ShouldveKnownBetter (9 page)

“I haven’t had time.” She grimaced, knowing she should’ve made it a priority.

“You make time for something like that, Sarah. This is your mental health you’re dealing with. You can’t screw around.” Marcy paused then cleared her throat. “On that note, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a meeting with that new professor I’m working with this fall. He wants to do a research project on probabilistic combinatorics and then submit it for the Fields Medal. Yeah, good luck with that. Anyway, think about trying to get out more. It would be good for you to stop obsessing about Sebastian.”

Doubtful. I’m freaking pathetic. It seems like all I do is obsess about Sebastian.

“I’ll think about it.”

They said their goodbyes, and Sarah trudged up the stairs to her bedroom. She didn’t even bother to change into pajamas before collapsing on the bed and crawling under the covers. She hadn’t slept on the team plane since the guys had played a prank on her, the classic shaving cream in the hand. After waking up with it all over her face and enduring endless teasing, combined with the fear of what would happen if she ever had one of her nightmares about the attack, she kept one eye open at all times now. As a result, she was exhausted to her very marrow.

The team was scheduled to play a lot of games in October, which meant long hours and a lot of running from place to place. Maybe she’d be so busy she’d be too exhausted to obsess.

Yeah, right.

The next day, Sarah and Doug were called into the conference room. Sarah was still exhausted and fighting to look alert. If she was lucky, this mysterious meeting would be short and she could go get a cup of coffee or three.

The Storm had been searching for an additional assistant coach, and standing with Jon at the front of the room was a bear of a man she assumed might be him. Though he didn’t stand more than five foot ten, she’d bet he weighed in at well over three hundred pounds. His beefy arms were covered in tattoos. Had Jon gone down to the proverbial docks to find him? He didn’t look like any hockey coach she’d ever seen.

Some of the other staff obviously recognized him as a murmur went through the group.

Jon stepped forward. “Everyone, this is Lou Ferrar. Lou, our off-ice staff.” He indicated different people, introducing them to Lou, who remained silent, giving a terse nod every now and then.

When Jon got to Sarah and Doug, he said, “These are our competitive and video analysis consultants, Sarah Jenkins and Doug Howard.”

Lou snorted.

Jon glanced at him. “Problem?”

“You know I don’t believe in that shit.” Shifting his gaze to Sarah, Lou smiled, his thin lips pulling over shark’s teeth. “Pardon me, ma’am. That crap.”

Sarah remained silent, waiting to see what Jon would say before she reacted. She’d learned that was the best way to stay on his good side.

“Yeah, I know, but the league and ownership does.”

That statement was met with another snort. “And where did the little lady learn to play hockey, ballet school?”

Sarah had met men like Lou. No matter what she said, she wouldn’t change his attitude. With a saccharine sweet smile, Sarah said, “Nope, but I’ll tell Miss Ellie you’re sorry for missing class the next time I see her.”

Jon barked out a short laugh, and then the rest of the group let out a nervous chuckle. Lou’s face burned red.

Jon put up a hand, palm out. “Let’s not get into a pissing contest.” He smirked at Sarah, who raised an eyebrow.

Apparently Jon wasn’t surprised she’d reacted to the taunt, but what had he expected her to do, sit there and let this guy make her out to be a laughingstock?

“Try to be nice, all right? Now let’s get to work.”

Since the team was home again, Sarah’s skating lessons also resumed. Even Sebastian had gotten into the act, showing her little tips and tricks each day after practice. Thankfully, he never hung around too long, both for her sanity and for how it might be perceived by his teammates. At least he wasn’t the only one who occasionally stuck around to coach her. Even so, she both anticipated and dreaded those lessons.

Sebastian hadn’t explained himself since storming her office and kissing her, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to bring it up, so what was his motive for helping her? As if seeing him every day wasn’t hard enough to deal with, him being so sweet to her was almost worse. She might’ve been able to control a purely physical hunger, but she genuinely liked Sebastian.

After the team’s practice, she put her skates on and met Rick in the players’ bench area. He was often the guy who worked with her since he got scratched from a lot of games. In the current NHL, there wasn’t too huge a call for an enforcer. ”I have a special treat for you today,” Rick said with a grin.

“I don’t trust that grin for a minute.” Rick was one of the biggest pranksters on the team and every time he smiled like that, something was about to happen.

“Aw, come on now. I’m hurt.” But the shit-eating grin didn’t fade even an iota.

He told her to stretch out then briefly disappeared into the trainers’ area. When he returned, he carried the players’ least-favorite device of torture, a small red parachute that attached to the back and billowed out behind to create drag.

“No way am I strapping that thing on.” She’d seen players lugging it around in practice, and it looked like they were dying. Considering they were professional hockey players, there was no freaking way in hell she was going to agree to use it.

Rick grinned. “This isn’t even the one we use. I found this in the storage room. Pretty sure it’s for the Tim Bits players, you know, those little five-year-olds who play between periods?”

The tips of her ears heated, but she tried her best to hold onto her temper. Rick was just egging her on to get a reaction. She was known to have a short fuse when people teased her.

“Are you going to make me go get guys to restrain you, or are you going to go quietly?” Rick shook the parachute.

Sarah sniffed, but turned her back. It was pointless to argue with him. He was nothing if not stubborn. His attitude of never giving up was one of the only reasons he was still in the NHL. He certainly wasn’t the most skilled guy on the team, but he knew how to make a difference and he exploited it.

However, she wasn’t going to let him get the better of her. “You’re going to make me? Isn’t there some law about cruel and unusual punishment? Even you Canadians should know about that one.”

Attaching the contraption to her back and ignoring her taunt, he said, “You need a lot of leg strength to skate.”

Several days later as she skated around the rink with the infernal thing billowing and snapping behind her, Sarah daydreamed of stuffing Rick’s stick down his throat.

“Get going, Sarah, move those feet!” he shouted. She glared at him and with his stick, he motioned down the rink. “Go.”

“Gonna make my fantasy a reality if you don’t stop being so bossy,” she muttered.

Sarah began another lap. She was getting more comfortable with crossovers—putting one foot in front of the other to go around a corner more quickly and efficiently—but still coasted around the corners from time to time.

Every time she chickened out, Rick would stop her. “You need to do this to learn. You can’t skate without doing crossovers. Come on, try again.”

Sarah hated it when Rick was both nice
and
right. “Yeah, yeah.”

After a few more laps, she doubled over, her lungs pulling in the ice-cold rink air as she gasped for breath. Skating with that damn parachute would end her. She was sure of it.

“Come on, shorty.” Rick stuck his tongue out.

If Sarah hadn’t been so annoyed and exhausted, she would’ve laughed at the ridiculous image of the team’s bruising enforcer with such an undignified expression.

Pretending to dodge another of her glares, he said, “I’ve got an idea. Let’s give you a reason to skate. A little competition is never a bad thing, right?” Sarah grunted, but he continued, undeterred. “How about a race? If I win, you do every crossover tomorrow.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes. He’d already skated for a couple of hours at practice and done over an hour in the weight room.
Huh. I might just be able to take him.

“What if I win?” she asked, rising to her full height, which was still a good foot shorter than his. She pulled the pack for the parachute off her shoulders.

“I-if y-you w-win?” Rick sputtered.

“Yeah, if I win. I’m pretty competitive, you know.” She punched him in the gut and it was like coming in contact with a brick wall. He didn’t even react, and she wanted to wipe that arrogant grin off his face in the worst way.

“I’ll bet you are. I saw how rabid you were at boot camp. Okay, if you win… I’ll do anything you want.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“
Anything
.” He crossed his arms, apparently confident there was no way he’d lose.

“You’re on,” she said, already thinking of various ways to pay him back for his cruelty. Forcing him to dress in drag, or get on his hands and knees and bark like a dog, or maybe even making him be her errand boy at work for a day. She was sure she could come up with something humiliating to enact her sweet revenge.

Grinning, Rick skated over to the boards. “Hey, guys!” he shouted. “Come watch me race Sarah!”

Several players in various states of dress emerged from the dressing and weight rooms. They filed into the bench area, mostly throwing their loyalty into Sarah’s corner and encouraging her to kick Rick’s ass. A few of them took to mocking Rick about being beaten by a girl.

She searched for Sebastian, but didn’t see him. A flicker of disappointment brought a frown to her face and she forced her attention back to the race.

Ben motioned her over to the boards, where he handed her his helmet. “Wear this.” He fastened the strap under her chin then stepped back, chuckling.

“What?” The helmet rattled around on her head with the demand.

“It’s… it’s…” Rob could hardly squeeze the words out. His entire frame convulsed in laughter as he gestured in her direction.

“It’s huge,” Ben said. “Your head is so delicate and tiny!” He reached out then snickered as Sarah batted his hand away.

She went to the middle of the rink and started shaking her legs out. Even though she’d probably lose, she refused to back down. Her ego wouldn’t let her. In that way, she was just like the guys.

“So what’s the format of the race?” Ben asked.

Rick grinned. “A sprint.”

“No way,” Rob argued. “You can’t do that. You’ll cream her.”

“I already practiced and lifted today. I’m tired,” Rick said.

But the team wouldn’t hear of it. They insisted Rick skate backward between each blue line and goal line.

“Oh, now that’s not right. You’re giving her an unfair advantage,” Rick protested.

Rob smirked. “Quit bitching.”

“I’ll get you guys back for this if I don’t win,” Rick grumbled.

She went back to the bench area and Ben gave her a few pointers about how to win the race. Several others joined in until Rick cried foul. It was kind of funny how much the guys wanted her to beat Rick.

Sarah skated to the starting line. Jordan grabbed a whistle from the bench and slid out on the ice in his sneakers to officiate the race. Grinning, he placed the whistle in his mouth and blew.

Initially, Sarah got the jump on Rick, but in no time, with his much longer stride, he caught up even though he was skating backward. On the straightaway in front of the players’ benches, Sarah passed him, the loud cheering and catcalling from the guys merely a buzz in her ears because of her absorption in beating Rick.

She was going too fast to handle the crossovers around the goal. There was no way she could manage the maneuver at that speed.

She glanced behind her. Rick was closing in.

At the last second, Sarah decided she’d save time by doing a crossover. Her inside foot caught the front of her outside blade, and she went down hard on her left hip, knocking the wind out of her as pain shot through the joint. Spinning, she crashed into the boards.

Sarah lie prone on the ice, her arm twisted under her as she tried to make sense of what was happening around her.

Rick and Jordan got to her in seconds, Rick screaming, “Get Colby!” Colby was the team’s trainer. “Dammit! She’s really hurt. Call 9-1-1!”

Jon and the other coaches skidded onto the ice along with other various personnel and players. Everyone crowded around her, but Jon yelled for them to move back. A couple of the players rushed Colby over.

Rick was repeating, “She said she could handle it.”

Colby narrowed his eyes, concentrating on Sarah and looking into her eyes. “Do you know what day it is?”

Sarah squinted, thinking hard. “It’s Thursday,” she slurred then blinked in surprise. Her mind, save for the pounding headache coming on like a freight train, was clearer than her speech indicated.

She closed her eyes as the adrenaline of the race seeped away. Her hip hurt and pain radiated up and down her arm.

“What’s the date?” Colby demanded.

“I have a headache, but I’m fine,” Sarah mumbled, trying to open her eyes and sit up but not succeeding. She hated appearing weak in front of the players. Her eyes would only open to slits as the headache intensified until she was afraid her brains would pour out of her head.

“Don’t move.” Colby gently pushed her back down. “What is the date today, Sarah? Do you know today’s date?”

“October twenty-first,” she answered. “I’m cold.” She shivered and her teeth began to chatter.

Colby tried to mask the worry in his expression, but he didn’t fool her. With the amount of pain she was in, Sarah knew she was injured, possibly badly. “There’s an ambulance on its way.” He turned to the others. “She’ll be going into shock soon. Get some stuff to keep her warm.”

After a few moments, several players returned with towels and a bunch of jackets. Sebastian, wearing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, slid onto the ice. He knelt, his eyes wide as saucers. “
Mon Dieu
, what’s going on here?”

“I fell.”