Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Rome charges after Nolan, dropping his gloves by the time I get a hand up to my face. The crowd erupts and Rome gives Nolan a lesson in what happens if one of his teammates gets hurt.
It’s not a big deal, because I’d do that for him. It’s part of our job.
One of the officials gets between them before it fully escalates, but the message has been delivered. Rome lets himself be separated without resistance—job done, point made. He skates past me on the way to the box and doesn’t say anything. Just lifts his chin once.
That’s it. That’s the whole thing.
A trainer appears before me and gives the cut a quick examination. “Going to need stitches,” he says and then hands me a towel to hold against the wound.
I’m escorted off the ice, back into the visiting locker room where one of our team physicians, Dr. Warrick, waves me to an examination table.
This isn’t the first time I’ve bled in a game and certainly not my first set of stitches. It’s not the doctor’s first rodeo either. He’s efficient and unsentimental about it. He gets me under the light, cleans the cut, tells me it needs four stitches and gets to work. A little anesthetic and he’s looping thread. He doesn’t make conversation while he works and I stare at the ceiling of the medical room, letting him do what he does.
The doc smears ointment on it. “All done and ready to get back at it.”
Because as hockey players, that’s what we do. We get back out there.
“There are only three minutes left and Coach said to stay here until the end of the period.” I glance over to see Livia standing there with a look of concern on her face.
“Those stitches need to come out in ten days,” Dr. Warrick says, clapping me on the shoulder, and then he leaves me alone with Livia.
“For as stubborn as you are, I expected your chin to be made of concrete,” she says with a playful smile.
“Funny girl,” I mutter, standing up from the table and moving into the locker room area.
She follows me all the way to my cubby where I examine the fresh stitches in a small mirror.
“In case you’re wondering… chicks really do dig scars,” she says from behind me, and my gaze meets her in the reflection.
Why the fuck do I want to laugh at that?
I don’t.
“Here to run a post-concussion check on me?” I ask as I turn around to face her.
She chuckles, crosses her arms. “No. Dr. Warrick is far more qualified than I am for that. I did want to make sure you were okay.”
“Right as rain,” I tell her.
“Rome got a two-minute minor,” she tosses out.
I lift a shoulder. “He was teaching Nolan a lesson.”
“He didn’t have to do that,” she says, not being argumentative but sounding almost as if she doesn’t understand the game. “I saw the play and it was accidental.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say, leaning against the frame of the stall. “Intentional or not, high sticks are penalized, either by the ref or by a teammate.”
Livia nods slowly as she absorbs that. “That makes sense. But the ref already gave Nolan a penalty. Why did Rome go after him?”
“Because you make sure the lesson is learned.”
She wrinkles her nose slightly. “Ice hockey is a weird sport sometimes. It’s almost… mafioso.” She puts on her best Don Corleone voice. “You mess with my family, you wake up with a horse’s head in your bed.”
I snort, refusing to let a full laugh release. “Good analogy.”
“And you’d have done the same for him?” she asks.
I blink at her in surprise. “Yeah… anybody on this team would have.”
“That’s next-level loyalty,” she muses.
I can’t decide if she’s legitimately trying to learn the game or if she’s trying to poke at me. “You’ve been around us for a few weeks, been to every game, and you’re talking as if you’re watching from the outside. You do understand this is a team sport and loyalty is inherent in that, right?”
“Of course,” she scoffs. “I’m a very keen observer. Rome Davies has been your defensive partner all season. He reads your positioning before you make the decision. He covers your weak side without being asked. And tonight when someone put a stick in your face, he dropped his gloves before you started bleeding.” She tilts her head slightly. “That’s not a teammate doing his job. That’s someone who gives a damn what happens to you.”
That hits me wrong. “People give a damn until they don’t,” I say caustically.
Livia stares at me and I brace, waiting for her to push me on the vague meaning behind my words. To see if she goes back on her promise to leave my past alone.
Instead, she sighs and says, “I know that all too well.”