“Rory, I’m fine,” she says, but she’s wincing. Hazel is in pain and she’s wincing, and it’s my fault.
I said I wouldn’t let her fall. Fear leaks into my blood, making my chest hurt.
“She needs a stretcher.” My voice sounds different. Tense and sharp and loud.
Hazel puts her hand on my shoulder, and I can feel how wild my eyes are. She puts on a reassuring smile.
“Rory, I don’t need a stretcher,” she says softly. “I’m okay. I just slipped.”
I take her hand, the one she used to break her fall, and inspect it. The heel of her palm is red. My fingers skim over the delicate bones of her wrist but nothing seems amiss. Swelling, but not broken.
“Alright.” The medic crouches beside us. “What hurts?”
“I’m okay—” she starts.
“Her ankle and her wrist,” I answer. “And probably her tailbone. We need to go to the hospital.”
She hit the ice so hard I heard her teeth clack. My mind keeps replaying her eyes going wide as she fell, the way her lips parted with worry, and my chest tightens again.
“She might have a concussion,” I add.
I don’t miss the look she exchanges with the medic. “I don’t have a concussion,” she says, “and I definitely don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“Yes, you do. You could have a fracture.” My throat knots.
Hazel is hurt and it’s because of me.
I can hear myself, I can hear how insane and upset I sound, but right now all I care about is making Hazel feel better. Making sure she’s okay. Protective instincts fire through me.
Fuck.
Behind us, the kids, parents, and players watch me lose my mind. Ward meets my eyes and arches a brow.
I look to Volkov, waiting nearby. “Call Dr. Greene.”
He makes a face. Georgia Greene is one of the team doctors, and Volkov can’t stand her, but I don’t give a shit about that right now.
“Call her,” I snap, and he frowns but pulls his phone out.
“Can you stand?” the medic asks Hazel.
“No, she can’t stand.” I’m already scooping Hazel up with care, clutching her tight to me as I slowly skate to the bench. My brain is stuck in caveman gear—make her feel better, get her safe, get her warm, and make her comfortable. Take her pain away.
“Rory.” Her uninjured hand flattens on my chest, smoothing over me in soothing circles.
She’s my whole world, and I let her fall. My teeth grit.
“We’re going to see Dr. Greene.” Off Hazel’s exasperated expression, I glare down at her. “No arguing.”
Hazel sighs as I step off the ice and head to the medic’s room.
CHAPTER 53
HAZEL
That evening, Rory carries me through the door of the Filthy Flamingo, and everyone cheers.
“You made it.” Pippa grins between us and Streicher raises an eyebrow as Rory gently sets me on the chair beside my sister. Kit, Darcy, Hayden, and Alexei all call out their hellos, crammed into the booth.
It’s the last time everyone will see each other before the holiday break, and most of the players and their partners are here, talking and laughing, crowding the bar. Jordan’s strung Christmas lights up on a small tree in the back corner, and cheap, sparkly, old-school tinsel drapes over the frames and photos.
“We’re only staying for an hour,” Rory mutters before crouching down to inspect my wrapped ankle. “And then I’m taking her home to rest.”
I watch him check the tensor bandage. He did this when Georgia, the doctor, saw me, too, and demanded she get a second opinion to make sure it wasn’t a high sprain. For the past two hours, Rory’s worn a worried frown, and while it’s adorable as hell, my heart hurts because I know he thinks it’s his fault.
My hand lands on his shoulder and I give him a squeeze. “Why don’t you come sit up here with me?”
He glances up at me with hesitation, and I suppress a smile because for a moment, it actually looks like Rory would prefer to sit on the floor beside my ankle, guarding it, but he stands, and after he retrieves a bag of ice from Jordan and places it over my propped-up ankle, he finally takes the seat beside me.
My stomach dips as he loops an arm around my waist, tugging me close.
“Why are you acting like this?” I ask softly, gaze lingering on the lock of hair that’s fallen into his eyes.
They pitch with worry. “I said I wouldn’t let you fall.”
Oh, god. My heart. “It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you. It was just an accident.”
“I hate seeing you hurt.” His throat works and he frowns at my wrist, bandaged up. It aches, but it’s barely noticeable compared to what his pained expression does to me.
“I’m fine, I promise.” I wiggle my fingers to show him. “Did you have fun today?”
“Besides when you took a decade off my life?”
I laugh, and he finally cracks a teasing smile. My stomach flutters at the sight of it.
“Yes, I did.” He winks, mouth still curved up with reluctance. “Thank you for coming.”
I give him a warm look. Behind Jamie and Pippa, I spot Connor at another table, sitting with a few players, but the girl he was with today, Sam, is nowhere in sight. Our gazes meet and his eyes are red and unfocused as he downs the rest of his beer.
Something recoils inside me. He’s drunk. Some people are cute and sweet and silly when they’re drunk, but not Connor. From what I remember, he gets childish and pushy.
I shove the thoughts of him away. He doesn’t matter.
“Seeing you with the kids was so cute,” I tell Rory, refocusing on him. “You’re so good with them.”
He makes a thoughtful noise. “If I wasn’t a hockey player,” he says, shrugging with a smile I might call shy, “I think I’d be a gym teacher. It’s fun, teaching kids how to skate and playing around with them.” His eyes slide to me, teasing, but there’s something vulnerable and honest behind his gaze. “Would you still like me if I were a gym teacher?”
My heart twists in half.
“Of course.” I give him a cool smile. “You’d look so good in the shorts.”
“I do have great legs, don’t I?”
We grin at each other, and his eyes are bright under the Christmas lights in the bar. Finally, he’s starting to relax and seem like himself again.
“I would, though,” I add quietly. “Like you if you were a gym teacher, that is.”
His expression softens as he searches my eyes.
“You’re a catch. And you’d be a catch even if you didn’t play hockey.”
Rory Miller is so much more than a hockey player, but I don’t know how to say that without spilling everything to him.
He takes a deep breath like he wants to say something, but instead, his throat works and he just smiles. I don’t know how to categorize this one; it’s sweet, affectionate, and wistful. He’s gorgeous when he shows me this smile.
Rory brings his mouth to my ear before he gives me the lightest nip on my earlobe, and my breath catches. “Love it when you pump up my ego like this, Hartley.”