Reforming The Playboy. Karin Baine
lifted an abandoned puck from the ground and tossed it in her hand, tempted to lob it in his general direction. Two could let temper get the better of them.
Hunter caught it in mid-air. ‘You don’t want to do anything you might live to regret, Charlotte.’ That serious face said he was speaking from painful experience. One he’d never be allowed to forget.
She let her aggression subside with a sigh, partly due to his voice of reason and perhaps because he’d used her name for the first time. Everyone here called her Charlie, in keeping with her efforts to remain one of the guys. Her full name, in that accent, made her feel positively girly. Even in her game night layers of fleece and comfort.
‘He’d no right to say any of those things. At least, not the personal stuff. I guess he’s kind of right about the reason we’re here. He just didn’t have to be so rude about it,’ she huffed on his behalf, since he seemed determined not to rise to it. Not so long ago she imagined he wouldn’t have thought twice about charging down there after him and duking it out.
Perhaps he had changed. Perhaps he did deserve to have someone give him the benefit of the doubt. Then again, if his one friend here couldn’t let go of the past and fully trust him, why should she?
Hunter shrugged, those broad shoulders refusing to carry any more baggage upon them. ‘He’s right. He did call in a lot of favours for me. I owe him big time.’ Either he had really matured or he was putting on an award-winning performance to dupe her into thinking he had. Especially when she was the one chomping at the bit to retaliate.
She had to remind herself he didn’t owe her anything personally; there was nothing to be gained in convincing her he was anyone but himself, except to prove his commitment to the job.
‘So what do we do?’ Stitches and concussion she could deal with. A burly hockey player with his finger on the self-destruct button was out of her comfort zone.
‘I wouldn’t want to step on your toes...’ He held up his hands in mock surrender to her self-appointed superiority.
‘Okay, okay. If I have to tackle an irate man twice my size, I could use the backup.’
And because Gray had said so.
‘We can’t do anything until we’ve seen to everyone else. We’re going to have our work cut out for us back there, after that last scrum especially.’
‘Then what? The chances Anderson is waiting patiently back there for counselling, treatment or another rollicking are slim to none.’
They had no clue what was ailing him and from her experience thus far, hockey players were stubborn about admitting any weakness. There was definitely more of an ‘I can tough it out’ attitude to injury than she was used to from other athletes. It made her job that much more difficult when those niggling pains turned into something more serious left untreated.
If it was some sort of chronic or traumatic acute injury sometimes it could mean the end of a career. In which case, Anderson would be even less inclined to admit there was a problem. Male pride could be a terrible affliction if left unchecked.
‘You heard Gray. We have to find him.’
She let out her breath in a huff, which may or may not have had to do with his continual glances into the crowd.
‘Unless the Demons have taken to tracking their players, how on earth are we going to do that?’ By the time they finished up here he could be anywhere. It would be dark, and she would be more than a bit cheesed off with the whole drama. Especially when she was expected to do it with Mr Torrance and that brought him much too close for comfort.
‘If I know my hockey players, and the heart of any Northern Irish town, there’s only one place Anderson will be sitting his time out. Let’s hit the pub.’
If she didn’t love her job so much she would’ve left him to it but these were still her players, her patients, her team, and she wasn’t afraid of dropping the gloves herself to fight. It wasn’t only the Demons’ honour at stake here.
* * *
Not only was Gray frothing at the mouth despite the result but Hunter was struggling to find those feel-good endorphins too. It was his son’s first match, the first time he’d seen his father’s team in action, if not playing himself, and he hadn’t been able to share it with him.
‘Sorry I couldn’t sit with you tonight, bud.’ He managed to catch Alfie and his grandparents before they disappeared out of the arena and into the night.
‘That’s okay. Maybe we can come again?’ He glanced up at his guardians with the same hope Hunter was still clinging to.
‘We’re coming to the end of the season now but perhaps I could bring Alfie for a tour behind the scenes some time?’ It was a big ask, he knew, but if he was to win over his son he had to start fighting for time alone with him.
Alfie’s face lit up but his grandmother shut down the notion of any unauthorised trips with a stern ‘We’ll see’.
The light began to dim again before flaring back to life. ‘Maybe Dad could come back with us for supper?’
It was the first time Alfie had called him Dad and it choked Hunter up that he was even starting to think of him in that role. It killed him to have to let him down.
‘It’s getting late and I still have some work to do here. Another night, bud.’ He knelt down and Alfie rushed towards him, hugged him so tightly it brought tears to his eyes. He didn’t care he could barely breathe because he’d never been as happy as he was in this second. This was the beginning of the family he’d never had and the pieces were finally slotting into place.
‘Come on, Alfie. It’s bedtime.’
Although Hunter was thankful for the opportunities afforded him to get to know his son, he was looking forward to the days when there wouldn’t be a time limit set on their relationship.
He slowly and reluctantly peeled Alfie from around his neck. ‘I’ll see you again soon. You be good.’
The kiss he dropped on his son’s head inadequately expressed the love he felt for this child he’d been without for too long but it was all he had to give for now.
Someday they’d be watching the games and eating popcorn together before going home to their own house. Until then they’d have to snatch whatever time was granted by those who thought they knew what was best.
‘’Night, Dad.’
‘’Night, son.’ He waved the trio off, watching them safely across the road until he was too misty-eyed to make them out.
He sucked in a deep breath of the cool night air to fortify his aching heart and blinked away his sentimentality. It was time to focus on the positives. Alfie was happy and safe and he had a job to do. He’d prefer to keep it that way.
* * *
It was close to midnight before they were able to leave the arena. His, or Anderson’s, personal problems had to wait until the players who actually hung around after the game were properly cooled down. Ice baths and stretches were equally as important as the warm-up to keep the muscles in prime condition. He knew Charlotte had a few nicks and grazes to treat on both teams but nothing serious or unusual for men in close contact with sharp blades every day of the week. He came to knock on her door just as she was lecturing her last patient.
‘Remember: RICE. Rest, ice, compression—’
‘And elevation. I got it, Doc,’ a weary Evenshaw replied as she strapped up his ankle.
Hunter gave him a hand down off the bed and watched him limp away. ‘I hope that’s nothing serious.’
‘A slight sprain,’ she said as she packed away the dressings and other bits and bobs she’d used to patch players together again.
Now she’d ditched her zip-up outer layer he could see she was wearing