Back in Play Page 18

  Bile rose up, threatening his strength. Testing his will. One hard swallow had it back down. Heart racing, he yanked on the door, cooled air swooshing out to greet him with the unique scent of sanitizer and air freshener.

  He couldn’t look back.

  He had to keep moving forward. And each step, no matter how shaky, allowed him to do that.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It took every ounce of Rachel’s strength to sit still. The standard waiting-area chair wasn’t that uncomfortable, and she’d only been there for a few minutes. Yet her fingers still bounced and her stomach cramped around her nerves.

  It’d been three weeks since she’d dropped Scott off at this very facility and let him walk in alone. His choice, not hers. Three long weeks without a word from or about him. Not that she was angry or surprised by that. The restriction was standard protocol, and he’d shared that with her. Still...

  Magazines were nicely displayed on the table, offering a distraction from her racing mind. Was he okay? How was it going? Was he still on the pain drugs?

  A hundred and one questions had spiraled through her brain as she’d gone about her life. Prepping for school, meeting with friends, smiling when she was lost in worry. She was too invested, but she’d stopped stressing about that after the first few days. There was no point in adding it to the mounting pile of doubts.

  It was what it was.

  Around the fifth day after his admittance, she’d perfected the lies, the ones she’d told concerned friends and even Rock when he’d called. Yes, she was fine, just busy. Yes, she had fun in Minnesota. Yes, Rock, things were fine with Scott. Normally, she was a horrible liar, but her acting skills had kicked in when the lies were to protect Scott.

  Even more shocking, for the first time in her life, she followed the hockey news. She now received daily emails with updates from every major hockey site she could find. The Glaciers were the first she’d trolled and dug through for every bit of information she could uncover on Scott.

  The rest were more for tracking new contracts and recent signings. She officially now knew more about hockey, the draft, free agency and salary caps than she ever wanted to know. But there was no way she could remain obtuse about something that was so critical to Scott. Even if he didn’t go back to the sport—which she secretly hoped for his health he didn’t.

  Not that she’d tell him anything today. His first visiting day.

  “Rachel?”

  She jerked up, already moving when she spotted Scott in the doorway. Hesitation didn’t cross her mind. She threw her arms around him, nose pressed into his neck before he could say anything more.

  He wrapped her up to press her closer. God, he felt so good. Her throat squeezed tight and heat prickled behind her closed eyes. She couldn’t cry. She was supposed to be strong for him.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” he said, his deep voice rumbling over her. “It’s so good to hold you again.”

  “Yes.” Her throaty agreement gave away her bravado, but that’d been shot the second she’d bolted into his embrace.

  She chuckled at herself and eased back to take him in. The first thing she noticed was the clarity in his eyes. They’d never been foggy or dazed like some drug abusers’ were, but there was a difference now. Bluer possibly? More focused? And his coloring was healthy, maybe a little drawn. Otherwise, there were no obvious differences.

  “You look good,” she said, meaning it.

  “You too.” He captured her lips in a much-too-short kiss before grabbing her hand and leading her out of the room. “There’s a sunroom around back where we can talk.”

  “I take it you’re doing okay here, then?” His hand was warm and familiar around hers. Another simple thing she’d come to miss without realizing it.

  “It could be worse.” His smile was brief but reassuring, despite his less-than-stellar endorsement.

  The sunroom was a smaller space with comfortable-looking brown couches and intimate sitting areas laid out before a wall of windows that overlooked a tree-shaded courtyard. It was currently empty, and they took a seat on a couch in the far corner. She was torn between cuddling close to him and sitting back to see him better. In the end, she cocked her foot beneath her and faced him, fingers laced with his on her knee.

  The brace on his knee was similar yet different from the other ones she’d seen him wear. Two black-and-gray bands extended from beneath his sports shorts to attach to another band that circled his calf below his kneecap. Discs rested on each side of his knee that appeared to serve as both a hinge and support. Was that one of the changes he’d made in here?

  He stared at her for a bit, and she simply stared back. The tightness across her shoulders loosened now that she could see he was okay. But questions still circled, pushing for her to seek answers. She held them in though, waited for him to lead.

  Her contact here had given her some tips before coming. One of them was to not drill him with questions, and the other was to let him set the pace for how much he wanted to talk about his recovery.

  “Thanks for coming,” he finally said.

  “I wouldn’t have missed it.” She’d left an hour early to ensure there were no traffic delays.

  His gaze shifted to stare out the windows as his thumb stroked over hers. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t come.”

  She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “We’re not doing this again. I’m here. You’re here. We’re good.”

  That got a smile. A small one, sure, but it was a start. “I missed that directness.” He reached over to flick her hair. “I like the purple.”

  She’d decided to go with the school colors at her recent hair appointment in the spirit of the new school year. “And yours is getting long.”

  He ran his free hand through it, chuckling. “Getting it cut before I came wasn’t high on the priority list.”

  Good point. She almost cringed but didn’t. “I brought some books,” she said to change the topic, patting her bag, which had been thoroughly searched before she’d been allowed back.

  “Thanks.”

  Silence descended again, and she rushed to fill it with random things about her prepping for work and the upcoming school year. She kept her tone light, voice upbeat. She’d just finished outlining a plan she had to increase excitement for calculus this year when the intensity of his gaze stalled her.

  “What?” she asked, thinking over her last bit of prattle that’d spilled out.

  “You really love what you do, don’t you?” There was a mix of confusion and understanding his voice.

  He wasn’t the first person to question her on that. Teaching teenagers on what most considered a boring subject wasn’t everyone’s dream job. Unlike his. “I do.” There was a firmness to her simple answer.

  “What do you like about it?”

  She gave it a bit of thought. It would be easy to say everything, or the obvious—helping kids—but his tone of real inquiry had her slowing down to analyze it. “Watching their young minds grow, especially when the light bulb goes off. It’s like seeing the world open up for them.” She paused. “But it’s also about making a difference in some of their lives. Knowing I possibly had an effect, even a small one, in their futures. Every kid I come in contact with is an opportunity.”

  “For what?”

  “To positively influence them. Show them how knowledge will help them. To challenge when some of them have never been faced with it, and moderate for the many who have faced nothing but challenge.”

  “That’s pretty impressive.”

  She shrugged. “It’s not that different from what you do.”

  His frown was immediate. “How so?”

  She’d thought about this a lot. And no matter how she felt about the monetary disparity between education and entertainment in this country, she had to admit his professional influence trumped hers.

  “You’re a role model. Kids all over the country look up to you and what your work and dedication have achieved. Your actio
ns and behavior are scrutinized by countless people, both on and off the ice. You teach by example. Educate by sharing your experiences and reach millions doing it. That’s powerful...and weighty.”

  His hand contracted around hers and he looked up, eyes blinking as he stared at the ceiling, throat working. Had she said something wrong? Crap, she was supposed to be helping him not think about hockey. But what she said was true. He was a teacher too.

  “Hey,” she quipped, forced brightness in her voice. “It’s lovely weather we’re having today. Don’t you think?”

  His choked laugh shot through the quiet before he hauled her into his arms. She nuzzled into his neck, savored him for as long as he held her. “You make me laugh, Rachel.”

  “Sorry?”

  “That’s a good thing.”

  “At least I’m good for something.”

  And there was that kiss on her head, the one he liked to give her. She closed her eyes and envisioned it sinking into her, flowing down to hug her from the inside.

  “You’re good for me,” he whispered, so low and gruff she almost missed it.

  Now that was one big verbal hug that wrapped around her heart, squeezing it tight. How was she supposed to resist that?

  She reached up to show she’d heard. That she agreed. His taste exploded over her tongue and burst through her. His heat stirred up the longing she’d been suppressing for weeks. Not for sex but simply for him. To be in his life and have him in hers.

  The kiss was languid and slow. A reacquaintance and confirmation, more than a heated rush of passion. It still left her breathless.

  No matter how far she’d fallen for him, she had to remember how much he had to get through before she could even think of there being a them.

  She sat back, finding his hand again. It was a connection she wasn’t ready to break. Not if she didn’t have to. Regardless of what her contact had said, she had to nudge Scott. That was kind of how they worked together. “Do you want to tell me how it’s going in here?”

  It was too late to keep her heart from getting hurt, but it didn’t mean she’d be foolish and blind for love. She was too old for that. Jaded? Possibly. Naming it didn’t change the facts. She could never have a family with a man who had a drug problem.

  Or lived halfway across the country from her.

  Scott almost scoffed at Rachel’s question. Did he want to? God no. Did he need to? Yes.

  He eyed her. Absorbed her might be a better word. Was there a way to bottle up how good she made him feel so he could keep it with him when she left? It was different from hockey. Warmer. Gentler. Soothing.

  Hockey gave him a high, empowering and freeing on so many levels. The game pumped him up until he was certain he could fly. And that lasted until he stepped off the ice.

  The pills had eventually filled that off-ice emptiness to provide a false sense of confidence and control. Finally free of the addictive drug for almost two weeks, he could see how empty he’d still been. His knee ached and burned, but he was learning to manage instead of mask the pain.

  He stretched his neck, stalling as he aligned his thoughts. Words. The therapist and group counseling sessions had stressed so many things that went way past the step of weaning his body off its Vicodin addiction.

  His body’s addiction. That was dissociative wording.

  “I’m a drug addict,” he said, eyes planted on the ceiling. The admission burned in his chest and rolled in his stomach, just like it’d done every time he’d said it. His muscles contracted into tight bands that kept him from moving even if he’d wanted to. Bolting was a serious option instead of facing Rachel’s judgment.

  The obvious hit him then. She already knew that. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t. Fuck. He rubbed his eyes, acceptance washing away the denial that’d trapped him for so long. It was his own scorn he had to face, not Rachel’s.

  His body had become dependent on the drug. It was him who’d jumped into the addiction ring when he’d sought out his own supplier—dealer. It was time to call the man what he was. Jessie was a drug dealer who’d fed Scott’s spiraling addiction to the drug.

  “What else are you?” she asked.

  He searched for the placating tone. The pity at his blindness, or suspicion that he withheld more damning secrets.

  “That’s it,” he insisted, dropping his hand to glare at her. He wouldn’t even be an addict if it weren’t for his fucking knee. The fire raced up his inner thigh when he flexed the offending limb. “I’m not an alcoholic or a chronic liar or—”

  “You’re a brother,” she injected, voice calm. “An uncle.”

  He swallowed, his rising anger squashed by her logic. Yeah, he was those things. But...

  “You’re also a great friend. A solid role model. A leader.”

  Right. What a piss-poor role model he was. Damn it. He closed his eyes, like that could block her words. He was pretty much failing at all of those things right now.

  She was silent until he met her gaze. That honest truth that’d grounded him since their first meeting was shining back at him. “You’re human, which means you’re not perfect. That very thing is what makes you fallible. It also makes you capable of change.”

  Why the fuck did he need a therapist when he had Rachel here to lay it all out for him? His laugh was deep and freeing. God, it’d been weeks since he’d done that. Months since it’d actually sunk in to lighten him.

  “Detox sucked dog,” he admitted, still chuckling.

  “I can’t imagine.”

  They’d gone with the medical detox route, which kept him from experiencing most of the physical side effects of denying his body what it’d come to depend on. It’d still hurt and had done nothing to take away the cravings he hadn’t fully admitted to having before then. But they were strong and raging now. Every damn hour was a fucking struggle to manage the pain and resist the chemical crutch he’d relied on.

  “I wouldn’t wish it on the meanest, dirtiest enforcer in the league.”

  She puffed out a short laugh. “I don’t see you as the vindictive type.”

  No, he’d never been that. “I’m working on the pain management now.” He flexed his knee again, noting each ping or lack of that zipped up his thigh and circled his kneecap. It was part of identifying the source of the pain so he could effectively mitigate it. “The new brace is helping.”

  “But you’ve worn a brace before.”

  He studied his knee, almost wishing he could cut the damn thing off. “I’ve gone through multiple versions. Off-the-shelf and custom-fitted. I wore one around the clock for months this past season.” All in an attempt to stabilize a knee that was almost beyond help. They’d all had varying levels of effectiveness that’d kept him on the ice. None had magically eliminated the pain.

  “How’s this one working?”

  “Good so far.” It was definitely the most comfortable and least obtrusive. “But I haven’t tried skating yet.” He’d spent hours exercising since he’d been here. It was a great time suck and kept his mind off the cravings. But there wasn’t a hidden ice rink in the basement. “That’s when I’ll know how good it really is.”

  A frown had burrowed its way across her brow and there was a question flickering behind the firm line of her mouth. But she blew out a breath, and a moment later a smile replaced the scowl. “What are you doing to manage the pain?”

  That definitely wasn’t what she was going to ask. Not when he’d been speaking of returning to skating. He almost called her on it, then opted to let it go. He talked her through the various pain-management tactics, including acupuncture, strengthening exercises, dissociation and other mental separation techniques and finally other non-addictive drugs. He’d tried most of them before, but it was worth giving everything another shot.

  There could be a combination that finally worked.

  “I have to admit this is the best I’ve physically felt in years.” He’d forgotten what it was like to have a really clear head. Not to mention a more balanc
ed handle on his emotions. For one, he could feel them, and two, he could manage them.

  The lack of privacy had kept him from testing out his other issue. Jacking off wasn’t something he was going to trying while cameras monitored him. Not even in the unwatched shower.

  Not to mention the complete lack of sexual stimulation. His body and mind had been consumed by other things these last three weeks.

  “I’m happy for you.” Her smiling expression showed it too. The desire to see that every time she looked at him was the reinforcement he needed right now.

  “There’d been many times I almost walked out the door,” he admitted. She deserved to know how close he’d come to failing when the pain and cravings had him covered in sweat and had him clenching his teeth to hold in the screaming curses that wanted to fly free. That was how weak he was.

  “I’d be surprised if that wasn’t true.” She ran her hand down his arm, the skin-on-skin contact better than every pill he’d popped. “If quitting was easy, there would be no addicts.”

  Addict. It was something he was always going to be. He snorted softly at that. How would that look plastered across his trading cards? Scott Walters—drug addict.

  But addiction wasn’t a one-time thing. It was a predator that would stalk him for the rest of his life. His job was to keep it from attacking again. Or growing bigger than his will.

  “Has there been more gossip or news about my contract?” He needed a subject change, and this one had been hammering at him. Much like the pain, there was no forgetting it completely.

  She wiggled around on the couch without really moving at all. Shit. His stomach balled in a knot that held that fuck-bomb of worry he still carried around.

  “I don’t think we should talk about that.”

  “Why not?” Christ. It was his life. He needed to know what was going on.

  “Look at you,” she insisted, waving a hand at him. “The topic turns you into a tense bundle of anxiety and you don’t need that right now. Never, really. But especially now.” Her cheeks had flushed with her adamant conviction, eyes flashing with a dare to defy her.