Page 193

I wanted to be back here a long time ago, but Parker was having none of it.

She saw the brutal hits I took tonight and the way I was favoring my left side after one in particular that had pain shooting down my right leg. She knew I needed work, and she wasn’t letting me out of that trainers’ room until she was fully satisfied that I was going to be able to walk back onto that airplane tomorrow. Oh, and of course I also had to spend a decent amount of time with our team medic.

My left hand holds my right ribs. They’re not broken, but I have a suspicion that I’m going to wake up to a nice rainbow of colors tomorrow.

At least I’ll have a hot nurse to look after me.

I suck in a deep breath at the thought of Garrett taking care of me and wince when pain shoots down my side.

Yeah, Denver—or more so their hot-headed enforcer—fucked me up.

He was antagonizing me all fucking game. I managed to keep my head through all his bullshit chirping. He wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t heard before—bullshit about me not being as good as my dad or uncle. How they must be embarrassed by me. After all my years in the league, those kinds of comments are nothing but white noise at this point. But the second I overheard him mutter something to Kodie about Sutton, I fucking lost it.

No one talks about Sutton Rivers like that.

Fucking ironic that not so long ago, those kinds of comments would have been coming out of my own mouth when we faced each other on the ice.

Kodie heard what he said; I saw his shoulders tense even with his equipment on. I didn’t know whether he was going to react or not. I’m sure he hears something similar almost every game. After all, it doesn’t take much research to know that Kodie’s daughter and Casey Watson are his weak points.

But I wasn’t fucking having it. That little girl is a fucking legend, and every other motherfucker needs to keep her name out of their mouths.

As I tap my key card, I remember just how good it felt when my knuckles cracked against his jaw and his helmet went flying.

I knew I was going to get ripped a new one by Coach for starting the fight, but in that moment, I didn’t give a fuck.

I still don’t now, after receiving the ass-ripping. I’d do it again as well. And not just because of the way Kodie looked at me and the way we fell about laughing in the sin bin like old times afterward.

In that moment, I felt like I was fifteen again, playing with my best friend. It was euphoric and made me realize just how much I fucked up.

I found a piece of my old self tonight, and I discovered a little bit of the joy I used to get from our friendship. It was the reminder I needed to push me toward trying to find whatever else we can that we lost.

As soon as we get home and have a free morning, we’re going for that breakfast, and I’m going to do everything in my power to fix what I shattered all those years ago.

But right now, I’ve got someone else waiting on me.

The door closing behind me sounds like a gunshot as I make my way deeper into the room.

I’m a mess. I’m more than aware of how I look right now, but even so, I’m not expecting Garrett’s face to fall the way it does the moment I round the corner.

Nothing but concern covers his face as he sits upright in bed and asks if I’m okay.

“Yeah, of course,” I mutter, dropping my bag to the floor and letting my eyes roll down the length of him. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” I state, my eyes locking on his tight boxer briefs.

“I could say the same thing about you,” he muses as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and pads toward me.

“Well, then. You’d better do something about it.”

The second he’s within touching distance, he slides his hands under my jacket and pushes it from my shoulders. A couple of shrugs from me and the fabric falls to the floor, leaving him to work my tie free and then embark on the buttons running down my dress shirt.

“Cooper,” he gasps the second he parts the fabric and sees the reality of tonight’s game staring back at him.

Okay, maybe thinking the bruising wouldn’t start coming out until tomorrow was optimistic.

“I’m fine,” I argue.

“You’re not fine. Your face,” he says, cupping my cheek as he looks at my swollen eye, down to my busted lip and back up again. “And your ribs. Are you sure they’re⁠—”

“Not broken. I’ll be sore for a few days, but I’m fine. It’s just part of the job.”