“Cut everything off,” Croft instructed. “Don’t give them one fucking inch…”
He continued to coach Donovan until they reached the ambulance and loaded him inside. Even then he called, “Lead with your sticks, rebound, and keep them out of our zone.”
Gabe moved around to the driver’s door, and Eden took hold of the back door. Before she closed it, she glanced between the men. “Anything else?”
“Focus on the game, Tate. You got this. You guys got this.”
The other man nodded, glanced at Eden, and grinned, then told Croft, “Stop giving Kennedy such a hard time. Behave for a change.”
She offered Donovan a nod before she shut the door, then smiled down at Croft. “I like him.”
2
Beckett’s head throbbed like a mother. The next time he saw Decker on the ice, that man was going to curse the day he was born.
His pain didn’t help tamp down his annoyance with this little hottie twittering over Donovan. She was supposed to be swooning over Beckett, dammit. Only, Kennedy obviously hadn’t gotten that memo.
“I’m going to put an ice pack on your head.” Kennedy’s voice had softened since Beckett had stopped bullying her.
She laid a cold compress over the crown of his head toward the back where he hurt most, and the cold spread over his angry skull like soothing fingers. Beckett sighed with relief.
“How long until we get to the hospital?” he asked.
“Gabe?” she called toward the front.
“Maybe fifteen minutes,” the driver replied. “Depends on traffic.”
“I don’t mind a longer, quieter ride, if you know what I mean,” Beckett called back. “I think the siren might split my head open.”
“Roger that.”
He glanced at Kennedy again. “My phone’s in the locker room. Do you have one that I can use to pull up the game?”
She slipped the blood pressure cuff around his arm with a silly little fat-chance grin.
“Hey, Gabe,” he tried. “Can you get the game on the radio?”
A laugh bubbled out of Kennedy. A sweet, light bubble of laughter that felt like a stream of carbonation through his gut. One that helped him focus on something other than the pain in his head.
“Sorry, boss,” Gabe said. “The only radio we’ve got connects directly to the hospital.”
“That sucks.” As did the occasional stab deep in his brain when he raised his voice. But it wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt
with before. Or wouldn’t deal with again.
“Tell me,” Gabe agreed.
After monitoring his pulse and blood pressure, Kennedy stood and bent over him. “I’m going to check for anything abnormal along your spine.”
She gripped the opposite rail with one gloved hand and slipped the other between his body and the backboard. Her gaze went distant, and her fingers gingerly followed the length of his spine from the edge of the collar to his hips. Then she stretched across him and repeated the action on the opposite side.
Teasing her helped keep his mind off his head. Off the fact that he was missing the game. Off the realization that everything was out of his control. “I think you missed a spot.”
Her gaze lifted and focused on his eyes. She was only three or four inches away and the instant intimacy shot a current through his chest that zapped his gut. He grinned, and an answering smile whispered over her mouth before she rolled her eyes.
She’d taken off her jacket, but her uniform shirt did an excellent job of cloaking any femininity hiding underneath. This close, Beckett caught the very subtle scent of something fruity and light. His synapses had obviously gotten scrambled in that mix-up on the ice, because he was catching some wickedly hot vibes from this woman. And there was definitely nothing outwardly sexual about her.
Except maybe her sassy, take-charge attitude. That was pretty damn sexy. Plus, that face… There was no missing all that delicate bone structure and quiet symmetry. Her hair was the color of straw and wound in a tight bun on the back of her head. Her cheekbones were high but soft. Her lips a pale blush and full. She definitely wasn’t the smokin’ hot, overtly feminine woman Beckett usually gravitated toward. He’d definitely changed over the last year—in dozens of different ways—but he was still a four-inch-fuck-me-heels kind of guy. A tight dress, makeup, and perfume kind of guy.