by Anna Sugden
When the nurse came in to prep him for surgery, Ike asked for Tracy to join them.
“We’re taking you down to the operating room shortly. Ms. Hayden can wait in your room.”
No. He needed to see her now. He didn’t know why it was important, only that it was.
“I need to see her before I go down.” His firm tone told her this wasn’t up for debate.
The nurse huffed, but when he was ready to go, she called Tracy into the cubicle. “You have five minutes.”
“All set?” The anxious furrow in Tracy’s brow belied her bright words.
“I guess.” He tried to be stoic, but before he could help himself, the truth came tumbling out. “Not really.” He told her what Dr. Gibson had said. “No guarantees. No promises. This could be it.”
Putting his fears into words made them sharper, more real. Suddenly, he was terrified. Once he’d had the operation, there’d be no hiding from the truth. If it didn’t work, he’d be out of options. “My career could be over.”
“Don’t borrow trouble. There’s no guarantee your arm will be one hundred percent, but there’s also no guarantee it won’t be. Dr. Gibson is the best, so let him do his stuff.”
Which meant if the surgeon couldn’t fix him, no one could.
Tracy continued. “You won’t know the outcome for weeks. Even if the initial prognosis isn’t encouraging, I know you’ll do everything you can to beat the odds.”
Her words lifted the black cloud that had been hovering over his head. Yes, he would. He’d prove the surgeon wrong. He would play again. Hell, he’d be back for the playoffs.
Still, Ike didn’t want to wake up alone. Just in case. “Any chance you can hang around until it’s done?”
“Of course.”
Her soft smile lifted his heart. He held out his good hand, palm up. “Promise?”
She laid her hand in his, then linked their fingers. “I promise.”
“Okay. Let’s get this done.”
The nurse reappeared. “Ready?”
Ike took a deep breath and nodded. “Bring it on.”
* * *
TO QUOTE THE famous former Yankee Yogi Berra, it was déjà vu all over again.
Tracy sat in Ike’s hospital room again, watching his chest rise and fall steadily as the machines beeped and whirred around him. He’d been brought up from recovery a few minutes ago and the nurse had told her that Dr. Gibson would be by shortly to fill her in on how it had gone.
Though the operation hadn’t taken as long as last time, Tracy had been more nervous and on edge. Perhaps because this was the second time. Though she’d tried not to let dark thoughts prey on her mind as she’d waited, those had been hard to ignore. Despite what she’d said to Ike, the likelihood was that he would miss at least the rest of the season. Maybe more. What if Dr. Gibson couldn’t fix the damage? Or what if he could, but not enough for Ike to ever return to the ice? She’d seen how badly Ike had reacted when he was only looking at missing a few months. What would retirement do to him?
Tracy had alternated between cursing Ike for being such a stubborn fool and willing him to be okay. She’d even thought about how she could make sure he followed the bloody instructions this time. It wasn’t really her business, but he clearly couldn’t be trusted to stick to the rules on his own. Although maybe this second injury had scared him enough to make him toe the line.
Tracy moved the seat closer to Ike’s bed. The bandage on Ike’s arm was more substantial than before, covering every inch of his arm from fingertip to shoulder, but that was probably precautionary. His vital signs were good, but then he hadn’t had the same blood loss or trauma as he’d had with his initial injury. She tried to tell herself that all her worrying wouldn’t make the slightest difference, but it didn’t ease her nerves. She didn’t want to think about why she cared so much.
She laid her hand on Ike’s. “You can wake up any time now,” she said gently.
Ike didn’t twitch a muscle. She sighed. Typical bloody stubborn man. “All right, then—in your own time.”
The door swished open and Dr. Gibson walked into the room.
“How did it go?” Tracy’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it would leap right out of her mouth. “Will he...his arm be all right?”
The surgeon wiped his hand across his jaw. “I think so. The surgery went as planned. The damage wasn’t as bad as it appeared and I managed to reattach the tendons securely.”
“I bet you wanted to triple-stitch them to make sure they couldn’t come apart again.”
“It’ll all hold if he does what he’s told this time.”
“I’m sure you don’t have to worry about that. Once he knows he had another lucky escape, he’ll behave.”
The surgeon smiled wryly. “I wish I believed that. Experience has proven otherwise. No matter how remorseful they are after things like this, professional athletes revert to type after a few weeks of boredom.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him. Make sure he stays out of trouble.”
Tracy hadn’t meant to make such a vow, let alone say it aloud. But she meant it. She couldn’t give Ike the personal commitment he wanted, but she cared enough about him to make sure he didn’t jeopardize his career. She’d make Ike behave if she had to handcuff him to the stair rail.
“That’ll help, I’m sure.” Dr. Gibson nodded. “He won’t be happy to hear that this has set his recovery back by at least a month. All the progress he made has been wiped out and he’ll need to start over with additional precautions.”
“It’s better than being told he’s played his last game. So, you’re cautiously optimistic?”
“Yes. The caveat being that I’ve done all I can and this is the best it’ll be. It’s now up to Ike. That’s what I’ll be telling him and the Ice Cats management.”
Tracy knew Ike had to be dreading Callum Hardshaw’s reaction to the news. Ike was too valuable an asset for the team to take any risks with his recovery. Any hint of uncertainty and they’d shut him down. Which would only rile Ike up even more.
An idea occurred to her. What if she could get Dr. Gibson to delay talking to the Ice Cats? Instead of focusing on the result of the surgery, they’d be worried about Ike coming through the operation successfully. Then they’d be so relieved to hear Ike was in better shape than they’d expected, they might not overreact. It was worth a shot.
She outlined her idea to the surgeon.
Dr. Gibson gave her a long, hard look. “I don’t think it’ll make much difference. The facts are the same, however you dress them up.”
“I know, but I want to try and make common sense prevail.”
He looked doubtful, but shrugged. “All right.”
“Thank you. I’ll call them now.”
Tracy stepped out of Ike’s room and headed for the dayroom. She wasn’t looking forward to making this call. Not least because of her earlier meeting with Callum Hardshaw. The thought of speaking to him again so soon made her feel uncomfortable. The things she did for her frien— her clients.
She was put through to the GM’s assistant initially, but Tracy insisted on speaking with him directly.
He came on the line shortly after. “What’s so urgent that you’d interrupt an important meeting? We have nothing further to discuss regarding the contract and—”
Tracy interrupted, “Ike’s fallen and reinjured his arm. He’s in surgery and will be out shortly.” She didn’t feel guilty about the white lie after the way Hardshaw spoke to her.
His tone changed. “How badly is he hurt? What happened?”
She explained briefly, leaving out the part about Ike’s workout. He could tell his GM that part himself. “Hopefully, Dr. Gibson can fix the damage.”
“I’m coming down there.”
The longer Hardsha
w had to worry about Ike, the more likely he’d be relieved Ike was okay. “There’s no rush. Ike won’t be awake for a while, even once he’s out of surgery.”
He hesitated. “I do need to finish this meeting. I’ll stop by as soon as it’s done. Shouldn’t be more than another hour.”
“That’ll work.”
“Thanks for letting me know, and for looking after Ike.” He sounded genuinely grateful.
“All part of the service.” Her tongue wasn’t in her cheek. Not really.
Now that she’d got the toughest call out of the way, she might as well get the rest done. First, she called Maggie—who was shocked, but not really surprised. If anyone knew about stubborn injured athletes, it was her sister. Then Tracy got ahold of Jake, who was pretty sanguine about the whole thing and promised to let Ike’s brothers know.
Last, but definitely not least, Ike’s mother. Given the time difference, Tracy figured that Karina and Rory would be asleep. If she called them now, they’d panic. Middle-of-the-night calls usually meant death or disaster. Better to call them in the morning. Maybe she’d suggest that Ike call them himself, so he could reassure his mum he was okay.
When she got back to Ike’s room, Tracy was disappointed to see he was still asleep. She returned to the seat by his bed. Unsure how long it would be before he awoke, she wondered about doing some work in the dayroom while she waited. No. She’d promised Ike she’d be here for him. Besides, she knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate.
Ike had always slept like the dead; he’d be out cold as soon as his head hit the pillow. He claimed it was because he had a clear mind and a clean conscience. Tracy figured it was because, like most males, he was able to compartmentalize his life and close off his mind to whatever was stressing him.
That was an invaluable skill for a goaltender. They couldn’t obsess about a goal they’d let in or a terrible clearance they’d made. Equally, they couldn’t pat themselves on the back too hard after a fantastic save, in case the next shot got through.
Ike would need that ability in spades in the months ahead. Tracy agreed with Dr. Gibson that Ike’s fervent vow—no matter how much he’d meant it in the heat of the moment—would be hard to live up to when February came around and things started heating up for the postseason. Especially if Monty was struggling or the Cats were on the bubble.
In that way, at least, Ike was very much like her. Perhaps that was part of their problem. There couldn’t be two leaders in a dance. She sighed softly. Unfortunately, neither of them would ever be a follower.
Ignoring the twinge in her gut, Tracy focused on how she could help Ike. Despite what she’d said to Dr. Gibson, she had to admit that she couldn’t see how she’d be able to save Ike from himself. Babysitting wasn’t part of her Helping Hands remit. What’s more, Ike wouldn’t thank her for her interference.
Even so, she wanted to help him. Wanted to see him safely through to the other side and back onto the ice. There had to be a way she could make it work.
A guttural murmur broke into her thoughts. Like last time, Ike seemed to be having a nightmare. He was frowning and moving his head restlessly from side to side. His legs worked against the bedclothes, pulling them free, as if he couldn’t stand to be constrained. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his breathing rasped.
As she had before, Tracy dampened a washcloth and wiped it over his forehead and down his cheeks, hoping to soothe him a little.
It seemed to do the trick, temporarily. He stopped thrashing and his breathing evened out. But the frown remained.
She laid her hand on top of his good one. Perhaps he’d sense he wasn’t alone.
He calmed a little more.
Tracy was about to move her hand when suddenly he gripped it tightly, startling her.
His eyes snapped open. She could see confusion and panic in the dark green depths.
“It’s okay, Ike,” she soothed. “Everything’s fine. You’re all right.”
His frown deepened, as if he couldn’t understand what she was saying. His gaze flicked to his heavily bandaged arm, then away.
“The surgery went well. Your arm will be okay.”
He looked at her. She could tell her words weren’t really registering.
“My arm,” he rasped.
“Looks worse than it is.” She kept the soothing tone. “They’ve given your arm extra protection to be on the safe side.”
He closed his eyes. He was quiet for so long, she thought he’d gone back to sleep. His grip on her hand remained tight. She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb and repeated the reassurances.
The next time he opened his eyes, his gaze was clearer. He coughed.
Tracy let go of his hand and reached for the glass of water, then held it for him so he could sip through the straw.
“Thanks.” He nodded when he’d had enough. “The verdict?”
His gaze held hers before dropping nervously to his bandaged arm.
She should probably tell him gently, but she wanted Ike to get the message loud and clear. “You’re bloody lucky. Dr. Gibson will fill you in on the details, but essentially he managed to fix your arm and it should be as good as new. If you do as you’re told.”
“I will.” He ran his good hand through his dark hair. “Hell, I can’t afford not to. This is too important to screw up.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
His mouth twisted ruefully. “It was a rookie mistake, overdoing the exercise. I didn’t count on how much my injury took out of me.”
She softened her tone. “You didn’t give your body a chance to recover from the trauma of the injury, let alone time to heal.”
“I’ve always healed quickly before,” he protested.
“You’re not as young as you were,” she teased. “I hear that can affect your healing rate.”
“Thanks for that. As if I didn’t already feel old and decrepit.” Ike’s expression sobered. “You’re telling me the truth, aren’t you? I will play again. You’re not cushioning the blow.” He searched her face. “Be straight with me. I want to know—even if it’s bad news.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you. There are caveats, like last time, but you will play again.”
“This season?”
She gave him a stern look. “Don’t push your luck. If you follow instructions to the letter, you may be able to take part in the postseason.”
“I already said I’ll do exactly as I’m told. I got it the first time.”
“If you had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Touché.” He sighed. “I really don’t want to miss another run at the Cup. Who knows how many more chances I’ll get to hoist that baby over my head again.”
“There’s nothing wrong with setting yourself the goal of being back on the ice for the playoffs. But there are bound to be factors you can’t control, which may cause setbacks. You’ll have to be extrapatient with your arm and yourself.”
“Easier said than done.”
“You can do this. I have faith in you.”
“Will you help me?” he asked earnestly.
“I’ve already said I would.”
“I don’t mean making sure I’m fed and watered and wearing clean clothes. I mean to work with me during my recovery. I’ll pay you for your time. Call it part of your Helping Hands services. I know how important your business is to you...”
“Seriously?” Tracy bristled. “This again?”
Ike held up his hand. “Let me finish. I’m not stupid enough to make that mistake twice. What I was trying to say was, I know I have a tough journey ahead and I can’t do this alone. I trust you. I need you to keep me on track. I’d prefer if you’d help me as a friend, but if that makes you uncomfortable, I’ll take your help any way I can get it.”
He reach
ed out and caught hold of her hand. “Please.”
His admission that he needed help was a huge step for Ike. She understood how much that acknowlegment had cost him. That he trusted her to help him when he was so vulnerable touched her deeply.
“All right. I’ll help you. But not as a client, not as part of Helping Hands and certainly not for money.” She lightened her tone. “You understand that means I don’t have to be polite to you?”
“Have you ever been?” Ike’s laugh was interrupted by a yawn. “Sorry. I’m really tired.” His eyes were already drooping.
“Get some rest. I’ve got to go anyway.”
“Thanks.” He squeezed her hand. “For everything. I owe you big time.”
“I’ll add it to your bill.” She smiled. “Just joking.”
His lips quirked, then his eyes closed and he was asleep.
Tracy stood by the bed, looking down at their joined hands. This time, Ike looked peaceful as he slept. No frown. No restless movement. Her heart went out to him.
She started to slip her hand out of his, but he tightened his grip and shifted. The frown was back. “It’ll be okay,” she murmured. “You’ll be okay.”
Tracy didn’t know why, but she leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Before she could pull away, he turned his face until their lips touched.
Her breath caught in her throat.
His fingers tightened around hers. Yet his eyes remained shut.
Their mouths fused.
She should draw back. Yet she lingered. Just for a moment.
It felt good...right.
But it was wrong.
She wished for a fleeting moment that it didn’t have to be, then lifted her head and pulled her hand from his.
The corner of his mouth curved into a satisfied half smile as his breathing evened out.
Her lips curved briefly in response. Then she shook her head.
Friends was one thing. Friends with benefits was something else entirely. They weren’t going down that route again, however pleasant it might be.
Pleasant? Hah! That was way too wishy-washy for what it’d be. And maybe that was the problem. It would blind her to why it was wrong until it was too late.
