Jase (24 page)

“Like I told you back there, I’m not interested. Go find another player to bag, honey.” He twisted back around and scanned the lot, but DeeDee had disappeared. Groaning, he turned from the blonde and stalked over to his truck, jumping up inside and locking the doors before the bimbo could think to open them. He pounded the steering wheel for a moment, roaring out his disappointment and pain.

***

A month later, and he still hadn’t seen DeeDee again.
Not for lack of trying on his part—Mason be damned—but she wouldn’t take his calls, wouldn’t open her door to his knocking, and Gunny, the bouncer at Slinky’s, would no longer let him inside the club.
He called Slate to tell him about the tickets at the box office, begging him to let her know they would be there waiting every game, and Slate promised to
tell
her. It was no use. While there had been
Rebel
members in the seats at each game since then, he was disappointed DeeDee hadn’t come to even one. Not one game.

Frustrated, he was taking his anger out on the ice
and, as a result,
was skating one of the best seasons of his career.
His tally of goals and assists grew with every game, and he had seen more than thirty minutes ice time in each of the last ten games. Tonight was no different, and the Tridents entered the third period ahead by three.

Jase and Lee skated past their goalie, tapping his shin pads with their sticks as they made their way to center ice for the puck drop. In his assigned position, Jase
sculled
for advantage against his opponent, scooping his stick to the front time after time, waiting for the
drop
and trying to anticipate the upcoming action.
Totally focused on the puck, when the Tridents won the faceoff, he reacted swiftly, scooping up the loose puck and slapping it across the ice to Lee, watching as he passed it to the other forward on their line.

Skating hard to get
in position behind
the net, Jase was waiting when the puck came rocketing down ice towards him.
He moved out to meet it, deking around an opposing player, and effortlessly tapped it into the goal. Skimming it cleanly between the padded legs of the goaltender, he had only a moment to recognize his success and begin to lift his hands in celebration, when he was slammed hard from behind.

Falling forward
on
his knees and elbows, Jase screamed when agony bloomed in his groin, growing and
peaking
at an impossible level while he stayed still, frozen, unable to move or breathe. Yelling wordlessly, he bit hard on his mouth guard and arched his head back, trying to get away from the pain. Spitting the useless plastic out of his mouth and onto the ice, he yelled again, “Fucking shit.”

There were voices nearby and then hands under his arms preparing to lift him, so he dropped his stick and gloves. Clutching his legs at the knee, he tried to keep them from moving apart as his teammates stood him up on his skates.
Slowly unfolding, only partially upright, he became aware of the silence in the arena as it was gradually broken with clapping and cheers. Guided back to the bench by teammates, he balanced unsteadily on his right skate, his left lifted off the ice.
“I can’t pick up my feet,” he gritted out when they got to the access door and hands lifted under his elbows, raising him enough to get him over the threshold and onto the mats.

Falling towards the bench, he caught himself with his arms, twisting his torso with a groan to sit. He was clutching tightly at the edges of the seat as he leaned his head back, eyes clenched in pain. “Jase, what’s going on? Talk to me.” The calm voice of the team’s doctor, Adam, came through over the noise of the arena, and through closed teeth, Jase said, “Left groin.”

He grunted, feeling hands fumbling with the ties of his hockey pants, unlacing the girdle and tugging it down and open. Gasping as the cold hands found the source of the pain, the sudden pressure caused the ache to bloom unbelievably large again.

Tipping his head back again, he
ground
his teeth together as those relentless fingers applied even greater pressure, and he yelled hoarsely, “
Fuucck
.”

“Ice pack,” Adam said just before freezing cold descended into his groin, pressed firmly into place as he dropped his chin to his chest. “Fuck,” he said more quietly and took a shallow breath, then another, shaking his head back and forth with the pain. “How bad?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Feels like a middling groin pull, Jase. Sorry, man.” Adam reached over for another ice pack, sliding this one up the leg of his hockey pants and strapping it into place high on his thigh. “We’ll know for sure after we MRI you. For now, I want to get ice on it, see if we can keep the swelling from happening.”

Deftly unlacing and removing the skate from that leg, Adam carefully assessed the rest of him. Jase tried ignoring him, attempting to push the pain to the back of his mind, watching the game as both teams raced hard down to the conclusion.
They were still four goals up and had one minute left to go in regulation. Lee skated towards the boards in front of the bench and caught his eye. Shaking his head at the unspoken question, Jase saw his friend’s face fall before he offered his gloved knuckles. Forcing a stoic look, he bumped his knuckles to Lee’s, telling him, “Kick ass for me.”

Looking down at Adam still crouched
at
his feet, Jase asked the question, dreading the answer, “How long on IR?”

“Won’t know until we see how things shake out over the next couple of days.”
The doc
patted his other thigh reassuringly. “Don’t worry about injured reserve, Jase. I still think
it's
middling, definitely won’t need my skilled hands in surgery. If we keep the swelling down, then you’re probably looking at five days to begin rehab, then probably three weeks to skate, five or six total to play. Less if you’re good and follow orders.”

“Jesus Murphy,” Jase said. “And if it’s worse?”

“Don’t borrow trouble. Let’s wait for the win, and then while the stands empty, we’ll get you moved back to
exam
. I have them setting up everything we need. I’ll have you home before you know it.” Looking up at him, Adam asked, “You have someone who can help you out for a few days?”

Before he could answer, a voice came from over their heads, causing them both to look up. Slate was leaning head and shoulders over the six-foot glass behind the bench, teetering
with
his feet on the seat arms below and behind him. “We got him. He’ll have help,” he said, and Jase looked up at him in bemused wonder.

“Where the hell did you come from?” he asked, staring at the incongruous sight of the black-
leather-clad
biker in the hockey arena.

“Wyoming, you asshat,” Slate joked and stood upright, jumping down
from
his perch and turning to thank the woman who’d moved so he could use her seat as a stepladder. He pointed at Jase and then towards the tunnel, and Adam mouthed something at him. Slate gave a single nod and then was striding up the narrow cement stairs, disappearing into the crowd at the top of the section as the game-ending siren sounded.

After a more complete exam, Adam was still convinced the groin pull needed ice and rest, in that order, but wouldn’t require surgery to repair, which was
exceptional
news. Jase was now wrapped and strapped, and under strict orders to ice for fifteen minutes every two hours for the next twenty-four. He would be at the hospital Monday for the MRI, and then meeting the team’s trainers in their office two days after
that
so they could evaluate and plot out his recovery. If the pain became worse or the swelling was unbearable, he was supposed to call, but otherwise, he would be
lying
on his ass for a few days.

Jase looked with loathing at the crutches Adam tried to hand him, pulling his hands back in repugnance. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Hey, man, if you think you can bear weight on that leg, show me.” Adam stepped back, sweeping one hand in front of him in a go-ahead gesture, and Jase snorted.

“Fuck you, doc,” he said mildly as he reached out for the crutches, shaking his head in disgusted resignation.

“
Hey,
Prince Charming,” a voice said, and he looked up, seeing Slate and Bear coming towards him.

“Hey, man.” He held out his hand, gripping each man’s forearm in turn, nodding in greeting. “It’s okay, Slate. I can manage.” He held up the crutches. “They got me sticks. I can use them to walk, pull things closer, close doors. These are all-purpose sticks. I can even rub them together to start a fire. I’m good.”

“Naw,” Slate said, slapping him on the shoulder. “We’ve got enough brothers to help you out for a couple days. Not gonna be as pretty as some of your little ice chippies, but we can keep you off your feet for two days like they want.”

“Ice chippies, puck bunnies—whatever, their primary purpose is out of my reach for a few weeks, so it’s just as well.” Jase laughed humorlessly, feeling the pain medication Adam had given him beginning to loosen the stranglehold the pain had on his groin and inside thigh.

With Slate driving his truck, in just a few minutes, they were pulling into the driveway of his condo, and through the open door, he was surprised to see there were already a half-dozen Rebel members inside.
He turned and frowned at Slate. “Did you jackasses find a key under the
doormat I didn’t know
was there?” he asked without irritation, his head tipping to one side inquisitively.

“Naw, got one from a friend of yours,” Slate said, coming around the front of the truck and handing him the crutches.

He maneuvered them underneath his arms and tried to stand, overbalancing and tipping
backwards
against
the side of the
truck
, groaning as the sudden jarring movement woke the pain. “Fuck,” he muttered, catching his balance with some effort. “I got no friends.”

“Yeah, you do, asshat.” Slate snorted and grabbed one arm. Bear, walking from where he parked behind Jase’s truck, gripped his other one.

“Now, how the hell am I supposed to make the sticks work, when you’re holding my arms, eh? Fuck, it hurts. I think my dick’s broken, eh? Serves me right
for
not using it for so long; poor thing feels neglected. Little Jase misses her, too, eh? Not as much as big me, but still.” He couldn’t make the crutches work and held them out, dangling them from his fingers and laughing.

“What the
hell’d
they give him?” Bear asked the question, and Slate mumbled something back to him, but Jase couldn’t make it out.

He snorted. “Can’t hear you. You’re inaudible. That’s a funny word.
In-aud
-i-ble. Inaudible.
Unaudible
.
Nonaudible
.
Illaudible
. Laudanum.” Putting on a British accent, he said, “May I have some laudanum?”

Laughing, Bear shoved the crutches back under his arms. “Work the sticks, man. Crutch your ass up to the door.”

Once installed on the couch with the TV remote in hand, legs stretched out along the cushions, the pain was not as bad. He arranged the ice packs with care, making sure to cover where the swelling was beginning to make an appearance. His head seemed too heavy for his neck, so he leaned back against the arm of the couch, looking up at the ceiling.

Slate’s face came into view upside down, and Jase saw his mouth moving. “Inaudible,” he croaked, turning away.

There was a tap on his shoulder and he looked back up at Slate, this time hearing him ask, “How’s the pain?”

“My fucking dick’s broke. How do you think the pain is?” he asked
querulously
and jerked his head to look around as a familiar, feminine laugh filled the room. Seeing a dark-haired woman standing near the kitchen door, he frowned,
confused,
because he didn’t know her. “Who’s you?”

She came forward and he lifted his arm, reaching out to take her hand, but letting her do all the work when they shook. Still frowning and trying to figure out how that laugh came out of her mouth, he asked fussily, “Who are you?”

“I’m Eddie. I’m with Bear,” she said, and he blew a big breath out between pursed lips.

“Well, thank God you aren’t here for my dick,” he said
earnestly
, widening his eyes for emphasis as she smiled. He
stage
whispered, “It’s broke.”

“I heard,” she said, nodding and laughing a different laugh. Different tone, different sound, not nearly as
beautiful
. That
laugh
sure wouldn’t make him hard, even when his dick wasn’t broke.

“I liked your other laugh better. I miss that
laugh
. I
miss
the woman that made that laugh. Miss her all the
fuckin’
time.” He sighed, and his head lolled sideways. He worked to bring it back to face her with some effort. “But now, I think I’m gonna sleep,” he mumbled, the room growing dark and then light again by turns. After a few cycles, he realized the light changing was caused by him blinking his eyes and smiled, chortling to himself, “Ohhhh, pretty. Light show.”

***

Hoss looked over, frowning as he called, “He’s out, babe.”

Okay, woman, you can do this
, DeeDee thought as she walked across the room, pulling a chair up beside the couch, her entire focus on the man lying in front of her. She knew the men weren’t happy with her being here, but she had to know he was okay, and the only
way to do that
was to see for herself. Look him over, sit with him, and touch him—even if he never knew she was there.

When she saw him go down on the ice and
realized
he wasn’t getting
up,
that he was hurt,
her
heart had
leapt
into her throat, choking the breath from her body. The
sight of him being assisted off the ice
had been hard to take. Her focus left him only long enough to read a text from Slate telling
her about the injury and letting her know the club would be helping him out for the next couple of days.