“Brutal. I need an ice bath. I’m getting too old for this.” Buster grimaces when he arches his back. “Hell, that does not feel good.”
“Well, you are going to be thirty this year, Buster; you are pushing on a bit now,” I tease him merrily.
“Look, you,” he waggles his finger at me with mischief written all over his face, “just because you’re Ash’s sister, doesn’t mean you can get away with calling me an old man.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “I never said those words, Buster, you did.” I let out a soft chuckle at the same time he rolls his eyes and calls me a smart ass.
Having grown up surrounded by the game and hockey players, this facility and the arena feel like home, and Ash’s teammates feel more like brothers than his friends.
Except, that is, for Leon.
Leon’s an entirely different story.
And trouble.
Big, big trouble, for both my heart and head. He lives in both, and I hate it and love it in equal measure.
“Are you still thinking about retiring next season?” I ask Buster, knowing he’s already made up his mind.
“I sure am. My knees are screwed.” He bends them while standing on his skates on the rubber mats as if testing them. He lets out a long groan as one of them makes a crunching noise. “Did you hear that?” he asks, his eyes popping out of their sockets in disbelief that his own body is suffering from years of cross checks, body blows, and from being stooped over continually.
“Yeah, I heard that.” His crunchy knee practically echoed around the empty rink.
“What’s the diagnosis, Dr. Johansson?”
“I’m not a doctor yet,” I scoff, knowing he’s testing my knowledge, because since I passed my four-year undergrad program with a higher-than-average GPA, this is what the team does to quiz how smart I am now that I’m in med school. “Is the pain around or behind the kneecap?”
“Both.” He nods with a glint in his eye.
I tap my forefinger against my bottom lip, thinking about what it could be. Arthritis is too obvious, as is crepitus, and it’s not a meniscus tear or he’d be unable to skate and would be limping. Also, Buster wouldn’t make it that easy for me. It’s got to be something left field. “Clicking and grinding too?”
He nods again.
“Puffiness and mild swelling?” I ask.
“Also, that.” Another nod of confirmation.
Got it. I take a moment before answering. “Patellofemoral pain syndrome.”
“Gotit in one.”Buster raises his fist and bumps mine. “And what do I doto ease my symptoms, Dr. Johansson?” His voice is full of humor because he obviously already knows.
“Ice, rest, addressing your foot alignment, exercises to strengthen your hips and thighs, lots of stretching, and taping the knee. Also, I recommend you retire next year.”
Buster salutes me with a knowing grin. “Already on it, Doc.”
“Gotta go.” I thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the lockers. The last thing I need to see is dozens of penises.
That’s a twist on the truth because seeing Leon’s penis would be a bonus, just to check if the puck bunnies in the forums are telling the truth about him having a piercing down there. Specifically, a Prince Albert.
It’s for fact-checking purposes, obviously.
“See you around, Erika.” Buster waves goodbye as he takes a seat on one of the benches and looks reflectively around the empty ice as if he’s missing it already.
“Bye, Buster,” I call and jog toward the lockers, eager to catch Ash.
Before I enter the hallway leading to the lockers, I glance over my shoulder to see that Lily’s sister, Gemma, has appeared, but I don’t stop to chat. I don’t have time.
I make a mental note to ask her what the hell she was doing here today when I see her later in the week for drinks and a catch-up with her and Lily, my sister-in-law. I’ve always suspected there is more to Gemma and Buster than just friends.
