Chapter 46: Hockey Stops
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Jordan's t-stop caused a rooster tail of ice crystals to trail her as she slid to a stop next to the wall where Megan stood. "Okay, your turn," Jordan stated, her rapid breathing making little puffs of clouds in the cold air.
"I don't know..." Megan began to stall.
"No you don't - we made a bargain. It's your turn. Now go show me how it's done!" Jordan urged, pushing her toward the center of the ice and walking to the CD player. On Megan's cue, she pushed the PLAY button and watched her student skate the same program, smiling as she noticed the borrowed moves she had performed only moments before. As she watched Megan move across the ice, a tingling sensation ran up her spine, like fingers grazing sensually against her skin, like Aleksei had done so long ago. She glanced over her shoulder, noticed George talking to a tall man with very broad shoulders and light brown hair with his back to her. Shaking off the odd sensation, Jordan returned her attention to Megan and watched her work her way toward her final jump, a double toe loop. As Megan reached back to dig her toe-pick into the ice, she lost the edge on her supporting leg and hit the ice hard, sliding into the boards knee first and collapsed to the ice. Jordan was on the ice before Megan came to a stop, skating as fast as she could to her student's side and sliding to a stop beside her, then kneeling onto the ice.
"Talk to me Megan. Where does it hurt?" Jordan asked calmly, taking Megan's face in her hands and looking into her eyes. "Focus, sweetie. Look at me and breathe - real slow. In through the nose - out through the mouth. Come on do it with me," Jordan urged, catching a glimpse of George and the man he'd been speaking with coming across the ice toward them. "How you doing, Megan?"
"Crappy! You know I hate to fall," Megan complained, wiping away tears on her cheeks.
"Do we need the stretcher?" George asked, reaching their side, Nick right behind him.
"How's the knee feel, Megan? Do you think you can move it?" Jordan asked, remembering the number of times she'd found the ice with her knees and knowing how black and blue Megan's would be shortly.
"Lay her down on her side and have her try to straighten it first, she shouldn't wrench the joint from side to side if she can avoid it," Nick's deep voice suggested from behind, out of her line of vision.
Jordan looked at George, kneeling beside her and raised her eyebrows in question. "He's had enough surgery on his knees to make me listen to him," George offered on a shrug.
"Okay, Megan. Let's lay you down then. George, we need a blanket or something," Jordan stated, flinching when a still-warm flannel shirt fell in her lap, it's spicy scent teasing her senses.
Jordan spread the shirt on the ice beneath Megan and helped her lay down; lifting her hips slightly while George slipped the tails of the shirt beneath her. "Okay, sweetie, whenever you're ready, see if you can straighten your knee."
Megan looked at the three adults surrounding her, their faces filled with concern and smiled tentatively. Slowly she straightened her leg, expecting to feel shooting pains but instead only felt a minor throbbing. "No sweat," she stated, a nervous giggle escaping as she sighed in relief.
"All right, that's great!" Jordan stated, releasing her own held breath. "George, help me get her up, please," Jordan requested, slipping under Megan's left arm and crossing it over her shoulder and watching as George did the same on Megan's right side. "Okay, on the count of two, lift straight up. Megan, I don't want any weight on that left leg at all," Jordan instructed.
"No problem there," Megan agreed, looking from Jordan to George. "
"Hang on, Megan. George, slow and easy please," Jordan stated calmly. "One, two, lift..." Jordan counted and the two slowly lifted Megan to her feet.
"How you doing, Meg?" George asked, moving slowly forward on Jordan's command, careful not to jostle Megan too much.
"Great," Megan sighed, casting a longing glance at George.
Jordan smiled at Megan's wistful gaze, still wondering how George could be so oblivious to Megan's obvious feelings for him. For the past three months she'd always brought cookies or his favorite cake into him every time she came to the rink, which was almost daily. Jordan was beginning to think the only way George would realize Megan's crush on him was to hit him over the head with his hockey stick and tell him. Still, it was awfully cute to see Megan's eyes light up whenever she saw him, her shy smiles and accidental bumps against him making her sigh in pleasure. Jordan remembered feeling the same way about Aleksei all those years ago, when she'd been twelve, only Aleksei had literally knocked her on her butt - no gentle nudge for her. Briefly she wondered if she'd ever feel that way again.
Tingles ran up her spine again, making her shiver and drew Megan's attention. "You okay?" Megan asked, her arms still draped across Jordan and George's shoulders.
Jordan nodded yes. "Just a chill, sweetie," She answered with a smile. "How about you? How are you doing?"
"Fine, honest. My knee hardly hurts at all," Megan answered softly as they reached the exit off the ice, and stepped carefully onto the rubber flooring. Megan cast another shy glance toward George, who, as usual, was oblivious.
"I'm glad to hear that. Still, I want George to help you to the office. When I get there, I want to see your butt down, your leg up and a pile of ice on that knee. Got it?" Jordan stated, tapping Megan's nose.
"Yes, ma'am," Megan replied, rolling her eyes in exasperation.
"Don't ma'am me. I'm not old enough to be a ma'am," Jordan complained teasingly.
"It's a sign of respect," Megan offered.
"Well, I don't want that much respect - yet," Jordan fired back, slipping out from under Megan's arm and holding her steady while George pushed the forgotten hockey gear away from the door.
"Nick, give me ten - make that fifteen - minutes. Why don't you go get something to drink? I'll meet you at the snack bar," George called to Nick as he crossed the ice, returned to Megan and lifted her into his arms, cautious of her left leg and backed through the door. Jordan smiled at Megan's beaming face as George carried her toward the office, shaking her head in amusement.
"No problem. I'll be here," Nick's deep voice answered behind Jordan, startling her and making her twist as she sought its source. Her toe-pick caught the rubber mat, stopping her feet even as her body continued it's forward motion toward the pile of bags that George had just kicked away from the door. Her arms flailed wildly as she tried to break her fall, unsuccessfully and she landed in the pile of hockey gear with a thud.
Nick moved as quickly as he could, the remaining feet off the ice, to view her landing face first into the pile of bags and hockey sticks. His first thought, when he saw her lying across the bags was she had a nice ass, a really nice ass. His second thought was how to go about the business of getting her untangled from the mess of sticks and bags on the floor.
"You okay?" Nick called to the small figure lying on the pile before him.
"Just dandy!" came a mumbled reply tinged with heat. "When I get hold of George, he's going to wish he'd never heard of hockey."
"I hate to ruin your plans to kill, maim and destroy, but this gear's mine. George was just helping me with it when - is it Megan? - fell and we came to help," Nick explained haltingly, wondering why he felt so nervous around this slip of a girl.
"Ah. Then I guess my actual target to kill, maim and destroy is you, isn't it?" Jordan questioned, her frustration mounting when the blade on her right skate got caught on a strap and she couldn't roll over. "Would you please get that damn strap off my skate? So help me God, if these blades are nicked you're dead meat for sure!"
Nick removed the tangled strap and watched as Jordan rolled to her back, her bottom sinking between two large bags and effectively trapping her.
Briefly she struggled to lift her bottom up over the bags, but her movements did nothing more than cause her hair to fall into her face and wedge her deeper into the offending hockey gear. Heaving a sigh of exasperation, she expectantly held out her hand, anticipating an immediate hand to pull her out of the mess that seemed to be swallowing her. In frustration she brushed her hair from her eyes and looked up hoping to see the never seen before Nick with his hand ready to pull her up. The sight that greeted her was overwhelmingly male, broad shoulders, gorgeous face and the same sexy smell that had assailed her from the shirt he once again wore, despite the wet spots from the ice.
Nick froze as Jordan swept the shades of copper waves from her eyes and looked up at him expectantly, her deep green eyes blazing in anger. "You're not a kid!" He accused huskily.
"Who said I was?" Jordan fired back heatedly, her eyes held captive as she watched his go from sky blue to deep sapphire.
"You looked like one on the ice."
"Well I'd suggest you get your eyes checked, because obviously, I'm not! Are you going to help me up or not?" Jordan fumed, holding her hand out and wiggling her fingers.
"Shit!" Nick growled, taking her hand and hauling her to her feet, groaning when he pulled too hard and she fell heavily against his chest, the top of her head only reaching the top of his shoulder.
"Gee, thanks," Jordan hissed, trying to step away from his towering form and the heat that seemed to pulse from him, nearly falling back into the pile until Nick grabbed her arms and pulled her back against him, groaning as he felt the fronts of their bodies meet.
"I thought you wanted out of the pile?" he growled, taking a step back to give her some room, his hands still holding her arms, searing her with their heat.
"I did, but I didn't expect to be mauled on the way out!" Jordan complained, pulling from his grasp and attempting to step around him, her breath catching when her breast brushed against his muscular arm, her skin tingling in response. "I've got to go see to Megan," Jordan offered weakly, her blood suddenly rushing through her veins, feelings long buried struggling to surface.
"It's always nice to be appreciated," Nick stated sarcastically, stepping aside and bowing gallantly despite his desire to throttle her. "Later, brat," he stated softly, his deep voice a velvet caress.
A wave of long remembered feelings washed over her at his words, making her dizzy and flushed, made her heart pound so quickly she could barely breath. "What?" she asked softly, holding the door for support when her legs threatened to give way beneath her.
"I said I'll see you later," Nick answered, his sapphire blue eyes memorizing her face; a face he felt he knew, but didn't know.
"What makes you think that?" Jordan asked, her mind refusing to clear away the dizziness that made her slightly light headed and off balance, like one too many glasses of wine made you heady.
"I'm the new hockey coach," Nick stated simply, walking forward to stand before Jordan where she still leaned against the door. "Nicholas Devon, nice to meet you," he stated, offering his hand to her in greeting.
Jordan looked at his hand, large and long-fingered, calluses on his palm, a working man's hand. Slowly she slid her hand into his, gasping as his fingers closed around it, stunned at the jolt of electricity that ran up her arm at his touch. Leaning her head back, she looked into his face, noted his own stunned look and gazed deeply into his eyes, sapphire blue and forest green meeting. "Jordan Jamison. Welcome," she voiced softly, swaying toward him as if drawn to him magically before fighting the urge to lay her cheek against his chest and close her eyes. Memories of Aleksei swamped her, filling her eyes with tears. With a last look, she slid her hand from his, sighing wistfully when their fingers brushed apart and walked quickly, and a bit unsteadily, toward the office.
Nick watched her departure, completely baffled and confused by their encounter yet still appreciative of the view she presented as she walked away from him. Save me! He muttered to himself and the silence around him. This made no sense at all. Three years ago his life had changed when he'd undergone simple knee surgery - or what should have been simple knee surgery. Only after the fact, was he told that he'd had a nearly fatal reaction to the anesthetic they'd used. He had, in fact, been officially dead on the table for two and a half minutes before the doctors had managed to bring him back. And it was during that two and a half minutes that things had gotten really weird. He remembered flashes of pictures, like a slide show gone amuck, and snatches of words - maybe names - but he couldn't be sure. Vague images of a young man with dark hair and flashing eyes, a ready smile. Feelings of something left unfinished, unfulfilled. The whole thing made absolutely no sense. But after the surgery, when his knee had fully recovered, all he wanted to do was get on the ice, something he hadn't done in ten years, not since he was sixteen years old. But there was an overwhelming drive deep inside him that pushed him toward that cold, slick surface. Hockey had called to him and that's where he'd spent the last three years of his life, living, breathing, feeling hockey in every sense of the word.
He wondered why this overwhelming desire to play hockey had surfaced after his surgery. He still wondered, and now today, the same weird sense of being in the right place washed through him. He didn't like being out of control and this certainly felt as out of control as one could be. There had to be some sort of sense to all of this. But what the hell was it?
Never in all his life would he have believed his life could change in one day, but it had, three years before, on January ninth.
Text Copyright © 2000 by Constance E. Moynihan
