Chapter 15
Busted Open
Beau
“Hurry,” I growled at the team doctor, Jordan, as he worked a needle in and out of the skin just above my eyebrow. “I need to get back out there.”
“Be still. I'm going as fast as I can,” Jordan reprimanded me. “But no matter how soon I get this done? No one's letting you out there until you pass a concussion screening.”
“What the fuck for? I'm fine.”
“You looked awfully shaky out there, Beau.”
“Yeah, I just got my face rammed into the glass.”
“Which is why the league will make you pass concussion protocols,” Jordan answered.
“But I'm telling you, I'm fine.”
Jordan shrugged.
In his eyes, it wasn't up for debate. And maybe that was a good thing. Because the truth was? The hit from Leroux fucked me up, and yeah, I was still a little dazed. But I've had my bell rung enough to know this wasn't anything out of the ordinary.
The worst part of that hit was that it happened right in front of Camille. I'd just spotted her for the first time tonight—and my heart jumped into my throat. Not only did she come to the game after all, she dressed a little gothic, like she used to way back when.
Surely that wasn't a coincidence. Was she sending me a message? Did she wanna hook up again tonight?
Then I noticed that middle finger she held waiting for me, right between her boobs. Welp. Guess not.
And then, well, the next thing I knew, my face was plastered into the glass, everything went black, and I woke up on the ice. When I finally got up again, I was seeing double. But even that wasn't so bad—I saw two Camilles behind the glass.
Jordan finished sewing me up and gave the wound a healthy dousing of iodine. “There we go. All patched up. So the league's sending their concussion-spotter down to check you out. Gonna be a few minutes before he gets here, and if you pass all his tests, you'll be good to go back out there.”
“Alright. Hey, Jordan, you mind getting me my cell phone? I should probably tell my Mom I'm alright. She watches every game and she's probably freaking out right now.”
“Sure thing, bud.” Jordan went into the dressing room and came back with my phone.
I called Mom and let her know I was alright. Mom sounded like she'd been crying. Watching my games can be hard on her.
“I'm fine, Mom, alright? Don't worry. I'll talk to you later. I gotta get back into the game. Love you. Bye.”
I hung up, and then my phone buzzed with a text. I opened it—it was from Camille.
“Oh my god, please don't actually die! I didn't mean it! I'm so worried about you … please tell me you're going to be okay!”
I cracked a smile—what, did she actually care about me now?—and texted her back.
“Hi. Not dead yet. Sorry to disappoint you.”
I could practically hear the sigh of relief when I read her reply.
“Fuck! Why do you have to scare me like that???”
“Next time I take a brutal cheapshot from behind, I promise I'll give you advance warning.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
“I'm surprised you're pretending to care.”
“Shutup. I do care, dick.”
Reading that text gave me a smile.
But the next one she sent brought a frown.
“P.S. You play like a goon now. You used to be a goal-scorer. What happened?”
“I dunno,” I answered, groaning.
“Well hurry up and come back and score a goal, idiot! Your team needs one to tie it. I was rooting against you, but after these NYC jerks cheered when you got hurt, I'm on your side. Fuck these assholes.”
I grinned and fired off another text. “Sweeten the pot.”
“Excuse me?”
“If I come back and score a goal? I get to treat you to dinner after the game.”
Up until I proposed that idea, we'd traded back-and-forth texts in rapid-fire fashion. But now, minutes rolled off the clock without an answer from her. I wondered if I'd gone too far and now she was giving me the cold shoulder.
Hm.
But then, finally, my phone buzzed again.
“Really, Beau? Is that really what you want?”
“Hell yeah it is.”
“Fine. Get back here, score a goal, and you've got a deal. P.S. I'm only agreeing because I know you can't score goals anymore.”
My nostrils flared. I knew she was only trying to light a fire under my ass, but goddamn—she sure knew how to press my buttons.
“Better start thinking about what you wanna do after we eat,” I texted her back. “Because now I'm scoring two.”
I set my phone aside and yelled at Jordan. “Where the hell is this concussion guy at?!”
After a few more minutes of waiting, the concussion-spotter finally made it into the room to check me out.
“Took you long enough,” I growled at him. “What happened? Hit your head and get lost on the way down here?”
He peered at me over his spectacles; he wasn't amused. “Remember: I'm the guy who decides if you get to return to the ice or not.”
My shoulders dropped. “Fine.”
***
I got cleared to return to the game during the second intermission. When the third period started, I took the ice with the rest of the team. When they saw me again, the crowd went wild with their boos.
Hunter elbowed me. “Guess they're glad to see you back, huh?”
“You know it.”
I skated by Camille's seat and gave her a wink. She sat with folded arms. Her eyes glowed, but her lips were cinched tight—like she was fighting back a smile with every ounce of willpower she had in her bones.
And that was when I realized something.
You know. I really do like that girl.
Unfortunately, Coach took me off Hunter's line and started the period with my ass stapled to the bench. Coach apparently didn't think it was 'safe' for me to return to the game yet.
“Why the hell not?” I roared. “They cleared me. They said I'm fine.”
“It's not about that. The game's gotten too chippy with you out there, Beau. I've gotta worry about the other guys on this team. If I throw you back out there, it'll be like throwing gas on a fire.”
“You don't understand, Coach. I need to get back out there.”
“Why, so you can exact revenge?”
“No. Coach, I wanna get even on the scoreboard.”
“That's rich,” Coach said with a doubting laugh. Some of the boys around me laughed, too.
No one believed me.
Coach shook his head. “Just hang tight and take it easy, Beau.”
Wow.
Coach was really going to bench me. After coming back from that huge hit, he wasn't going to put me back out there. And after I bragged to Camille that I'd score two goals, too. Coach might as well cut my balls off and throw those out on the ice while he was at it.
I stewed on the bench, watching my team slog through the game like uninspired, emotionless robots.
After every mistake, every flat play, I shot Coach a nasty look that said, see? Put me out there and that won't happen.
But he turned away every time, too damned proud to look me in the eye.
Until the Scouts scored again—and we went down 2-0 with ten minutes left to play. As soon as that puck went into our net, I stared at Coach.
“Alright, Beau. You've got one shift to make me change my mind.”
He tapped my shoulder and sent me out with Hunter's line for the next play.
Yes.
I leaped over the boards with piss and vinegar flowing through my veins. As soon as the ref dropped the puck, I let pure instinct and rage guide me on a tear.
We took the puck into the Scout's end. In the corner, I crushed a Scout, savoring the crowd's cringing oof—a sound that told me the hit was so hard, I might as well have punched each and every fan in the gut personally.
Which I would've really enjoyed, after all their booing tonight.
I snatched up the puck that bobbled free after the hit. I sent it to Hunter, who streaked into the offensive zone and pulled a defender to himself.
I sneaked into the open ice and cocked my stick, ready to fire.
I didn't even have to call for the puck—that's how good Hunter is. He saw me get open and knew, knew, that I wanted to put my mark on this game after that hit.
He sent the puck sailing through the air back to me. I let out a battle roar and leaned into the shot, giving it everything I had. Off my stick in a hurry, that rubber disc was only a streaking black blur through the air, over the goalie's shoulder, under the bar, and into the net.
We were still down 2-1, but I'd just scored that dinner.
My teammates mobbed me with hugs, but I managed to break free from the group to skate by Camille. Her hands were excitedly clasped together—and the smile, the look on her face?
Man.
I'd do anything to see that look on her face again and again.