“Okay, well, that’s good news,” Holly said brightly. “I guess that’s it, then. I’ll let you guys get back to it.”
I walked out with her, not for company but because that was just how it worked out. I was a useless liar and, by extension, a horrible actor. What if Theo refused to talk to McAvoy? How the fuck was I supposed to keep his shoulder a secret? I could take it to the coach myself, but then I’d have to explain why I hadn’t said anything sooner. If Theo were with me, he’d help me sell it as a recent development, and everything would be fine.
“He talks about my broom closet when he has the pick of the arena,” she complained, “but chooses to have his office adjoining the locker room.”
The baked-in reek of rubber, sweat, and testosterone wafted down the short hallway leading from McAvoy’s office. My days were steeped in the unique scent, which I mostly ignored. I only picked up on the smell now because she’d mentioned it.
“Say the word, and I’ll help you stage a coup on that forgotten room of crap,” I said, staging a laugh for what it was worth.
“Don’t tempt me.”
We cut a path to the exit, picking through dirty towels, stray water bottles, and the odd sweaty sock.
“Do they ever clean this place?” Holly grimaced. Which was hilarious considering she was in here regularly, either for business or pleasure.
I was about to tell her that clean-up usually happened once all the players had left, but that thought got me thinking that if it wasn’t clean, that probably meant there were still players here. Which then made me look up, because there was nobody in here when I’d arrived for the meeting. And it was funny how my haphazard train of thought often led me to the craziest things, because there was Theo at his locker, back toward the room, negotiating his way forward with a fresh t-shirt.
Holly sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Looks like someone took a beating during practice.”
“I'd better check on that,” I said, jumping at the shot to speak with him alone. It wasn’t a complete lie, anyway. The loud, purple bruise on his shoulder was very much the reason I wanted to talk to him.
It was, after all, my job. Now more than ever.
5
Theo
My arm refused to cooperate. The stall didn’t give me any room to work either, but it wasn’t like the med bay was much bigger. I braced my forearm against the metal divider, trying to angle the strip of tape exactly where Reese had anchored it before the last game.
That tape job was the only reason I’d made it through those two hours without that deep, grinding tug along the front of the joint.
“Tension along the bicep…” I instructed my uncoordinated brain, knowing I wouldn’t be able to fake the precision on my best day.
Out on the ice my shoulder had felt… steady. I’d even taken a minor hit on the boards and it hadn’t buckled. I had executed checks and full body blocks with nothing more than a tight wince here and there.
My version of it wasn’t even close.
I cursed under my breath. The tape stuck to the back of my fucking hand. It folded too early. When I tried to reach across my body to smooth it down, the joint clicked in warning.
“For fuck’s sake.” I was one wrong angle from losing the whole night.
I took a breath, shook the tension from my hands, then shifted, hoping to get the strip under control. But raising my elbow past shoulder height sent a streak of heat up the joint. The kind that made my fingers go unsteady for a second. I bit back another curse and tried to prop my elbow against the toilet tank to steady it. Not ideal, but it let me ease the strip into place.
Locker-room noise seeped through the door: skates scraping the rubber flooring, someone arguing over Tucker’s shitty wannabe bluegrass playlist, bodies moving with building anticipation for a blinder of a game. I usually fed off those sounds. Tonight it pressed in. Unsettled my gut.
“Come on,” I muttered, trying to feather the next strip along my deltoid without pulling something I’d regret later. Reese had drawn the line along the exact path where the muscle tugged whenever I rotated outward. I didn’t have her steadiness, and every time the tape pulled too tight, the joint bit back.
I had one more strip half-torn when the stall door erupted in a blow that rattled the hinges. “Bouchard, you in there?”
I jerked hard, shoulder lighting up from the sudden pull. The roll of tape skittered out from between my knees and hit the floor, bounced off the toe of my skate, and whizzed under the door like it couldn’t wait to abandon me.
Shit. And also, fuck.
A muffled moan as he bent to pick it up, the scrape of the roll lifting off the floor, then Hunter’s voice carried through the gap. “Theo? What the hell are you doing in there with K-tape?”
Hunter called bullshit in his sleep, which didn’t help the spike in my nerves. Still, I had to give it my best shot.
“Someone must’ve left it in here,” I said. “I knocked it off the tank when you scared the shit out of me.” He sniggered, and Irelaxed into the lie. “You also managed to scare my dump away. Thanks for that.”
