Page 15 of Mother Pucker
Two Very, Very Long Weeks Later
The exam room is silent except for the sound of Skylar’s pen scratching across the page. Now and then, she stops her rapid-fire note-taking to flip through a chart or keep her glasses from sliding off her nose. What feels like an eternity later, she motions for Erik to come closer. I watch him hop off the exam table, trying not to hold my breath. Two weeks of blood, sweat, and tears have led up to this moment.
I’m surprised Skylar can’t hear my heart pounding from here.
Erik’s face doesn’t betray a flicker of pain. There’s no stiffness to his easy stride, no hesitation in his movement. He’s back to six and a half feet of Viking swagger as he crosses the room in two long steps before turning and pacing the other way again.
“Gait is even and steady,” Skylar murmurs to herself before ticking a few more boxes. “Reflexes look good. No sign of relapse or infection. Any pain, Erik?”
True to his word, Erik has spent the past two weeks channeling all of his considerable energy into healing his injury. When he isn’t driving me to the brink of madness with his hands or mouth, anyway.
“No,” Erik replies simply. “No pain. I’m still icing it every night, just to be sure.”
His accent is thick today— the only real indication that Erik might be nervous about his evaluation. There’s more than a hockey game on the line, and we all know it.
“It’s true,” I interject before I can stop myself. “He’s been a model patient. Hasn’t even laced up his skates.”
Skylar raises an eyebrow at that but doesn’t say a word. A knowing look chases across her face as she adds another emphatic note to the chart.
“Anti-inflammatory injections, swim therapy, yoga—” Sky grins at Erik. “You’ve followed your physical therapy plan to the letter. And it shows. I’ve never seen someone bounce back from a groin injury this quickly.”
Skylar sounds surprised, but I’m not. There is nothing Erik can’t do once he sets his mind to it. It’s just one more reason we belong together; he’s the only man alive as stubborn as I am.
Erik isn’t the only one who’s been working his ass off.
For the past two weeks, I’ve done everything possible to ensure the Snowhawks stay out of the headlines for once. Doing my job well without letting the spotlight near our star players is a delicate balancing act. It takes a lot of overtime to make a bunch of professional hockey players appear perfectly normal.
Emerson’s morning news segment about the Frosty Pucks was sweet, charming, and predictable. Sawyer’s latest ESPN interview was rescheduled after the producer came down with a stomach bug. Kai Mita is rumored to be on next season’s Dancing with the Stars. And as far as the fans, press, and even the suits are concerned, the Hawks’ superstar goalie is currently in Stockholm for a funeral.
Thank the hockey gods and Dakota O’Conner that the press and paparazzi have been banned from the Nest campus since last season.
Only Skylar, Yasmín, and the rest of the team know the truth. Together, we’ve created a safety bubble for Erik to heal away from prying eyes. It was a gamble— one I risked both of our careers on.
Now we wait and see if it worked.
“So?” Erik grins and taps Skylar’s shoulder lightly with one massive fist. “Does this mean I can play on Monday? Come on. Put me in, coach.”
My heart lurches in my chest as we wait for her answer. Erik needs a clean bill of health to make it in time for the last two games of the season— and his contract renewal negotiations after.
As team doctor, it’s up to Yasmín to decide if Erik is well enough to face faceoff. But this PT evaluation is going to be the major tipping point in her decision, and we all know it.
Skylar flips to a page in the back of Erik’s chart.
“Says here,” Sky taps the clipboard before tucking her pen behind one ear. “That Sawyer’s already ok’d your return. Means you just need Doc’s signature to get back on the ice.”
She pins me with another pointed look.
“What?” I cross my arms incredulously. “Do you think I threatened to give my brother an atomic wedgie if he didn’t—”
The exam room door swings open, cutting me off with a start. A familiar shape appears in the frame, blocking the light with its sizable bulk. Then Sawyer ducks into the room, still wearing his practice jersey.
“That’s exactly what she did.” My brother looks between Erik and me, mischief and approval dancing behind his eyes. “She also threatened to leak a story that I am afraid of the dark and sleep in footie pajamas.”
Sawyer’s easy smile falters when he meets Skylar’s glare from across the room. It only lasts a moment, but I know my brother well enough to recognize the nervous energy crackling around him.
“Luckily for Nordstrom,” he goes on easily, “I’d already decided he was ready to come back before Payton showed up with the thumbscrews. If the rest of the team were this dedicated, we’d win the Cup every year.”
Sawyer claps Erik on the shoulder before dropping gracelessly into the high-back chair next to me. Sweat clings to his short crop of hair. But I don’t think practice is to blame for the red flush creeping across his cheeks.