So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(65)

He nodded. “We have your medical records, and the team doctor’s already looked at them. I didn’t know it was so bad, Iz.”

Damn, she was going to lose this chance before she’d even made it to the face-off circle. “It’s just medical opinion. I know what I can do. I know what my body is capable of. Put that waiver in front of me and I’ll sign. This won’t come back to you.”

He gusted out a weary breath. “Let’s see if you can still skate, Chase. Then we’ll figure out how to tie up the legalities in a big red bow.”

Out on the rink, about ten women, all suited up, were skating figure eights on the ice. One of them broke away and raced toward her.

“Chase!” Jen tackled her and held her tight. At this rate, she was more likely to die from overhugging than from a hard check against the boards. “Girl, it’s awesome to see you. How’s the noggin?” She knocked gently on Isobel’s forehead.

“Still attached, Grady. Thanks for the push.”

“Yeah, well, you might not be saying that after I put you through your paces.” She winked. “Coach’s orders, of course. No mercy.”

“All right, ladies, let’s get this show on the road,” Coach said. A couple of assistants skated over, along with a few of the players. Isobel nodded in recognition at each of them, having played with some and kept tabs on the rest as they made their mark in the NCAA and beyond.

“Three full periods.” Consulting a clipboard, Coach started divvying them up into two teams. “I’ll call the shift changes for both. First line is Grady on left, Chase in center, and Jensen on right.”

First line, back in the mix.

This was worth any risk.



Vadim answered the door, gloriously shirtless, as usual. Late in March, but the man cared nothing for the Chicago winter. The world was a better place for it.

His surprise at seeing her was obvious. “Isobel?”

“I got your text.”

“I didn’t—” He shook his head ruefully. “Mia must have sent it.”

His message to her an hour ago had made her smile and given her hope that he might be willing to make peace. On reflection, she now realized that the text wasn’t really Vadim-speak.

Flupocalypse is upon us. Send supplies.

His gaze fell to the shopping bags. “What have you brought?”

“Soup,” Isobel said with a grin to hide her disappointment that the text hadn’t come from him.

His eyes lit up. “In the bread bowl?”

“Of course.”

“You may enter.” Smiling, he took the bags from her.

Mia lay sprawled on the sofa in the big room, gazing out the window at the waves crashing against the icy beach. Gordie Howe was curled up beside her and the large TV showed the Friends crew splashing about in their nineties glory.

“Isobel!” The effort of greeting sent Mia into another coughing fit. “I’m getting better.”

“Sure sounds like it. Where’s your mom?”

“In bed sick. Alexei, too.” She giggled, which turned into more coughing. “Not together, of course.”

As if. Alexei had always struck her as sexless, humorless, and with little to redeem him beyond his loyalty to Vadim and his spaghetti carbonara. But apparently even hard-ass bulldogs could be felled by the flu. Faith in the universe? Restored.

“Back in a sec,” Isobel said, and headed into the kitchen.

Vadim was removing the soup from the bags. He looked so earnest, his big hands wrapped around the small take-out containers as he placed them carefully on the kitchen counter.

He raised his chin. “How did it go?”

She’d flown in late last night, caught a few Zs, and headed over when she got not-Vadim’s text. She knew he didn’t agree with her choice, but she assumed that the fact he was talking to her meant conciliation was on the table.

“Good. I won’t hear back until next week, but Lindhoff said he liked what he saw.”

As had Isobel. Her body had come alive on the ice, her competitive juices flowing with every defenseman rushing to take her down. This was what she should be doing. Not coaching reluctant male players who resented every piece of advice she gave them.

Vadim continued unpacking the soup, though he kept his steel-eyed gaze on her.

“And they’re okay with your medical history?”

“Lindhoff thinks it’ll be fine.” She moved in and rubbed his hard bicep. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Then we will not fight,” he said cryptically.

That was surprisingly easy. “Three of the players are down with the flu.” They had a game tonight, so Dante and Calhoun were understandably concerned about the other players’ health. “Coach might want to play you on the right to take Callaghan’s place and start with Shay on the left. You okay with that?”

He folded his thick-as-oak-branches, gloriously inked arms over that blockbuster chest.

“I’ve played much of my career on the right wing and I am more versatile than Shay. This will not be a problem.”

“I was referring more to the beef you have with him.”

His handsome face scowled. “As long as he passes when I’m open, we will work fine together.”

“Isobel!” Mia called out. “I’m bored, and Vadim doesn’t know how to entertain me.”