Page 41 of Tough Call

I can come to you. You don’t have to come here.

Madars

You don’t have a roommate. I do.

Connor: Still…

I’ll be fine.

Be there soon.

I’d taken him at his word, and as soon as I opened the door to my hotel room, I regretted not pushing the issue. Madars looked utterly miserable and exhausted hunched over his crutches. As he hobbled into my room, pain was etched all over his face along with sadness and disappointment. But it was still impossible to miss the way his tired eyes lit up when he saw me.

“How are you feeling?” I asked as I closed the door. “I should’ve come to you instead of⁠—”

“No. No. It’s fine.” He shook his head and turned a gorgeous smile on me. “My hotel is crawling with players. We would have been noticed for sure.”

“But you’re in pain and⁠—”

“I don’t care,” he whispered, and he took one hand off his crutches to reach for me. “I needed to see you.”

“But—”

His kiss shut me up. “I’m fine.” He ran his thumb along my cheekbone and offered a weak smile. “Besides, we’d have to share the room with my roommate.”

“Still, you had to walk this far…”

“And I made it. We’re good.”

“Okay. Well.” I gestured at the bed. “Why don’t you take a load off? You’re sweating.”

From the way his face fell, I’d read the sweat right—he was hurting.

It only took a moment to get him situated. He sat against the headboard, and I carefully put a pillow under his braced leg.

“This comfortable?” I asked.

Frowning, he shrugged. “There isn’t really ‘comfortable’ right now.” He must’ve seen the worry on my face, because he smiled and added, “I’m fine. Thank you.”

He was probably as good as he was going to get, which made me feel even guiltier that he’d come all this way. Yeah, he had a roommate, but it wasn’t like we’d be doing anything. Though, okay, maybe it would look a little strange to have a referee going into a room with players on a team that would be in tomorrow’s gold medal game. Didn’t even matter that I wasn’t officiating their division. The appearance would be⁠—

“Connor.” Madars patted the bed beside him. “Stop overthinking it and join me.”

I blinked. “I’m not…” Except I was. We both knew I was. From the way he chuckled softly as my face heated, he saw right through me. So, I just laughed, rolled my eyes, and carefully got into bed beside him. His injured leg was opposite me, so I wasn’t worried about bumping it, but I still left some space between us. I didn’t want to jostle him now that he was finally comfortable.

Once I’d settled, Madars sighed. “I’m sorry about this. I was hoping we’d get to spend our last night…”

“I know. But injuries happen.” I laced our fingers together between us on the bed. “How bad is it, anyway? What did the MRI show?”

“Second degree MCL tear.” He grimaced. “Almost third degree.”

“Shit. Do you need surgery?”

“Hopefully not. Nothing immediately, anyway. When I get back to Switzerland…” He waved a hand as he trailed off. “Surgery or not, I won’t be playing for the rest of the season. Not even for the playoffs.”

“Damn. I’m sorry. But you can rehab by next season, can’t you?”

Sighing, Madars nodded, and he ran his hand through his dark hair. “You know what really sucks?”