He grunted, feeling hands fumbling with the ties of his hockey pants, unlacing the girdle and tugging it down and open. Gasping as the cold hands found the source of the pain, the sudden pressure caused the ache to bloom unbelievably large again.
Tipping his head back again, he ground his teeth together as those relentless fingers applied even greater pressure, and he yelled hoarsely, “Fuucck.”
“Ice pack,” Adam said just before freezing cold descended into his groin, pressed firmly into place as he dropped his chin to his chest. “Fuck,” he said more quietly and took a shallow breath, then another, shaking his head back and forth with the pain. “How bad?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Feels like a middling groin pull, Jase. Sorry, man.” Adam reached over for another ice pack, sliding this one up the leg of his hockey pants and strapping it into place high on his thigh. “We’ll know for sure after we MRI you. For now, I want to get ice on it, see if we can keep the swelling from happening.”
Deftly unlacing and removing the skate from that leg, Adam carefully assessed the rest of him. Jase tried ignoring him, attempting to push the pain to the back of his mind, watching the game as both teams raced hard down to the conclusion. They were still four goals up and had one minute left to go in regulation. Lee skated towards the boards in front of the bench and caught his eye. Shaking his head at the unspoken question, Jase saw his friend’s face fall before he offered his gloved knuckles. Forcing a stoic look, he bumped his knuckles to Lee’s, telling him, “Kick ass for me.”
Looking down at Adam still crouched at his feet, Jase asked the question, dreading the answer, “How long on IR?”
“Won’t know until we see how things shake out over the next couple of days.” The doc patted his other thigh reassuringly. “Don’t worry about injured reserve, Jase. I still think it's middling, definitely won’t need my skilled hands in surgery. If we keep the swelling down, then you’re probably looking at five days to begin rehab, then probably three weeks to skate, five or six total to play. Less if you’re good and follow orders.”
“Jesus Murphy,” Jase said. “And if it’s worse?”
“Don’t borrow trouble. Let’s wait for the win, and then while the stands empty, we’ll get you moved back to exam. I have them setting up everything we need. I’ll have you home before you know it.” Looking up at him, Adam asked, “You have someone who can help you out for a few days?”
Before he could answer, a voice came from over their heads, causing them both to look up. Slate was leaning head and shoulders over the six-foot glass behind the bench, teetering with his feet on the seat arms below and behind him. “We got him. He’ll have help,” he said, and Jase looked up at him in bemused wonder.
“Where the hell did you come from?” he asked, staring at the incongruous sight of the black-leather-clad biker in the hockey arena.
“Wyoming, you asshat,” Slate joked and stood upright, jumping down from his perch and turning to thank the woman who’d moved so he could use her seat as a stepladder. He pointed at Jase and then towards the tunnel, and Adam mouthed something at him. Slate gave a single nod and then was striding up the narrow cement stairs, disappearing into the crowd at the top of the section as the game-ending siren sounded.
After a more complete exam, Adam was still convinced the groin pull needed ice and rest, in that order, but wouldn’t require surgery to repair, which was exceptional news. Jase was now wrapped and strapped, and under strict orders to ice for fifteen minutes every two hours for the next twenty-four. He would be at the hospital Monday for the MRI, and then meeting the team’s trainers in their office two days after that so they could evaluate and plot out his recovery. If the pain became worse or the swelling was unbearable, he was supposed to call, but otherwise, he would be lying on his ass for a few days.
Jase looked with loathing at the crutches Adam tried to hand him, pulling his hands back in repugnance. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Hey, man, if you think you can bear weight on that leg, show me.” Adam stepped back, sweeping one hand in front of him in a go-ahead gesture, and Jase snorted.
“Fuck you, doc,” he said mildly as he reached out for the crutches, shaking his head in disgusted resignation.
“Hey, Prince Charming,” a voice said, and he looked up, seeing Slate and Bear coming towards him.
“Hey, man.” He held out his hand, gripping each man’s forearm in turn, nodding in greeting. “It’s okay, Slate. I can manage.” He held up the crutches. “They got me sticks. I can use them to walk, pull things closer, close doors. These are all-purpose sticks. I can even rub them together to start a fire. I’m good.”
“Naw,” Slate said, slapping him on the shoulder. “We’ve got enough brothers to help you out for a couple days. Not gonna be as pretty as some of your little ice chippies, but we can keep you off your feet for two days like they want.”
“Ice chippies, puck bunnies—whatever, their primary purpose is out of my reach for a few weeks, so it’s just as well.” Jase laughed humorlessly, feeling the pain medication Adam had given him beginning to loosen the stranglehold the pain had on his groin and inside thigh.
With Slate driving his truck, in just a few minutes, they were pulling into the driveway of his condo, and through the open door, he was surprised to see there were already a half-dozen Rebel members inside. He turned and frowned at Slate. “Did you jackasses find a key under the doormat I didn’t know was there?” he asked without irritation, his head tipping to one side inquisitively.
“Naw, got one from a friend of yours,” Slate said, coming around the front of the truck and handing him the crutches.
He maneuvered them underneath his arms and tried to stand, overbalancing and tipping backwards against the side of the truck, groaning as the sudden jarring movement woke the pain. “Fuck,” he muttered, catching his balance with some effort. “I got no friends.”
“Yeah, you do, asshat.” Slate snorted and grabbed one arm. Bear, walking from where he parked behind Jase’s truck, gripped his other one.
“Now, how the hell am I supposed to make the sticks work, when you’re holding my arms, eh? Fuck, it hurts. I think my dick’s broken, eh? Serves me right for not using it for so long; poor thing feels neglected. Little Jase misses her, too, eh? Not as much as big me, but still.” He couldn’t make the crutches work and held them out, dangling them from his fingers and laughing.
“What the hell’d they give him?” Bear asked the question, and Slate mumbled something back to him, but Jase couldn’t make it out.
He snorted. “Can’t hear you. You’re inaudible. That’s a funny word. In-aud-i-ble. Inaudible. Unaudible. Nonaudible. Illaudible. Laudanum.” Putting on a British accent, he said, “May I have some laudanum?”
Laughing, Bear shoved the crutches back under his arms. “Work the sticks, man. Crutch your ass up to the door.”
Once installed on the couch with the TV remote in hand, legs stretched out along the cushions, the pain was not as bad. He arranged the ice packs with care, making sure to cover where the swelling was beginning to make an appearance. His head seemed too heavy for his neck, so he leaned back against the arm of the couch, looking up at the ceiling.
Slate’s face came into view upside down, and Jase saw his mouth moving. “Inaudible,” he croaked, turning away.
There was a tap on his shoulder and he looked back up at Slate, this time hearing him ask, “How’s the pain?”
“My fucking dick’s broke. How do you think the pain is?” he asked querulously and jerked his head to look around as a familiar, feminine laugh filled the room. Seeing a dark-haired woman standing near the kitchen door, he frowned, confused, because he didn’t know her. “Who’s you?”
She came forward and he lifted his arm, reaching out to take her hand, but letting her do all the work when they shook. Still frowning and trying to figure out how that laugh came out of her mouth, he asked fussily, “Who are you?”
“I’m Eddie. I’m with Bear,”
she said, and he blew a big breath out between pursed lips.
“Well, thank God you aren’t here for my dick,” he said earnestly, widening his eyes for emphasis as she smiled. He stage whispered, “It’s broke.”
“I heard,” she said, nodding and laughing a different laugh. Different tone, different sound, not nearly as beautiful. That laugh sure wouldn’t make him hard, even when his dick wasn’t broke.
“I liked your other laugh better. I miss that laugh. I miss the woman that made that laugh. Miss her all the fuckin’ time.” He sighed, and his head lolled sideways. He worked to bring it back to face her with some effort. “But now, I think I’m gonna sleep,” he mumbled, the room growing dark and then light again by turns. After a few cycles, he realized the light changing was caused by him blinking his eyes and smiled, chortling to himself, “Ohhhh, pretty. Light show.”
***
Hoss looked over, frowning as he called, “He’s out, babe.”
Okay, woman, you can do this, DeeDee thought as she walked across the room, pulling a chair up beside the couch, her entire focus on the man lying in front of her. She knew the men weren’t happy with her being here, but she had to know he was okay, and the only way to do that was to see for herself. Look him over, sit with him, and touch him—even if he never knew she was there.
When she saw him go down on the ice and realized he wasn’t getting up, that he was hurt, her heart had leapt into her throat, choking the breath from her body. The sight of him being assisted off the ice had been hard to take. Her focus left him only long enough to read a text from Slate telling her about the injury and letting her know the club would be helping him out for the next couple of days.
Slate didn’t know she was there to see it first hand, didn’t know she was sitting across the arena so she could see the players’ faces where they sat on the bench. No one knew she went to the games, that she couldn’t stay away, even though she knew she had to for his sake. She bought a Tridents jersey after the first game, wearing his number to all the games she attended, both home and away.
She had taken a gamble one night, following other fans around the outside of the arena to where the players parked, thinking if she could only glimpse him from a distance, it would be enough. Then, she saw him walking out of the hallway into the parking lot, and without clear thought, had begun moving towards him. She realized she was still as drawn to him as she had been all those months ago at Mica’s party. Her advance abruptly halted when she saw him step to the side with a beautiful young woman. That was another moment when her breath was stolen, but that time by pain as his friend fondled him unashamedly, barely blocking the view with her body.
It was what she wanted for him. But…God, it hurt so badly to see.
Eyes welling with tears, DeeDee had turned on her heel to flee, nearly panicking when his voice called her name, because she stupidly had gotten too close and he clocked her. Of course he had, because there was no way the universe would let her slink away in quiet humiliation. That was too much to ask, apparently.
She knew Jase was coming after her, his footsteps fast and loud in the parking lot behind her. It seemed like she was moving through molasses, each step away from him a struggle. Then he touched her, and she froze in place, looking up into his eyes. The smile on his face had brought more tears to her eyes, because he looked well and happy, so even if she was miserable, it looked like she made the right decision. Brazening it out, she stood and chatted with him as if she wasn’t tearing in two. He teasingly invited a caress and she had been unable to hold back, reaching out to touch him gently, lovingly, as if she still had a right to do so. Now she closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his hair between her fingers, the unguarded look on his face as he straightened.
Then his friend was stalking across the lot towards them, and from the stormy look on her face, DeeDee thought he might be paying for his actions for a long while. She knew if it had been her, he would have had hell to pay for first chasing, and then having a private conversation with another woman, especially one with whom he shared a history.
She quickly said goodbye, fleeing like a coward, leaving him standing there alone to explain things to his woman. She didn’t want to stick around and hear him fumble for words to address what they had once been…what they now weren’t to each other…not after they teased each other so lovingly about labels and titles. She didn’t want to see the pity in the woman’s face either. It would be a knowing look, acknowledging without speaking how much it hurt to lose all that was Jase, how much it distressed her to see him under another woman’s hands.
That didn’t stop her from going to the games, though. Slate told her Jase was leaving tickets at the box office for each game. Declining to use them, she told him to make sure other club members did, so the tickets wouldn’t go to waste, implying she wouldn’t be attending. Buying her own tickets online, she selected her seat with care. Far enough away from the glass to prevent a chance meeting of eyes, but not so far away she couldn’t see his face.
Now, sitting beside the couch as he slept, she bowed her head, tracing his features with her gaze, reaching out to push his hair back off his face. From across the ice, across a parking lot, or across these few inches separating them, however it happened, she loved looking at him. His features were normally so expressive, but now, in a drug-induced sleep, the muscles were slack, relaxed, which held a beauty all its own. Her fingers continued to slide through his hair then around his face to cup his jaw possessively. He stirred under her touch and she froze, but he turned his face into her hand, burrowing into her palm and sighing deeply as a smile curled the corners of his mouth up and he murmured something.
The weight of a presence loomed behind her and she knew what was coming. Looking up, she stared into Slate’s eyes as he scowled down at her. Mutely, she asked him…what…she didn’t even know what she was asking, just something. For him to give her this, a few minutes Jase would never have to know about. A salve for her heart and emotions. Something to hold close, bring out in the night when she was alone and lonely. She might not be able to have him in her life, but she would by God fight Slate for these few moments. Her chin quivered, lips trembling as she pressed them tightly together, and he closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Fuck me,” he muttered and turned, stomping back to the kitchen as she hiccupped a sob. Looking back down at the man she loved, she ran her fingers tenderly through his long hair.
***
Hoss stood in the kitchen, watching through the open archway as DeeDee sat next to the couch, one of her hands constantly in contact with some part of Jase. There was a slow easing in his chest, a loosening in the tightness that had started building when he found out DeeDee had closed the door on Jase again. He remembered the blinding beauty on her face he had seen only once before, having caught a glimpse of it again tonight when she first approached where Jase lay. He turned to Slate and nodded. “I get it, Prez. I totally get it. I was wrong, man.”
“Come again?” Slate asked, cocking a hip to lean against the countertop.
“What you and Bingo’ve been telling me. I like DeeDee, always have, but I don’t love her. I don’t have that kind of connection with her. Did you see the man’s face when she laughed? He knew she was here, even if he couldn’t see her. Doped to the gills, he still knew she was here, and it eased something inside him.” He looked down at the tips of his boots. “I wanted to keep her in the club, because…hell, I don’t know all the reasons. Mostly because keeping her in the club meant we kept part of Winger. That man was a good fucking friend, a good brother.”
“Yeah, he was.”
“Jase is a good friend, and he’s good for DeeDee. They’re good together.” He made a face. “I don’t want to fucking lose her, too.”
Sighing, Slate leaned over and looked around him, one corner of his lips lifting in a slow smile. “I’m pretty sure we get to keep her, man. Jase is one of us, but for the patch. Now, she just needs to pull her head out of her own ass, see what yo
u’ve seen.”
***
Sitting in Adam’s office two weeks later, Jase was ready for some good news. “Come on, hit me,” he joked, turning his shoulder towards the doctor. “See how ready I am? Come on.”
Shaking his head, Adam said, “Funny, Jase. It wasn’t your arm that got hurt, was it? Maybe your head? I bet that’s it. You hit your head when you fell down?”
“No, really,” he nodded, “I’m ready to get back to two-a-days in the gym.”
“From what I hear, you already are,” Adam said dryly, laughing as Jase winced.
“Eh, not so much. I’m doing a few extra reps of the exercises and stretches you’ve prescribed. Nothing wild and crazy, just ready to get back to life.” Jase ran his hands through his hair, leaving one palm pressed against the back of his neck, rubbing as the muscles tensed. “Skating is my life, man. I’m ready.”
“All right,” Adam said, turning to his desk and making a note.
“All right?” Jase questioned, not believing his ears.
“Yeah, all right.” Adam shrugged. “You’re working hard at getting healthy, and as a result, you’re healing fast, about five days ahead of what I expected. But, I don’t want you to overdo it. Five mile light runs, no more than two-a-days in the gym, and no exercises other than what’s on your sheet. Keep the weight to what we’ve discussed, and I’ll see you on the ice this time next week.”
“Yes, sir.” Jase snapped off a faux salute, standing with a smile.
As he was climbing into the truck, his phone rang. He switched it to Bluetooth and answered, “Hello?”
Daniel’s voice echoed in the truck and Jase smiled. “Hey, Jase, how’s it hanging, man?”
“Hanging quite fine, thank you very much,” he responded. “What’s up, Cap’n?”
“Just calling to check up on you. How did the appointment go today? They release you to skate yet?” Daniel asked seriously.
“Next week, I’m back on ice. This week, I get to sweat my balls off in the gym.” Jase grimaced as he started the truck, pulling into traffic.
Jase Page 18
