"Stop apologizing."
"I can't help it."
"Try."
We get home to find the party has broken up. Only Ashton and Pierce are cleaning up in the living room.
"How bad?" Ashton asks.
I hold up my taped fingers.
"Shit. What did the doctor say?"
"Two weeks minimum."
Ashton laughs. “Has the doctor never met a hockey player?”
I grin. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her it’s not the first time I’ve played with broken fingers.”
“You’re going to play?” Sutton asks.
“Damn straight.”
She rolls her eyes. “I knew it. I was wondering why you were being so cool when she said you couldn’t play.”
I shrug. “No point in telling her otherwise. Come on, let’s go to bed.”
“I’ll get an ice pack.”
She helps me ice my hand, both of us sitting on my bed with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel.
"Does it hurt?" she asks.
"Not too bad." It's a lie. It hurts like hell. But I'm not telling her that.
"Liar."
"Okay, it hurts. But I've had worse."
"Worse than a broken bone?"
"Separated shoulder sophomore year. Concussion junior year. This is nothing."
She carefully adjusts the ice pack.
"A broken finger isn't keeping me off the ice."
“Honestly, I don’t think it would keep me off either.”
I smile and kiss her. Even with the throbbing pain in my hand, even with the lecture I'm going to get from Coach tomorrow, it was definitely worth it.
Chapter Eight
SUTTON
By Monday morning, everyone knows about the fight.
I'm walking across campus when I hear them—a group of guys from the team talking near the student center.
