Home Ice (13 page)

The crowd gasped, and he stood before he even realized it. When Lori stayed down, medics jogged onto the ice. After a brief exchange, they angled her arms around their shoulders and helped her off. Dylan ran down to the main concourse for the elevators. He dug in his wallet for his access card and went straight to the basement. The hallways were a maze if you didn’t know them. He did. He skidded to a stop by the carpet runway, where other skaters were walking off. He waded through them and looked for her. Someone whistled sharply. When he glanced over, a woman—man?—was gesturing him over.

“She’s in her dressing room, honey.”

“You know who I am?”

“I sure do. And she’ll be happy to see you. Just as soon as the doctor’s done. Margo St. Claire.” She held out a hand with bright pink talons dotted with diamonds. Dylan shook, and Margo’s grip could have crushed a puck. “I’m Baby Girl’s hair and make-up artist and friend. Anyone who doesn’t treat her right has to go through me.”

Dylan kept a straight face at the shooting pain and tried to hide the relief when they let go. “I wouldn’t hurt her.”

Margo stared at him for a beat hard enough to dissect his soul then nodded. “No, you wouldn’t, would you?”

Okay, so maybe there was an upside to being easy to read. No one wanted Margo for an enemy. And he actually felt better knowing Lori had someone backstage on her side. “What about …?” He tilted his head toward Bradley, who stared at the mirror in his locker, completely oblivious to the concerned training staff going in and out of Lori’s dressing room.

“Him? Take a look around. You see all these beautiful faces? You think I don’t know what I’m doing? You think the Oompa Loompa orange isn’t on purpose?”

Dylan smiled. So that explained it.

Two people with stethoscopes around their necks and carrying duffles left Lori’s room. Margo waved him forward.

He stepped inside and closed the door. Lori was on a small couch, her ankle wrapped and elevated. God, what if this ended her skating? If her ankle was broken again, it’d set her back another four or five months. How many more competitions would she miss? Her face was paler than usual, her jaw tight, and her hands clenched. He kept his voice low and soft. “Hey. Are you okay?”

She sucked in a breath through her teeth, and her lips trembled. “They gave me pain meds, but it hurts a lot. They think it might be broken. They want me to get it x-rayed.”

He read between the lines. She wouldn’t be able to skate in the show, her only income. She was terrified.

He knelt beside her and picked up her hand, squeezing until she looked at him. “I’ll go with you. It might not be broken. A sprain might only lay you up for a few weeks.”

She pressed her lips together hard and nodded. Her fingers tightened around his, and her eyes welled up. It broke his heart.

“Shhh. It’ll be okay.” With his free hand, he cupped her cheek then kissed her softly. Her warm tears slid between them, and she sniffled but didn’t lean back. What made it poignant was knowing this fierce firecracker was letting him see her vulnerable. In the time he’d been with Tricia, they’d never had a moment this honest.

The door opened. Just one doctor with a wheelchair. “All right, Ms. Kelly. The ambulance is here. You coming with?” The last, directed at him. Dylan nodded and moved out of the way as the doctor helped Lori get situated. They wound through the basement hallways until they came to automatic sliding doors that led into the garage. The ambulance waited, back doors open. Once they got Lori inside, Dylan held up a hand. “I’ll drive and meet you there.”

She looked ready to protest but didn’t, probably realizing they’d need a ride back. “Okay. See you there.”

He waited while they closed the doors and drove off before getting in his SUV. Slow Vegas traffic had never bothered him before, but tonight he smacked the steering wheel a few times.

He couldn’t go with her into x-ray, but the staff understood it might cause a commotion if he waited in the ER lobby. He was a frequent flyer there himself and knew a lot of nurses and doctors by name, which earned him some special privileges. So he hung out just beyond the doors of radiology. With his line of work, hospitals almost felt like a second home, this one especially. Lori would get the best care. She’d be okay.

He released a slow breath and dropped into a chair against the wall then rubbed his face. Their blissful afternoon felt like it happened months ago. Was it too much to ask to enjoy just one day before getting hit with another hurdle? The state of his game didn’t seem to matter so much compared to what Lori was going through. Her career balanced on a sharper, thinner blade. Literally and figuratively. This setback could cost her a lot. More than his slump would cost him.

It could have been twenty minutes, it could have been an hour, when an orderly wheeled Lori out followed by the doctor from the arena, who carried a set of crutches. Lori managed a smile. “Ready to go. It’s not broken.”

“Just a bad sprain. She’ll need these for a few weeks, maybe a month, and then we’ll transition to a walking cast.” The doctor handed Dylan the crutches.

He held them in the crook of his arm. “Do you need a ride back to the arena, Doc?”

“No, I got one, thanks. Lorelai, I’ll check in with you tomorrow. Meanwhile, over-the-counter pain medication should suffice, but if not, here’s a prescription for something a little stronger.” He handed a piece of paper to Lori, patted her shoulder, and then disappeared around a corner down the hall.

The orderly took a step back toward radiology and waved. “I’ll leave her in your hands then. It was nice meeting you, Miss Kelly. Get some rest. Mr. Cole. Always a pleasure.”

Now that they were finally alone, there were a million things he wanted to ask, but she looked about ready to fall apart, so he kept it simple. “Do you need to stop back at the arena for anything?”

“No.” She patted the purple duffle bag in her lap. “I have my keys. Take me home?”

“You got it.”

He managed to wheel her out without anyone stopping them for pictures or autographs or, God forbid, questions, and helped her into the passenger seat, though she did it mostly on her own. Lori on one good leg was stronger than most people on two. She was silent on the drive to her apartment, and he knew better than to pry. He walked beside her, carrying her duffle as she used the crutches to get to her door.

“Can I do anything for you?”

Stoic since the hospital, she looked at him, and the mask started to crack. “Stay?” It was barely a whisper.

A rush of relief made him dizzy, which was stupid, but it felt good knowing she wasn’t going to shut him out again. That was her default. She’d admitted as much. But she was going to keep the promise to let him in. “Absolutely.” He had to fly to L.A. the next day, but he could stay until morning.

Her posture relaxed, and with her guard down, the tears fell. He followed her in, set down her bag, locked the door behind them, and let her lead the way to the bedroom. When she took a seat, he waited until she patted the spot beside her. It was a long minute before she could collect her thoughts. “I won’t make it to Sectionals. It’s a bad sprain. They think it could take ten weeks to fully heal. If they’re right, I’ll have just over two weeks to train for Nationals.”

He turned his hand palm up between them. She looked at it for a second then laced her fingers through his and squeezed. There was nothing else he could do or say. He didn’t know enough about her sport to tell her that was enough time. That she’d be able to do it. But if anyone could, it would be Lori.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist, smearing all that stage makeup in a dark, runny rainbow over her face. “I don’t know what’ll happen with the show. As much as I hate it, I need it. They could fire me. Best case scenario, they get an understudy until I can come back.”

“I wish … I could do something.” Completely inadequate, but it was true.

The corners of her mouth twitched in an attempt to smile. “You are. Could you go in the bathroom and get me a hand towel and the blue bottle from my medicine cabinet?”

A little confused but happy to have a task, he obeyed. The blue bottle was makeup remover. It only took a few minutes for her to wipe her face clean. One hundred percent makeup free, even red and puffy, she was beautiful. She glanced up at him, her light green eyes hitting him right in the gut. “Thanks.”

He lifted one of her hands and kissed the back of it. “How about you get settled? I’ll bring you a glass of water, and you should probably eat something with the pain meds they gave you. And then I’ll take the couch.”

“I’ll agree to all of that except the last part. After this afternoon, I think it’s okay if we share the bed.” For the first time that night, a real smile curled her lips.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Wednesday, October 22nd

Mmm.
Something smelled good. Citrus, spice, and woods. Armani Code, Dylan’s cologne. Lori smiled and turned her head, but when she opened her eyes, there was a note where her boyfriend should be. And one white daisy.
How …?
She tried to roll over, but pain shot up her leg, and the previous night filtered back in sharp fragments. She blinked back fresh tears and took a slow breath. Wallowing wouldn’t help. She sat up carefully and reached for the note.

Helpers? Ugh. As if the sprain weren’t bad enough. She could take care of herself. She didn’t need a parade of people through her apartment, seeing her look like the living dead. What time was it, anyway? Out of habit, she reached for her phone on the nightstand and found it there. But … it shouldn’t be. Dylan had dropped her bag by the door last night. He must have gotten her phone before he left and made sure she didn’t have to get up to reach it. A small gesture, but so sweet. So him.

She swiped her thumb across the screen. 10:30 a.m.! A few things needed to happen before anyone arrived. She used the crutches to hobble into the bathroom and went through her morning routine as quickly as possible balancing on one foot. Showering was especially acrobatic, but no way was anyone going to help her do that. Her hot hockey player came to mind, water streaming down his chiseled body. Okay, maybe one person could, but he was on a plane at the moment.

After she’d wrapped herself in a towel, she brushed out her hair. Her bad ankle throbbed. She plucked the bottle of Aleve from her medicine cabinet and swallowed two dry. Makeup was not a priority. Clothes were. She hopped to her dresser and managed to pull on underwear, athletic shorts, a bra and T-shirt. As soon as she sat on the edge of the bed to catch her breath, someone rang the bell.

“Knock knoooock. Avon Calling.” No mistaking that voice.

Lori smiled. If she had to have company and it couldn’t be Dylan, Margo was second best. “Coming!” The crutches made movement easier, but they also rubbed under her arms. This would get old fast. She flipped the lock and opened the door then scooted out of the way.

Margo bustled in wearing a mini dress and platform heels, tote bags hanging off of both arms. “I’m the first wave. Doc is tag-teaming me in two hours. Your hockey honey pointed out it would make more sense for the doctor to come to you since you can’t drive. Dylan wanted to make sure you were taken care of. And wipe that objection right off your face, baby girl. I know you don’t want help, but we
want
to help you, and if you like us, you’ll let us.”

Let them take care of you
. How did he know her so well? “I do like you.”

“Well all right then. Where can I get set up?”

“Set up?”

Margo jiggled the bags. “Makeover, sweetie. I’ll do your makeup, hair, and nails. Feeling pretty helps you feel better. I also brought some basics. Bread, bagels, milk, eggs, rotisserie chicken, Ben & Jerry’s.”

Lori laughed. No one had done something like that for her before. Sure, people at the Olympics had stocked her dressing room with her favorite snacks, made sure she’d had sparkling water in her mini fridge. But those were generic niceties. This … was something different. It had always been hard to tell who honestly liked her and who was polite because they had to be or thought they could get something. Margo didn’t have to be, and what could she possibly get from all this except undying gratitude? “You are wonderful.”

“Don’t I know it?” Margo winked coyly, but there was a flash of thanks in her eyes. “Got a soft spot for you, doll.”

“Back at you. How’s the kitchen counter for a makeover station?”

“Perfect. Have a seat at the breakfast bar. I’ll put this stuff away, toast us some bagels, then we can get going.”

Lori did as she was told and used a second stool to elevate her ankle, but it took restraint to stay seated. Letting people take care of you wasn’t as easy as it sounded. She felt guilty for not helping. But accepting her friend’s efforts was kind of the whole point, so she kept her butt glued to the stool. Margo was a shiny whirlwind and within five minutes had stored the groceries, plated the bagels, and laid out a makeup spread that would make the Divas jealous.

“I need all that?”

“Child, you don’t
need
anything. Women in Vegas have a dozen procedures to achieve the look you get rolling out of bed. The makeup only enhances. Now, this isn’t showtime, so I’ll tone it down.”

A dart of worry hit Lori in the chest. Toned down for Margo meant full-on wedding makeup for most people. But what the hell? It made Margo happy, and honestly, being magazine-cover ready did lift her spirits a little. She finished her bagel before they got to lipstick. When it was done, she looked air-brushed perfect.

“All right, now for the hair. I’m thinking big rollers.”

Why not? That process took almost an hour between drying, heating, rolling, and brushing out. At that point, she was ready for a beauty pageant.