If You Want Me (The Toronto Terror Series)
Chapter 16

We’re playing against Florida tonight, and it’s been a rough game. We’re down two goals, and we’re already five minutes into the third period. With only six weeks left in the regular season, we’re looking for wins and goals, not this shit.

The arena is packed, the girls are sitting in the box, and it’s getting harder not to notice how good Aurora looks these days. It doesn’t matter that weeks have passed since our kiss; it’s on a constant loop in my head. I drag my eyes away from the box, grateful Hammerstein is in the net, so he can’t see me watching his daughter.

Stiles and Madden rotate off, and I rotate on with Bright. We gain control of the puck a few seconds in, but Florida is on their game, making it difficult to get within shooting range. Bright skates into the crease, passing to Spencer. I get into position, and he fires the puck my way, but it bounces off the end of my stick before I can protect it.

It’s a mad scramble as Florida closes in, sticks slapping against each other as we fight for possession. I lose the puck, and Spencer chases it down the ice, gaining control again. It’s another thirty seconds of high-speed skating, me and Bright passing the puck back and forth, Florida on our heels. I take the shot, but I’m facing right, instead of left, so I’m half a second too slow making the turn in the crease and a Florida player slams into me.

It shouldn’t be the kind of hit that does damage. I hear the pop and feel the snap, followed by agony that steals my vision. I land on my back on the ice. The roar of pain is all-consuming as the whistle blows. The crowd screams and boos.

Breathing feels like an impossible task. It hurts so much.

“Hendrix, man, hey, hey, look at me. Look at me.” Bright is right there, his huge body creating a barricade between me and everything else.

I blink him into focus and try to sit up.

“Stay down.” He puts a gloved hand on my chest. “I heard it. I heard the pop.” He shakes his head. “Don’t try to stand up. You don’t want to make it worse.”

“It’s the same fucking knee,” I grit out as panic takes hold.

“I know, buddy. I’m sorry.” He turns to the ref. “Get medical. He can’t walk off the ice.”

I’m surrounded by my teammates. The game is paused while they stabilize my leg—that induces more vision-stealing pain. I’m moved to a stretcher and carried off the ice. Numbing fear settles under my skin. This could be a career-ending hit. I don’t want to believe that tonight was my last game. I won’t.

I’m taken to the hospital and rushed in for X-rays and scans. My phone is blowing up with messages from my family. But I can’t respond yet. Not when I have no idea what’s going on. The doctors murmur to each other, examining the X-rays. I can tell by the looks on their faces that the news isn’t good. “I need surgery again,” I say through gritted teeth.

I’m grateful the team doctor came with me, because I’d rather hear whatever needs to be said from him than some guy I don’t know. “I’m sorry, Hollis.”

“Fuck. Fuck.” I run a hand through my hair. “How bad is it this time?”

“The good news is it’s a straight reattachment,” he says.

“The healing time is better on that, right? Quicker.” I could be back on the ice in a matter of weeks.

“Technically, yes. But you’ve already had one surgery, and we don’t know how your body will handle this. We’ll know more once we get inside and fix you up.”

“I’ll be able to play again, though, right?” I’m not ready for this to be the end. It can’t be.

“We’ll do everything we can to make that happen, Hollis.”

I hear what he doesn’t say—that I need to be prepared for any outcome, including the end of my career. “How soon is surgery?”

“They’re prepping a room now. So within the next hour or so. You want to make a few phone calls, reassure your family you’re okay, now is the time.”

My sister Micha has called three times already. She’s five years younger than me and has a daughter named Elsa. She and Mike live a couple of hours away in Niagara. She picks up on the first ring.

“Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay and that hit looked worse than it is.” Micha’s voice shakes.

“I’m okay, but I’m heading into surgery soon.” My stomach twists and rolls as I verbalize it.

“No. Oh no, Hollis. I’m sorry. Should I come up? I can get a sitter and come up. You need someone with you for this.”

“It’s okay. Roman will be here. You’ve got a kid and a husband to take care of, and I’ve got a whole team.”

“Is it the same knee?” she asks softly.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Hollis, what does that mean? Will you be able to play after this? Should you?”

“First surgery, and then we’ll go from there.”

“Will you call me when you’re out?”

“Yeah, of course. Or I’ll have Roman text. But we’ll let you know how it goes.”

“I’m so sorry this is happening again.”

“Me, too.”

“Do you want me to fill in Emilia?”

“Yeah. She’s on nights this week, so she probably doesn’t know yet. And we can hold off on telling Mom and Dad since they’re on a cruise.” Our older sister is a NICU nurse out in Bobcaygeon.

“They’re supposed to be in the Cayman Islands tomorrow, so we can try to touch base then,” she suggests.

“Yeah, better to wait until I’m out of surgery.”

“Agreed. I hope it goes smoothly.”

“Same. I love you, sis.”

“I love you, too, Hollis.”

I end the call, and the worry is all-consuming. It’s a blessing when they come to put me under.

They keep me overnight after surgery. The procedure went fine, but the doctors have warned me to take it easy. My knee is swollen to twice its size, and my pain levels make me short-tempered and prone to snapping.

I’m sent home the following morning once I’ve seen the team physiotherapist and have been cleared for release by the doctor. All I want is my own bed, and my cats, and to escape from the relentless beeping and the smell of sanitizers. Roman wheels me out and helps me into the back seat of his car, since bending my leg is off the table for the next while.

“This was the one thing I didn’t want to happen,” I say once we’re on the way home.

His gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror. “I know, man. I’m sorry.”

At least he isn’t feeding me bullshit about things being okay. The doctors are cautiously optimistic, a phrase I hate. I thought I had time to prepare for retirement, and now it might be here.

Getting from the vehicle to the elevator is a chore, and the ride up to the penthouse makes my head swim. I close my eyes and lean my head against the mirrored glass.

“You okay?” Roman holds the doors open for me, and I crutch the short distance to my penthouse.

“Just tired.” I want to sleep for the next several weeks—until my knee is healed and this mental shitstorm is over. You’re only a handful of hours post-surgery, I remind myself. I might be fine. It’s a big might, though.

Roman helps me into my place. The throw pillows Aurora added to the couch last year after my first surgery are in the corners. The blanket neatly folded in the center boasts two cat-shaped dents. I’m pretty sure that’s not how I left things.

The boys trot out of my bedroom, meowing loudly. I stop in the middle of the room while they wind around my legs. I can’t even bend to pet them. “Hey, Postie. Hey, Malone. Sorry I left you so long. I hope you didn’t shit on my bed.”

“Peggy stopped by last night and again this morning,” Roman offers.

“I’ll have to thank her for that.” Malone rubs himself against my leg. “You mind giving them a couple of treats? First cupboard on the right, the one with the yellow lid. Just a few, though.”

“No problem. You want to lie on the couch or your bed?”

“Bed. I’m beat.”

“It’s been a rough twenty-four.” He replaces the treats, and Postie and Malone bumble over to their dishes and plunk their butts down.

I hobble the short distance to my bedroom. The covers have already been turned down, and the sheets changed. Two bottles of water sit on my nightstand, with the book that was on the side table in the living room beside it, along with two hockey magazines. She’s so damn thoughtful, and I’m over here sabotaging her dates because I can’t control myself. And fucking her scrunchie like a creep because I can’t have her.

I look over to my dresser. I put her scrunchie there after I washed it, and now it’s gone. Fuck.

That’s a conversation I don’t want to have.

I set my crutches against my nightstand and gingerly sit on the edge of my bed. I pull my hoodie over my head and toss it aside as I stretch out on the fresh sheets.

Roman appears in the doorway. “You need anything before I go?”

“I’m good. Thanks for getting me home.”

“No problem. I’m heading to practice, but if you need anything, just message. And Peggy said she’d stop by after her classes to check on you and the boys.”

“She doesn’t need to do that,” I say.

“She’s worried. She had a rough night. She wanted to be here when you got home, but she has a meeting with one of her professors. I don’t think she slept well, so you know, maybe let her do what she does.”

“Okay.” Last year when I had my first knee surgery, she cried on me in the hospital. But I haven’t been alone with her since I ruined her date. Such an asshole move.

Roman taps the doorframe. “I’ll be back later to check on you.”

Postie and Malone jump on the bed and curl up beside me as Roman leaves. Their warm little bodies feel like the only thing anchoring me right now. Postie is constantly peeping his head up then scooting closer as if to make sure I’m okay. He always has a sixth sense for when I’m fucked up.

I drop a message in the family chat to let everyone know I’m home and I’ll call them later. Micha has been great about keeping everyone updated, and I messaged her late last night when I got out of surgery to let her know things had gone well. I’m wiped, so it doesn’t take long for me to pass out again. I wake up several hours later to a horrible throb in my knee and the sound of Aurora talking to the boys.

“I brought your favorite, boys. I know we ran out, and you had to settle for chicken instead of salmon. I’m sure it was rough,” she cajoles softly. A giggle follows. “I love you, too, Postie, and you, Malone.” Excited meows accompany the sound of a can being opened.

I need to take the prescription anti-inflammatories and get this pain under control. I sit up and push the covers aside. I’m forced to take a few deep breaths before I shift my legs over the edge of the bed. The pain flares with the movement, and my stomach rolls uncomfortably. I breathe through it. I don’t want to vomit on myself. All I’ve eaten is buttered toast today.

When the nausea abates, I reach for my crutches, but I’m uncoordinated. They clatter to the floor, out of reach. “Fuck.”

“Hollis? Are you okay?” Aurora rushes in.

I raise a hand. “Fine, just clumsy.”

She picks up my crutches. “What do you need? What can I get you?”

I glance at her for a second, but my head is swimming, and the nausea is overwhelming, so I go back to staring at the floor. She’s wearing loose-fitting jeans and socks with cats on them. I gave them to her last year for her birthday.

I hold out a hand. “I need my crutches.”

I hate that I’m right back where I was less than a year ago. And it feels worse this time, the pain more intense. I’m fresh out of surgery, though, and the first few days are always the worst. I hate not being able to manage shit on my own. I don’t want Aurora to see me like this again.

“Do you need to use the bathroom? I can help you get there,” she says softly.

“I don’t need the bathroom, and I don’t need help.” I’m a snappy asshole.

“You’re sweating, your face is green, and while you’re always hot as hell, you also look like actual hell, Hollis. I’m standing right here, asking you what you need. Let me help you, please.” Her voice cracks.

I slowly lift my eyes. She’s on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry. I’m in a lot of pain.”

“There’s a prescription on the counter. Can I get it for you?” she asks.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” I concede. Other than my sisters and Roman, I haven’t had someone look out for me—try to take care of me—like she does. I should get her to leave, setting more boundaries I wish I could barrel through.

She leaves me sitting on the edge of the bed and returns a moment later with my prescription. She opens the bottle and shakes two pills into my open palm, then twists the cap off a bottle of water and passes it to me. I down the pills and half the bottle of water.

She wrings her hands. “Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat?”

“I don’t need you to play nursemaid, Aurora.”

“You just had emergency knee surgery again, Hollis. I’m sure the last twenty-four hours have been pretty awful for you, but they’ve been awful for all of us on the other side, too. I watched it happen, and then they took you to the hospital, and I had a stupid presentation, and a meeting I couldn’t miss today, and they obviously wouldn’t let anyone in last night at the hospital. Not that you wanted me to come visit you, but I was worried.” Her bottom lip trembles, but her eyes are alight with frustration and fear. “I know my feelings for you are inconvenient, but I can’t just turn them off. They’re mine and they’re real and believe me, I wish I didn’t feel the way I do. But the last twenty-four hours really freaked me out. So if you could let me take care of you a little, even if it’s just to make some toast you won’t eat, that would be great.”

I should give her a task. Something to occupy her. Instead, I beckon her closer. “Come here.”

“What do you need?”

I extend a hand. “I need you to come here.”

She tentatively slips her fingers into my palm. The hairs on the back of my arms rise. This didn’t happen before the kiss, but now, every time we touch, it feels charged. Like we’re channeling an electrical current, but it’s calming at the same time.

Her hands are much smaller than mine, and she has long, slender fingers. Her nails are painted pale blue with little hockey logos. I tug her forward and part my legs so she can fit between them. It’s the wrong thing to do. I know this. I know I’m sending more mixed signals, but I’m powerless against her tears, and the sheer need to console her overrides the conviction that we should maintain boundaries.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

“Hugging you, because I think you need it, and so do I.”

She nods. “I would like that.”

“Just careful of my knee.”

She closes the distance between us. I wrap my arms around her, and her hands settle on my shoulders, tentative at first. “This is okay for you?” she asks.

I nod and give her a gentle squeeze. My whole body relaxes with her in my arms. Having her so close is what I need. For a moment I almost believe we’re different people and this can be real.

She moves her arms around me and curls forward until her face presses against my neck. Her soft sigh wakes up parts of my body that have no business being involved.

It shouldn’t feel this good to hold her. Shouldn’t feel this right. But it does. I’ve hugged Aurora over the years. No…I’ve hugged Peggy. Celebrated her wins and consoled her over her losses. But this is different. It doesn’t feel like me consoling her. She’s a balm, a haven, something secure when everything else feels the opposite. I don’t know how to handle the shift between us. I want her, I want this, but there’s so much at stake. I’ve already made the mistake of giving my heart to someone who didn’t want it. She’s young. She might want me now, but in two years, five? What will I lose if she changes her mind?

“I was so scared,” she whispers, lips moving against my skin.

“It’ll be okay.” I rub circles on her back.

I don’t know how true that is, in any capacity. It feels like my life is unraveling. Everything I thought I knew is shifting faster than I can handle. I breathe her in, wishing she was five years older, that my career wasn’t hanging in the balance, that her dad wasn’t my best fucking friend. That I hadn’t pulled her into this deception. That I didn’t have the memory of that kiss.

That fucking kiss.

The taste of her. The feel. The desperate need to have more of it. All of it. All of her. I’m over here thinking about forever, and she has no idea how much baggage I’m carrying around.

The longer I hold her, the harder it is to let go, but eventually I pat her back and she takes the cue, putting space between us.

She wrings her hands, then crosses her arms, like she doesn’t know what to do now. “Can I make you something to eat?”

“I’m pretty nauseated from the pain.”

“A few crackers would help. You’ll get gut rot from the meds if you take them on an empty stomach.”

She’s right, and it makes her feel better to be helpful. At least that’s the excuse I make in my head. “Okay, yeah. That’d be good.”

A half smile tips the corner of her mouth and makes the dimple below her right eye appear. “I’ll be right back.”

I lie down and focus on breathing and blocking out the pain.

Aurora returns a minute later with buttered soda crackers. She slides another pillow behind my head to prop me up and pets Postie, who has come up to see if I have anything interesting.

“I have some stuff to work on. I could hang out with the boys in the living room for a while,” she offers when I’m done with the crackers. “And if you get hungry, I could make you something else.”

She did the same thing when I was injured last time—hung out with the cats, made me food, and took care of my laundry when I couldn’t. She dealt with my shitty attitude when I was depressed and dished out snark and sass to keep me from wallowing. But things have changed between us since then. Turning her away now will hurt her. And I want her here, despite it all.

“Yeah, okay, that’d be good.”

She smiles again, looking relieved this time. “Okay. I’ll be in the living room. Holler if you need anything.” She pulls the bedroom door mostly closed on the way out.

I must doze off again, because when I open my eyes, it’s dark outside, and it’s closing in on dinnertime. The meds are working, and the pain is manageable. I sit up and grab my crutches, carefully making my way to the bathroom to relieve myself before I go to the living room.

Aurora is sitting cross-legged on the couch, her hair pulled up into a short ponytail on top of her head with her scrunchie. The one she reclaimed. Postie is stretched along the back of the couch behind her, and Malone is snuggled up beside her. She looks like she belongs here.

“Hey, hi.” She sets her laptop aside, stands, and runs her hands down her thighs. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay. Better now that the pain is under control again.” I don’t understand how it can feel simultaneously right and wrong to have her here.

“Can I make you something to eat? Rix and I made that breakfast hash you love. I know it’s dinner, but there’s never a bad time for breakfast hash, and it might be easier on your stomach.”

“That’d be great. I can help.”

“Just keep me company or hang out on the couch with the boys.”

“I need to stand for a bit. I’ve been lying down for a lot of hours.”

I follow her to the kitchen and lean against the counter while she pulls out a pan and the container of breakfast hash. She’s so fucking beautiful. And smart and talented. Instead of being on a date with some guy in her class, she’s here, taking care of me. I doubt she realizes what an honor it is to be wanted by someone like her, even if it shouldn’t—can’t—go anywhere.

“My dad said the doctors are hopeful,” she says.

I blow out a breath. “We’ll see how rehab goes.”

She adjusts the temperature on the burner and turns to face me. “I’m so sorry, Hollis. I wanted anything but this for you.”

“Me too. I might have to start looking at what’s next, and I thought I had more time.”

“Are you worried about how this injury will affect you in the long run?” She pulls the scrunchie free and runs her fingers through her hair. “A lifetime of pain management for a couple more years on the ice is a hard tradeoff.”

“Not a lot of people understand this the way you do.” Most young players don’t even realize how hard this job is on a body. Even without serious injuries, it’s intensely physical. But with them… I can’t afford another knee surgery. Two inside a year will have a lifelong impact. And then there was that concussion. Sure, it was mild—this time.

“I’ve seen the way injuries take players out of the game,” Aurora says, shaking her head. “Especially if they try to rush recovery. Look at Alex Waters.” She turns back to the hash, flipping it and adjusting the heat again. “He was at the top of his game. He could have gotten back in after that concussion, but if he’d taken another hit like that…”

“He’s a legend. But leaving the game when he did was a smart move.” Waters shocked the hockey world when he hung up his skates. I watched his interviews afterward, talking about the impact of his concussion and how his priorities had shifted. He had a wife and a family. I don’t have that yet, but I want it. Maybe more than I’m willing to admit. Especially in current company. “Another concussion could have changed his life forever. I don’t want to risk not being able to walk so I can play a few more seasons, but I don’t want to give up my career prematurely either. It’s a real mindfuck, that’s for sure.”

Aurora’s sad smile is full of empathy. “One day at a time, though, right?”

“That’s all I can do.”

Aurora asks me to pass her the butter, and I struggle not to step in and help just so I can touch her. I make an excuse about my knee aching and move to the living room while Aurora finishes the hash. Malone, being the weirdo he is, starts kneading the blanket beside me, and then the air hump starts. He’s fixed, but he makes love to that blanket every night. I ignore him and turn on the TV for background noise.

Aurora brings over a lap tray when the food is ready and nudges Malone out of the way. He grudgingly curls up with his back to us on the chair across from the couch. Our fingers brush as she passes me silverware and again, I’m struck by how different it is this time around. How much I like being taken care of by her, how much I wish I could do the same. I ask her about school while I eat. I want to know what happened with that Jameson kid, but bringing that up is inviting more problems. I’ve given her enough mixed signals today.

When she sits on the couch next to me, Postie climbs into her lap and nudges her chin with his nose, then stretches out. He puts a paw on either shoulder, and his motor starts running.

“Dude, you have no chill,” I mumble around a mouthful of hash.

She holds his paws and laughs as he headbutts her chin. She turns toward me, her smile wide and so beautiful. Her expression softens, and her voice is barely a whisper. “I missed this.”

“Me too.” Such a simple thing to say. But it’s too much honesty. Too much truth. Especially when being with her like this is so easy. It makes staying inside the lines so fucking hard.

I consider what it would be like if I gave in to the craving that seems to grow with each passing day. We could be good together. She’s smart, sassy, and she doesn’t put up with my shit. She’s easygoing, and she loves a good movie night as much as I do. My cats adore her. I adore her. Me starting my second career while she’s starting her first could work in our favor. It might be difficult at first, but the people we’re close to could get past the gap. She’s been part of my life for years. But would Roman ever come around? I don’t know. She’s his world.

Sports highlights come on, along with news about my accident on the ice.

“I can change this,” Aurora says.

“No, it’s okay. I’m used to the fodder.”

But I don’t expect to see Scarlet splashed across the screen. I hadn’t realized she was at the game again. Her horror-struck expression comes first, and her back with my number and name embroidered on the jersey appear next, followed by a slideshow of images from more than seven years ago, back when we were dating. She was twenty-two, and I was twenty-six.

Reality is a sharp blade. Aurora is younger than Scarlet was when she ended things and broke my fucking heart. I’d been so sure we’d work out. The life I’d been planning with her was suddenly gone, and with it went my ability to trust someone. I never wanted to feel that vulnerable again. I’d be an idiot to invite that kind of pain back into my life, especially when it’s already turned upside down. Aurora is young, and I might seem like a good idea now, but eventually she’ll replace someone better. Someone’s already changed their mind about me once and the scars from that have impacted me in ways I can’t even begin to unpack. Aurora has her whole life ahead of her and I don’t need to put either of us through that kind of hell.

“You know what, I’m really bagged. I need to lie down again. You don’t need to stay or clean this up. I’ll take care of it later.” I turn off the TV and grab my crutches.

“Are you sure? I can put the dishes in the dishwasher.” She wrings her hands.

“No. You should go. You’ve got assignments to work on. Thanks for stopping by and for the hash. I appreciate it.” I can’t look at her as I turn toward my bedroom.

“Did I do something wrong, Hollis?” she asks.

“No, Princess. You’re not the problem. It’s just better if you go.” I can’t keep doing this to her. To myself. I hate that I keep hurting her, but I can’t put myself through that again. I’m an infatuation. That’s all. If I stop indulging it, she’ll move on. I’m sure of it.