? You can go back, you know, get your rehab done there. I mean your team is like family, right?”
She’s prodding and it’s not her style. She’s half-right though. The team isn’t like my family, it is my family. I know the wives and college sweetheart girlfriends that don’t have a ring on their finger yet. I give the best gifts when I’m invited to their kid’s birthday parties and I’m probably the only person alive who knows Jason counts backward from one hundred to one, out loud, to fall asleep. Which is annoying as fuck, by the way.
But would being around all that now be good for me? I have no idea. Probably not if the way I want to punch Newman is the first thought I have when I see the team and not pride they’re still doing well.
It’s a shot to the ego when realizing your team isn’t the best team in the league because of me. Which is arrogant as hell, but come on… my stats for the last three years prove I’m the best.
“What are you getting at, Katie?” I slide her a look. It should warn her to watch herself, but she’s acting almost worse than my mom. Mom has that quiet, meddlesome anxious worry going for her.
Katie’s is braver and ready to burst.
“I’m worried about you. Not physically, but emotionally. Garrett’s concerned you haven’t returned a call from him. You don’t have your support system around you. And it can’t be easy watching them.”
“Jesus, you’re just going for the gut shots, aren’t you?”
“Would you rather I curl up next to you and let you avoid reality? That’s not you, Jude. At least not the Jude I remember.”
“Who was he?” I flash her a flirty smile. We were together so briefly and she didn’t even admit she really liked me until the last night we were together, sometimes I wonder if it’s all a dream. Or what she thought of me.
“You were bold and brave. You went after what you wanted and you didn’t break down. You were, and still are, a force of nature on the ice, Jude, but mostly, you had the biggest heart of any guy I’d ever met.”
“I have other bigger things, too, you know.”
Her cheeks flame bright red and she smacks my chest. I feign a pained sound and grab her hand, holding it to me as she laughs. “Shut up. That’s not what we’re talking about.”
“Could be,” I tease. I’ll keep changing the subject until she gets I don’t want to go where she’s taking this talk. “Tell me, in your professional opinion, how long do I have to wait until I’m mobile enough for… you know…” I wiggle my brows and she giggles.
It’s such a sweet sound, easy and carefree and I know that’s the exact opposite of Katie’s personality, I revel when I can give that to her.
“Charlotte, Jude,” she replies once she’s done laughing. All humor is swept away with it. “Would it be better for you to be back?”
It’s possible. I have no idea. Not that I haven’t considered it. The weather alone would make it easier and nicer to get around and get some walking in outside instead of being confined to treadmills and the icy and snowy sidewalks here.
“I don’t know,” I admit, and I push her back, cupping the back of her head with my palm. Her hair falls through my fingers like silk and a hint of strawberries hits my nose. “I don’t know if that’s better, but I do know I’m not at all ready to leave. Not with you here.”
10
Katie
His words make my heart stop and it takes me a moment to remember to breathe. When I do, it comes out as his name, “Jude.”
“You think I’m kidding?”
His hand is still in my hair and it’s sending intense sensations to my core. Who knew hair was an erogenous zone. Not me, not before Jude.
“It’s not that I think you’re kidding, it’s more that I think you’re crazy.”
He huffs a laugh and it’s a beautiful sound. He’s been upset tonight, tense. He’s laughed and teased. Something tells me he’s hiding the worst of his emotions. Whether it’s because he doesn’t want to admit them to me or to himself is the question though.
“I’m not crazy.”
There’s humor in his voice and a glimmer in his eye, but I shake my head and pull back. He makes me nervous. He makes me feel too much which has always been part of the problem. When I’m around Jude, I don’t think clearly.
Or maybe I’m not used to thinking clearly when I’m away from him.
“You can’t mean it then, not really.”
He frowns. “You want me to go back?”
“No. I don’t want that, but I want you to do what’s best for you. Your emotional health, your desire to get back on the ice will go a long way into
helping your recovery. I want you to be where you’ll be most successful.”
He readjusts his body on the couch, flinching when he twists his leg so he’s facing me. “Maybe my concussion knocked some sense into me, made me think about what’s important. Hockey’s only going to be a part of my life for a short time healthy or not.”
“You’re not walking away.”
“I’m not saying that. I’m saying being here, seeing you again, maybe helps make other priorities clear, too. Like a family.”
My jaw unhinges. There’s no way he’s implying he’s considering a family with me.
I struggle to find words and meanwhile, Jude’s look changes from serious to something much more enticing.
It helps he’s leaning closer, brushing his mouth along my bottom lip, nipping and teasing.
And then he’s kissing me.
Slowly.
Sweetly.
“Don’t freak out, Katie. I’m not saying tomorrow. Or a year. I’m saying I like the idea of being here and finally getting some time to explore something with you I wanted years ago.”
“And after?”
He pulls back and rests his forehead on my shoulder. I want nothing more than to take Lizzie’s advice and simply enjoy this moment in time with him. It’s impossible to forget the facts. At some point, he’s still leaving, and I’ll have to decide what to do with that.
“We’ve got time to figure that out.” He kisses my shoulder, the side of my neck, back behind my ear and a puff of breath falls from me.
“Call Garrett,” I whisper, my hand sliding to his neck, through his dark locks. “Don’t shut yourself in while you’re in here.”
“I will. But I don’t want to talk about Garrett anymore.”
He’s still at that sweet spot on my neck that drives me crazy. We’re barely touching, fully clothed. Sparks of pleasure slicing from my neck down to my sex makes my hips roll on their own volition.
“Jude.” I gasp his name and dig my fingers into his shoulder. My other hand holds my wineglass and he takes it from me, pausing for only a moment to set it on the table.