Page 56 of Pucking My Bad Boy Boss
"Easy, TJ," I say, kneeling beside him. "Let’s not rush it."
Isabella skates over, concern etched on her face. We lock eyes for a moment, an unspoken understanding passing between us. This is more than a game; it's about the people who play it.
The medic rushes out, his bag in hand, and gets to work assessing TJ. I stay close, offering a steadying presence. TJ winces as the medic examines his leg.
"Looks like a minor sprain," the medic announces, his tone professional yet reassuring. "You're lucky, TJ, but I'd recommend sitting out the rest of the game."
TJ nods, obviously disappointed but understanding. I help him up, ensuring he’s steady on his feet. The concern for TJ is genuine; these players are more than just members of a team to me—they're like family.
As TJ is helped off the ice, I stand there for a moment, the cold air biting at my skin. I look out over the rink, the players waiting, the game paused. A surge of adrenaline courses through me, a call to action that I can't ignore.
I turn to Rick, the decision already made in my mind. "I'm stepping in," I declare, my voice firm with resolve.
Rick looks at me like I've lost my mind. “You’re…stepping in? What the hell does that mean?” His eyes go wide as it dawns on him. “No. No way.”
I grin. “What better time than now? The team needs a right winger.” I sweep my hand over myself. “And here’s the best one the ice has ever seen.”
"Dom, you're insane. You know you're not cleared to play, not with your knee."
I shake my head, dismissing his concerns. The adrenaline is pumping now, drowning out the voice of reason. "I don't care, Rick. I need to be out there. I'm ready."
Rick tries to argue, but I'm already heading to the locker room. I can feel the weight of everyone's eyes on me, but it only fuels my determination. This is more than just a game; it's a test, a challenge I need to meet head-on.
In the locker room, I quickly gear up, each piece of equipment feeling like a part of me that I've been missing. My heart is racing, not just from the thrill of the game but also from the risk I'm taking. I know my knee is a ticking time bomb, but right now, I don't care. All I can think about is the ice, the game, the need to prove to myself that I've still got it.
As I step back onto the rink, the cold air hits me like a wake-up call. But it's too late to turn back now. I'm committed, ready to face whatever comes, be it triumph or disaster.
I skate onto the ice, the familiar feel of the blade gliding over the surface sending a rush of exhilaration through me. The players look surprised to see me, but there's also an unmistakable spark of excitement. Dom Steele, back on the ice, back in the game.
Rick watches from the sidelines, a mix of concern and resignation on his face. He knows me well enough to understand that once I've set my mind on something, there's no stopping me.
Not now, not ever.
27
Isabella
Steppingontothecrisp,cold ice, I can't help but feel a surge of adrenaline—and not just because of the game. There, fully suited up in his hockey gear, is Dom. He looks like he's just stepped out of a sports magazine cover, all warrior-like and intensely focused. It's a sight both unnerving and undeniably attractive.
"What the hell is he thinking?" I mutter under my breath, my eyes fixed on him as he moves with a grace that belies his size. There's something about a man in hockey gear, the way it outlines his build, that's just... captivating.
I quickly wave Sam over, needing some insight into this madness. "Sam, what's going on? Why is Dom playing? He shouldn't be on the ice with his injury."
Sam shrugs, a wry smile on his face that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "That's Dom for you," he says. "Once he sets his mind to something, good luck changing it. He's playing, and that's that."
I watch, torn between irritation and concern, as the game resumes. Dom's presence on the ice changes the dynamic instantly. He's not just playing; he's dominating, commanding his team with a natural authority that's both impressive and slightly terrifying.
Every check, every move he makes, I find myself holding my breath, half-expecting him to crumble under the strain of his injury. But he doesn't. Instead, he moves with a fluidity and power that speaks of years of experience and a deep, inherent love for the game.
As the puck flies across the ice, my professional admiration for his skill wars with my personal fear for his well-being. He's playing a dangerous game, and not just with the puck.
The tension in the air is palpable, the players from both teams elevating their game in response to Dom's presence. It's as if his stepping onto the ice has flipped a switch, turning a friendly practice match into a high-stakes battle.
And through it all, Dom seems oblivious to the potential consequences, lost in the moment, in the thrill of the game. It's a side of him I haven't seen before, this raw, unbridled passion for hockey. It's captivating and a little bit terrifying.
I force myself to focus on my own team, to provide the guidance and support they need, but my attention keeps drifting back to Dom. Every time he takes a hit or makes a daring play, my heart leaps into my throat.
The game ends with a mix of cheers and exhaustion, the players from both teams showing signs of the intense play. As they leave the ice, I find myself lingering, watching as Dom interacts with his team, laughing and clapping them on the back.
