Mister Hockey (Hellions Angels #1)(36)
True to her word, she slipped immediately, but he caught her by the waist, keeping her steady. “First rule is stay loose. You don’t want to be tense out here.”
“Easier said than done.” Any second she was going to do the splits.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” he asked her, and just like that he was sprawled, ass smacking the ice, his long legs akimbo at awkward angles.
Breezy clasped a hand over her mouth, a few families openly pointing. “What are you doing?”
“Falling!” His smile lit his own face. “That’s the worst thing that can happen, and guess what, it’s not so bad.”
She laughed in spite of herself as the truth settled on her. “I guess you’re right.” Her mom had made it seem like that, but Jed had a point. And the tender way he watched her, if she fell, it might actually feel like flying.
Chapter Fourteen
Breezy strode through the front door of the library and every head in the place swiveled in her direction. She felt as if she starred in her own personal musical and this was the part where she leaped onto the reference desk to belt out a solo. She just spent the past three days having the best time of her life with the best man she’d ever know.
Seriously. Everyone really was looking at her. Two women even pointed.
Had word gotten out that she’d been shacking up with Jed West? Maybe someone saw them at the rink. Her heart raced. Because he wasn’t Jed West anymore. Or Westy. Or even a hockey god. Not to her—he was just Jed. The guy she was falling head over heels for. The man who made her waffles in bed and went down on her not as a cursory to-do item before getting his rocks off but treated it like a hobby, an artistic craft that he was determined to put ten thousand hours in to become a master.
“Breezy!” A volunteer waved.
She waved back but kept going. A little faster. She wasn’t ready to talk about this weekend. As wonderful as it was, as much as she wanted to sing it from the rooftops, she wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want to name what was happening because it was too new. Too fragile. If she looked at it too hard it might pop like a frigging soap bubble.
When she was with him it felt so real, so natural, so right. But away. Doubt settled in. That little mumbling voice had put ice on its broken nose and was piping back up.
When she got up to her desk, she hadn’t put down her bag before Daisy ran in.
“Want the bad news, or worse news first?” Her assistant sounded out of breath.
Not how anyone wants to start out the week. “Bad?”
“You have a giant piece of chocolate-glazed donut stuck to your top lip. Either that or you need to see a dermatologist like right now because that’s one funky-looking mole.”
“What?” Breezy reached up and crap. Sure enough the glazed donut she’d bought on the way over was affixed to her face. She’d walked through the entire library covered in her breakfast. No wonder there were pointers! What could be worse than that?
“Also, Tater Tots called a meeting.” Daisy sounded worried. “Just for the children’s department. You. Me. Her.”
“Maybe she wants to give us raises.” Breezy tried to laugh, but it wasn’t funny. In fact, her stomach dropped a few inches and a cool chill slithered across her lower back.
“Not likely. She was wearing red shoes today.” Daisy crossed her arms. “You know what that means.”
“Her butt-kickers.” Tater Tots had a pair of fire-engine red pumps and was fond of saying she wore them when she wanted to kick ass and take names.
Daisy turned around and stuck out her booty. “Mine is bony. This is going to hurt.”
Breezy giggled despite herself. “I’ll sacrifice myself for you, okay? My butt can take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’.”
“What will happen if we get fired? I need this job. My student loans are killing me. Plus my home life isn’t good.” Unexpected tears sheened her eyes. “Not good at all. My husband hasn’t been able to find work for months. If I can’t keep this position, there goes our apartment, our health care . . . everything.”
“No one is losing their job.” Breezy opened up her purse and pulled out her own secret weapon. Lady Dracula. Her boldest, reddest lipstick. If Tater Tots wanted to threaten her department, she wouldn’t go without a fight.
Jed’s doctor appointment turned into a full morning at the hospital, going through a battery of tests. First a full neurological examination that checked his vision, hearing, reflexes, strength and coordination, then cognitive ones to test his recall, concentration and memory. Finally he went and did an MRI.
In the end, his fears were confirmed.
Diagnosis: concussion.
“How long will the symptoms persist?” he asked the doctor.
“All brain injuries are different,” the neurologist said carefully. “And that means there’s no one-size-fits-all when it comes to recovery.”
“Translate that into practical English, Doc.” Jed scrubbed his brow and sat back, dazed, arms tight across against his chest. “You know, for my career, my entire damn life?”
The doctor took off his glasses and went silent. “The damage that I am seeing here isn’t going to sink you,” he said at last. “But there’s a cumulative impact that worries me.”