“It hurts a lot,” I whisper, more tears welling. “I am totally cooked,” I say, needing the lightness of that short moment to come back and distract me again.
He smiles, but it holds a lot of concern. “Do you think you can skate off the ice?”
I don’t have to test my weight to know there’s no way. I shake my head. “No,” I squeak.
“Okay.” His voice is calm and reassuring, but not in the detached way some medical professionals are. I want it to be about caring for me, but maybe that’s how Chad is in an emergency. He stands and then leans over and grips my waist. “Keep your foot up, and I’m going to help you stand.”
“Okay.” This time my voice pitches higher for a completely different reason. Chad’s hands are warm at my waist, even with my coat and sweatshirt between us.
Which means I’m probably imagining it.
“One, two … three,” Chad says.
I try to push my hands against the ice, or use my uninjured leg somehow, but it’s unnecessary. Chad lifts me to my feet like I’m Scarlett’s size. He hooks an arm securely around my waist once I’m standing, and I put my arm around his shoulder.
“Let’s go, girls,” he says to Scarlett and Zoey, who are trailing along behind us, and then he does all the work of pulling me off the ice. A handful of people follow behind, including the guy who knocked me over, still saying he’s sorry. Another guy skates on my other side, but a few feet away, probably making sure we don’t fall on the slippery surface, but Chad is surprisingly stable on the skates.
“Were you a hockey player or something in another life?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“I did play a little growing up. I’m from Wyoming, and it’s cold a lot.” There’s a smile in his voice. It helps my shoulders relax.
Only for a second, though, because the minute we’re off the ice, Chad sweeps me up into his arms.
“Whoa,” I gasp at the sudden movement.
“Sorry, probably should have warned you.” He looks down at me, and my heart stops. Full stop. My hands have come to his neck on instinct, my body’s way of reacting to being lifted off the ground so swiftly. My fingers press against his warm neck, and my face is inches from his.
I swallow. I could kiss him easily. And maybe if I just did it, pressed my lips to his, I could get this crush out of my system and blame it on the pain. Hallucinations. The haze of agony made me think he was someone else.
It’s a good thing that him having to walk on skates is a little jarring, because it shakes me out of the stupor after a second. He’s staring straight ahead as he carries me, not even breathing heavily from the effort.
Chad has his share of muscles. I’m very impressed. And feeling a little bit swoony.
That could be from the throbbing in my ankle. But honestly, it’s probably a combination of that and being overcome by how sexy this is, being carried to safety by a big, strong man. Or shock. I could definitely be in shock right now.
A few seconds later, he sets me carefully down on a bench. “Keep your foot up here.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a couple of tissues. He uses one to swipe at my cheeks gently, and it takes my breath away how tender he is with me. “It’s okay to cry,” he whispers, smiling reassuringly and handing me the other tissue.
I blink at him. I’m so out of it, I didn’t realize Iwasstill crying.
“I’m going to grab our stuff and change my shoes.” He turns to Scarlett, who’s standing beside him, Zoey’s hand in hers. He doesn’t comment on my non-response to him wiping away my tears. Probably assuming that I am, indeed, in shock.
Totally should have gone for that kiss.
“Can you get your skates off and help Zoey?” he asks Scarlett.
Scarlett was watching me with worry in her eyes, but when Chad gives her a job, she nods enthusiastically and leads Zoey to farther down the bench.
“Be right back,” Chad says, and then he strides away. And because I can get away with anything right now, I watch him go. I watch his every step. I unashamedly stare at that man’s backside while inwardly face-palming because I have the biggest crush and I don’t know if I can stop having it.
CHAPTER 8
CHAD
Ivy protested me carrying her to the car, but since she couldn’t even think about putting weight on her foot without gasping in pain, it was either that or an ambulance ride. She chose me—albeit reluctantly, I think—and only because her insurance isn’t great.
Holding her close was intense.
You think, in those kinds of situations, that you’ll be distracted by the emergency. She was in so much pain, she couldn’t keep from crying, although she was also surprisingly bright. My heart was breaking for her, possibly because just twelve short hours before, I’d been in her shoes.
