Hockey Holidays

by Toni Aleo

  I searched out Walker, identifiable by his name written in white on the back of his red jersey. He appeared to be the center of the congratulations, not surprisingly as he’d scored the most points.

  He seemed okay, no harm done from his collision course with the rink perimeter.

  As I studied him, he tugged off his helmet and looked my way.

  For the second time in minutes, his stunning blue gaze settled on me.

  Momentarily, I felt embarrassed to be studying him so closely, then reminded myself it was from a medical perspective, a professional surveillance, nothing to do with the fact he had features which were so sharp he could have been crafted from a block of the ice he skated on, or hair that although flattened to his head was thick, over-long, perfect for running fingers through…

  He turned, slapped Phoenix on the back, then slid to the opposite side of the rink, holding his stick up in triumph as the crowd’s enthusiasm grew ever louder.

  Tugging my scarf a little tighter, I decided to find somewhere warmer to wait for Nathan Walker and the coach.

  “Doctor Delaney.” The team’s owner, Fergal Gunner, held out his hand. “I really appreciate you standing in for your brother.”

  “My pleasure.” I smiled and shook his hand. “And congratulations on your win.”

  “The Vipers are the best.” He nodded at the rink. “But they don’t come cheap, which is why I’m glad you’re here, for emergencies.”

  “I should check out Nathan Walker, he had a nasty collision.”

  He chuckled. “That was nothing more than breeze against the Plexi. I’ve seen him take a hit a rhino could deliver and barely notice.”

  I frowned. “He might be tough, but he’s still made of flesh and bone. We all break the same.”

  “The guy is super human.” He held his hand up to a few of the players who were calling him.

  “That might be the general opinion, but I still need to examine him before he leaves the stadium. If you could tell him that.” If I didn’t, I wouldn’t sleep. Not crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s wasn’t my style. That was how mistakes happened, and in my game, mistakes could be fatal.

  Fergal headed off, clearly elated and looking forward to celebrating. I was left alone so reached for my bag, which held some basic medical gear, and I headed away from the noise.

  Once in the corridors at the back of the tunnel, I paused. I’d been given Ben’s office to use. Where was it?

  I recalled the direction and made my way there. As I did so my cell rang. Scooping it from my pocket, I checked the screen.

  It flashed the words Benny-Boy, and an image of Ben from last Christmas, a little tipsy and wearing an elf hat, appeared.

  My heart skipped. I’d been hoping to hear from my brother. We spoke every day, and him being out of communication while he was on safari in South Africa with his new wife had been strange and a little disconcerting.

  “Hey, you,” I answered, stepping into the office.

  “Soph, can you hear me?” The line was crackling and his voice faint.

  “Just.”

  “How’s it going at the rink?”

  “Fine, but what about you? What’s it like out there in the savannah? Have you seen lion, elephant—?” The line went dead. “Damn it.” I frowned and stared at the screen.

  For two minutes I willed the cell to flash to life again, but it didn’t. So I tried calling Ben’s number. It went straight to voicemail. Cleary the signal he’d found wasn’t quite enough to reach Florida.

  There was activity outside, the players clattering toward the locker room. Their voices were loud and booming and echoed around the walls. I hoped the coach I’d been sitting with would remind Nathan Walker he needed a check-up before he headed out of the stadium.

  I spotted a full coffee pot and helped myself as I waited. I had no intention of walking into a locker room full of sweaty, naked, testosterone-fuelled hockey players.

  Or maybe I should?

  I hadn’t appreciated hockey players were actually quite hot before. If I had maybe I would have taken Ben up on his many offers to accompany him to games in the past. I might have enjoyed it. I smiled and sipped my drink, appreciative of the warm, dark flavor and the caffeine hit I knew was coming. Nathan Walker was particularly handsome, and his eyes were…

  Stop it, Sophie. You haven’t got room in your life for distractions.

  Chapter Two

  I passed the time by flicking through some of Ben’s Sports Medicine journals. Outside, the activity continued; all manner of people coming and going, but mainly men judging by their deep tones. After half an hour and another coffee, I wandered outside with my bag.

  “Hey, Doc.”

  I turned at the sound of the coach’s voice.

  “You coming upstairs for a celebratory drink?” He nodded at a set of stairs with the handrail wrapped in red tinsel. “It’s the last game, and it’ll be a great party with a win this close to Christmas.”

  “Thank you, but no. I’ve got an early start in surgery.”

  “On a Saturday?”

  “Broken hearts wait for no one.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, thanks for all you’ve done.”

  “I haven’t finished yet. I need to give Nathan Walker a check over after his head trauma.”

  He laughed. “Ah, he’s okay, nothing damaged that wasn’t already.”

  I frowned. “I was very clear about his need for an exam.”

  His grin dropped. “Er yeah, sure. You were.” He glanced around.

  Two players ambled past, each tall and broad and dressed in jeans and t-shirts with the Viper logo on them. One I recognized as Rick Lewis, the captain. The other was olive-skinned and with glossy dark hair still damp from the shower. I had a vague memory that his usual position was in goal and his name was Raven.

  “You seen Flash?” the coach asked.

  “Yeah.” Rick smiled my way. “Are you looking for him?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s in there,” Raven said gruffly and jerking his head at the locker room door.

  “Okay. I’ll wait.” I folded my arms.

  “You want me to go and get him?” Rick asked.

  “I’m sure he’ll appear soon.” I glanced at my watch. “Hopefully.” If I could leave in the next thirty minutes, I’d be tucked up in bed by eleven. That would give me seven hours sleep before I had to start again.

  “You sure you don’t want to join us upstairs in the bar?” the coach asked.

  “I’m sure. Thanks, though.”

  He shrugged. “Hopefully we’ll see you again.”

  “Yes, and thank you for your help.” I couldn’t imagine I’d be standing in for Ben anytime soon. This was a big favor, but I knew he’d do the same for me.

  As the coach and the two players headed up the stairs, my cell rang again.

  “Ben?”

  “Can you hear me this time?”

  “Yes, much better. What did you do?” I asked.

  He chuckled. “I’m standing at the top of a hill somewhere in Kruger National Park.”

  “Well don’t get eaten by lions or anything stupid like that. I’m not taking over this hockey team for you, they don’t take their health very seriously.” There was a crackle on the line, so I stepped into Ben’s office once more. The crackle faded.

  “Ah, they’re okay. They’re just tough.”

  “That’s what they keep telling me.”

  “What was the score?”

  “I’m not sure, but The Vipers won.”

  “Yes!”

  “Must be nice having a job that’s also a hobby.”

  “Yep, it’s sweet.” He paused. “So what are you doing now?”

  “Waiting to check over Nathan Walker.”

  “Why, what happened?”

  “He got a bump to the head. I shouldn’t think it’s anything serious.”

  “But you won’t sleep unless you check for retinal detachment, CSF leakage, and have given him a post he
ad-trauma lecture.”

  “You know me so well.” I picked up a framed photograph of Lisa, Ben’s wife. She had long dark hair, always wore red lipstick, which suited her, and in this picture she was standing on a beach in a pale yellow dress, smiling at the camera.

  “You okay, Soph?”

  “Yes, I’m just going to miss you this Christmas.”

  He was quiet, then, “I know, I’m sorry, shitty timing, huh.”

  “There was never going to be a good Christmas for you not to be here.” Since we’d lost our parents five years ago, Ben and I had always been together at holidays.

  “Promise me you’ll take up Amanda and Richard on their offer to spend the day with them.”

  “I might. But most likely I’ll work. Makes sense for the person who has no one to spend the big day with to be on the ward.”

  “Aw, come on, Soph, the rest will do you good. And you worked Thanksgiving and every other holiday this year.”

  “I’ll see. Listen, I should see if I can finish up here with Nathan Walker, then get myself home to bed.”

  “Okay, but Nathan Walker…”

  “What?”

  “Watch him.” He laughed.

  “What does that mean?”

  “He’s got an eye for the ladies, and I’d bet you’re just his type.”

  “That might be the case, but you know full well I’m not easily caught, and I’m—”

  “Too busy for love, yeah, I know, so you keep telling me, but I’m starting to wonder if you’re just trying to convince yourself of that.”

  I didn’t reply. Ben had a point. It was over a year since I last went on a date.

  “Let your hair down,” he said. “Relax, have a few drinks and smile because you’re having fun not because you’ve healed someone.”

  “Ben, stop.”

  “I’m not being flippant, Soph, I want you to have what I have.”

  “Not everyone is as lucky as you. You’ve found your soul mate.”

  “Everyone has a soul mate out there.”

  “And mine is Nathan Walker?” I laughed to lighten the mood.

  “No,” he said quickly. “Yours isn’t Nathan ‘The Flash’ Walker, that’s what I’m saying.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry, hockey players are not on my radar.” Which wasn’t strictly true. At the age of thirty-four, I’d discovered today there was something sexy about the guys who shot around on the ice, shoulder barging each other and scoring points to the roar of a crowd.

  The line made a hissing noise.

  “What’s that? A snake?” I asked.

  “No…losing signal. I should…go.”

  “Okay, well, thanks for ringing, give my love to Lisa.”

  “I’ll call again when I can, and don’t you dare work on Christmas Day or I’ll…” Ben’s voice faded, and the line went dead.

  I sighed and slipped my cell into the back pocket of my jeans. I’d be glad when he was home. Even though we didn’t see each other as much as we’d like to because of our schedules, it was nice to know he was in the same country as me. Africa seemed so far away.

  Peering into the corridor, I frowned. Had I missed Nathan leaving the locker room? My concentration hadn’t been where it should have been while I’d been chatting.

  The area appeared deserted, the noisy chatter of earlier long gone. After reaching back into the office for my bag, I headed toward the locker room. I wasn’t hopeful of finding the game’s star player. Chances were I’d have to go up to the bar and find him. Dragging him away from his colleagues in the middle of celebrating wasn’t likely to be easy.

  I swung the heavy door open a fraction and stilled. The scent of soap and cologne mixed with the tang of fresh male sweat filtered up my nose. All was silent. There wasn’t anyone left in there.

  I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. My chance of seven hours of sleep was rapidly slipping away.

  Pushing the door open wider, I stepped in. I’d check the locker room was empty, otherwise I’d be doubling back on myself.

  “Anyone in here?” I called.

  No answer.

  “Damn it.” I shook my head and wandered farther in.

  The semi-lit room was smaller than I’d thought it would be. One wall was lined with oak lockers, two others had deep wooden benches beneath rows of hooks. A large shiny table stood in the middle of the room and was scattered with water bottles, gloves, and several hockey magazines. Not all of the overhead lights were on, and shadows spread over the floor.

  An archway led to what I guessed was the shower area.

  It appeared one shower was leaking, the water splashing intermittently onto the tiled floor.

  I walked past the table, my soft shoes silent, toward the shower area. I’d turn the water off—I had a thing about wasting it.

  With my hand on the side of the arch, I paused.

  My heart skipped a beat, and my breath caught in my throat.

  Standing naked, beneath the spray of water was Nathan ‘The Flash’ Walker.

  He held his face, eyes closed, to the showerhead and had had his hands in his hair as if scraping it back from his forehead. The water ran from his chin onto his neck, then down his chest and over the dark patch of hair sitting at his sternum. His wide shoulders sparkled from the spray bouncing off his golden flesh, as did the defined muscles in his abdomen.

  I swallowed as a flood of adrenaline surged into my system. I’d seen many naked bodies in my line of work, but it wasn’t often I saw a perfect one.

  And Nathan ‘The Flash’ Walker was one hundred percent perfect.

  His cock was flaccid and hung a little to the left, his thighs solid chunks of muscle that tapered to his knees. The same dark body hair on his chest also covered his lower legs.

  Get out of here.

  That thought blasted into my mind at the exact moment Nathan Walker lowered his hands to his sides and opened his eyes.

  He stared straight at me. Again.

  For a moment, surprise crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced with something unnervingly like amusement. “Hey.”

  “I’m…sorry. I was looking for you and…” I turned away but kept my hand on the archway.

  “You found me.” His deep voice seemed to rattle around the tiled walls.

  “I need to”—I closed my eyes and tipped my chin—“check you over.”

  “I think you just did that, sweatpea.” He laughed.

  I threw him a quick frown but was once again struck with the sight of his big body, now being rapidly covered in soapy suds. They’d collected in his chest hair and were running over his abdomen toward his cock.

  “Come and have at it,” he said. “I’m all yours.”

  “I prefer not to conduct medical examinations in shower cubicles.” I stepped back into the locker room so I wouldn’t be tempted to look at him again. “I’ll wait here for you.”

  “Suit yourself,” he called. “Though if you change your mind and wanna come in here and scrub my back, I won’t be complaining.”

  I didn’t think his comment dignified a reply, so I dumped my bag on a bench and flicked the clasp open. Rooting around for my eye torch—an engraved one which was a gift from my parents—and reflex hammer, I tried to ignore the sound of the Christmas song Nathan had started singing and was echoing around the locker roomit was the same awful one which had been thumping out at the rink.

  I checked my watch. All I wanted was bed. Hopefully he’d hurry up. Just because he could likely spend tomorrow lounging around in a hot tub or sauna, recovering from his late night, didn’t mean I could; I had a triple bypass to perform.

  Within a minute the shower water had turned off and he’d stopped singing. The silence was almost worse than the song as I waited for him to appear.

  Please don’t be naked.

  If he was, I wasn’t sure how I’d stop my gaze drifting down his body. He might be a cocky hockey player, but he could also model for sculptures recreating Adonis.
>
  “Hey,” he said, strolling through the archway with a white towel wrapped around his waist. He was rubbing his hair with another.

  Relieved, I straightened and pulled in a breath, the air was laced with steam and the scent of soap. “If you could sit down, I’ll perform a few tests. It won’t take long.”

  “Take as long as you want.” He flung the towel he was holding into a plastic receptacle already overflowing, then sat. His legs were set wide apart, and he hitched up the towel covering his thighs.

  I dared a quick glance as I stepped up to him and was relieved he hadn’t exposed himself. He’d simply needed space to accommodate his bulky muscles.

  “How are you feeling?” I flicked on the torch and shined the small bright dot onto my palm.

  “Pretty damn good, to be honest.” He grinned.

  “No headache? Blurred vision? Nausea?”

  “Hell no, just keen to get to my teammates and celebrate. Wanna come?”

  “No, thank you.” I placed my palm on his forehead to keep him still while I examined him. He skin was damp from the shower, and the few strands of dark hair beneath my hand were soft. “Look straight ahead.”

  “I can’t look at you?”

  “Straight ahead please.”

  He turned, and I had to step between his legs to get close enough to do a proper eye exam. His pupils were equal and reacting to light, which was a good start. But I needed a visual on the back of the eyeball to rule out subtle damage.

  As I studied the rear of his right eye, I was aware of his breathing and of his exhale becoming my inhale. Heat radiated from his flesh, and the towel brushed my legs. I was so close to him, as I needed to be, but with him wearing only a towel it somehow felt incredibly intimate.

  “That one is fine,” I said, switching to the other eye.

  “What are you searching for?” he asked. “Checking a dumb jock like me has a brain?”

  “I’m sure you have a brain.” Again I leaned close and shined the light onto the back of his right eye, emphasizing all the tiny red vessels there.

  He chuckled, and his legs squeezed a little more. “But you think I’m a dumb jock, right?”