Page 21 of Down to Puck
“Anything you need,” she whispers. “We’ll come up with a plan, ok?”
“I already have one,” I say with a sigh. “I know exactly what I have to do. I just can’t bring myself to do it tomorrow. Let me hide here with you for one more day, before I have to face the team.”
She nods against my chest.
“I love you, Yasmín. My Angel,” I whisper.
“I love you too, Emerson,” she whispers back.
8
Yasmín
One Week later
It’s a good thing Emerson is sitting next to me. I don’t think my heart could take it if he were on the ice tonight.
The game between the Snowhawks and their in-state rival, the Dallas Mavericks, is bloody and brutal. I’ve already had to bench two players for the night because they won’t stop bleeding no matter how much stiptic I apply.
I was worried Emerson would be resentful about sitting out the rest of the season. I know how much he loves this game— and this team. It means everything that he listened to my diagnosis and gave himself time to heal.
As the casualties mount, he gives my hand a squeeze.
“I’ve never said this before,” He grins as I toss another wad of bloody gauze into the trashcan. “But I’m glad I’m not out there tonight.”
I lean in and give his cheek a kiss. He turns to raise an eyebrow at me, eyes sparkling.
“Doc, please. Try to keep it in your pants. We’re at work. Rule one, remember?”
I slug him in the shoulder as a savage hit on the boards in front of us breaks our eye contact. The crowd near us groans in unison as a player slides down the glass, but I feel relief as I note it isn’t one of ours.
“Hey Doc. Em.” Kai Mita shouts over the noise of the game, giving us a jaunty salute before skating off to hammer another Maverick. “You two make a cute couple.”
He shouts over his shoulder before slipping between a group of Mavericks to disappear from view.
“I’m really glad I’m on Mita’s team. That man is scary,” Emerson chuckles, leaning against me.
He isn’t wrong. Even if Kai is a little more mellow now that he’s dating the new assistant manager Dakota.
“The team is going to need you a lot while you’re recovering,” I comment without looking back at Emerson. “Especially Parker.”
I’m new to hockey, but even I can see the rookie forward is skating nervous.
Emerson grimaces as Parker lines up a shot. It’s textbook perfection, but the opposing goalie blocks it easily.
“He’s technically great, but he needs a lot of work,” Emerson says thoughtfully.
“Well, good thing he’s got you to work him, huh?” I scan the ice, trying to anticipate where the next injury will happen.
“Dakota, pull Parker in here. I need to coach him on that shot,” Emerson says, stepping away from me. I don’t want to let him go, but I know he needs to.
The slim redhead gives Emerson a nod and signals to the players. We’ve got an extra forward on the bench tonight, running a 13-5 split. Emerson and Parker both objected to the special treatment, but Kai was adamant it would be enough, that the defense would make up for it.
His word is good, but the Mavs are playing a lot more vicious than I think even Kai or Dakota anticipated. Like sharks, they can smell the blood in the water and they’re circling for a kill.
“Emerson, what’s up?” Parker climbs onto the bench, dripping sweat as he chugs some electrolytes.
Sofie Rivera, the new team photographer, apparates out of nowhere. Crisp bursts of light blind me for a moment as she fires off a dozen pictures of Parker.