Finding the Forward, Part One (HockeyVerse)

Chapter Seven

Verity

“ A re you afraid you can’t do it, Prof?” Angel taunted from his seat in the small lecture hall at NYIT.

“I don’t like the terms. How about if I win, the test goes on as planned? If I don’t, I’ll move it like you asked and add some extra credit questions. Take it or leave it.” Leaning on my crutch, I looked over my students. My botany fundamentals class was trying to get me to participate in the ice bath challenge the Maimers had set up in the student center.

Ice baths had been part of my therapy back in Rockland. I didn’t have an issue with it. But I wanted to see my class sweat. They’d been asking me to move the test because of a party.

I glanced at the clock. “There’s only fifteen minutes of class left. We’ll finish our test review, and I’ll go willingly.”

When class finished, I let the students lead the way out of the biology building and across the quad. I texted one of my PhD classmates who had made the move from Briar with me, in case she wanted a laugh.

NYIT was so different from Briar. The biggest difference wasn’t in how well-funded or prestigious NYIT was. Or that it was a ‘techie’, a top university that focused on science and technology.

It was how laid back it was. Never would I have expected a place like this to truly embrace work-life balance.

More so than Briar–and Marquess, where I went to undergrad. The universities were literally next door. I’d had a parent teaching at each and practically grew up on those campuses.

When we reached the student center, we found the Maimers’ big setup in the common area. The student center also had places to meet, study, and eat.

A few of the team looked wet. There were tons of signs, as well as ice, a big, galvanized bathtub, tables, heat lamps, boxes of sweatshirts, and a couple of staff members. Being a newer team, the Maimers did a lot of PR events like this.

Mercy waved at us and I gave her a look.

“Wasn’t my idea,” Mercy chuckled. Like the rest of them, she wore a red and black Maimers shirt.

“We’ve got a live one. Extra prizes for everyone in Team Mom’s class who takes the challenge. Everyone can grab a bracelet, regardless.” Rusty rang a bell.

A few of the team members got the tub ready. Sonny, their social media person, had me sign a waiver on a tablet.

Several of my students watched, including Angel, who I suspect the Maimers bribed to get me here. A couple looked like they might volunteer. Free tickets, a food voucher for the game, and a sweatshirt would have lured me when I was an undergrad.

“Today’s snacks were delicious.” Kaiko came over to me. Her dark hair had hot pink streaks and was done up in puffs.

She was barely eighteen, and like Mercy, hadn’t finished high school, and had been the other accidental draft pick on the team. Both had to do online classes and log their hours. Sometimes, I tutored her or proofread her papers.

“Who do you want to go in with you? Take your pick,” Rusty gestured to the wet and dry Maimers.

It was part of the appeal of the challenge, picking which player accompanied you into the ice. But I didn’t need a coach.

“We also have hockey meat. Carlos, where did he go?” A frown tugged at Rusty’s lips as she looked around.

Hockey meat? Then again, the asses on those players. I mean, skate smashers were built. But hockey ass? Hoo boy.

“He’s in the restroom. But you don’t need him. I’ll keep you warm, Mami. I’m Carlos.” A young man in his very early twenties ran a tawny-brown hand through his dark, wayward locks. He wore a Knights shirt with a seventeen on it. I knew his type well and didn’t date them.

“Hi Carlos. Oh, hi, Clark!” I waved at the rookie with him.

Clark was younger than Carlos, farm fresh, and one of the Knights I knew. Poor Clark had been led to believe that I was the Knight’s rookie coordinator and asked me to help him with things like setting up utilities and cleaning basics. I helped him anyway.

“Hi! Ignore Carlos. He won’t last the whole time–he always cools down on the bike after the game instead of the ice baths.” Clark shot Carlos a grin. He was tall, with dark hair, a farm-boy body, an angelic face, and black-framed glasses. Nerdy frames aside, he looked like an underwear model. His shirt and shorts had fifty-five on them.

“I don’t need anyone to go in with me.” I waved them off.

Sonny got in position to film it for the team’s social media. “Ready when you are.”

“Are you sure you’re okay alone?” Rusty asked me.

“I’m fine.” I got into position over the large, galvanized tub filled with ice.

Rusty had a stopwatch. “Ready... set... go!”

Leaning on my crutch, I lowered myself into the tub of water and ice like I had so many times at the rehab clinic. Ash was on one side, Mercy on the other, taking my crutch when I handed it to her. The icy water hit me with a million tiny peppermint jolts. I shivered at the chill, continuing to lower myself in. The ice sloshed around the big tub.

“Prof, Prof, Prof, Prof,” my students shouted. Other people had gathered to watch.

Shit, it was cold. Painfully cold. More than I remembered. I couldn’t focus. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. Breathe through it. That’s all I had to do. I forced myself to breathe deep, but it came out shallow, ragged. As did the next. Almost there .

The cold seeped into my pores, my blood. Panic twined through my limbs as my body screamed at me to get out. Any moment, Rusty would call time. I wasn’t about to fail in front of my sister, her team, and my class. A few more seconds and I can get out.

“Halfway, keep it up,” Rusty cheered.

What? Only halfway? I exhaled with so much force, I couldn’t get a good breath in. Panic seized me. Out. I needed to get out now.

Why was it different this time?

Someone got in behind me. Strong, tattooed arms pulled me to a muscular chest, tucking me up against them. I didn’t recognize the tattoos, but one was of a griffin with music notes. There was also knotwork and a boat.

“I... I’ve got this,” I choked out, still not able to get a good breath. While it was nice of someone to come to my rescue, I’d be okay.

Though I leaned against them, cradled in their large muscular body.

“I know. You’re one of the strongest people I know. Now take a deep breath, Kitten,” a deep voice rumbled in my ear.

Gasping, I got hints of rain. Was it?

No. It couldn’t be.

Could it?

No one else had ever called me Kitten. Whoever it was held me tightly, making the panic ease with touch alone.

“So good. Take another. You’re almost there. You’ve got this, Gorgeous,” he told me, the voice growing familiar.

I took another breath, this one a little deeper as warmth from his touch, his presence, crept into me.

It was him. Airplane Guy. He’d found me.

What timing. Also, how? But questions could wait.

Taking another breath, I gulped in his soft beta rain scent, resisting the urge to bury my face in his chest. I felt safe. Secure.

A bit of outrage rose inside me as my overprotective inner alpha wanted to know why he’d risk a chill and get into a tub of ice in October for me. Even if we were indoors.

“Almost there, you’re doing so good,” he murmured in my ear, his warm breath sending shivers through me as everyone counted down.

“Time,” Rusty called. “Good job, Team Mom!”

Thank goodness.

“Help me get out?” I whispered to Grif. Every inch of me wanted to rocket out of the tub, but my body didn’t work like that anymore.

In one smooth gesture, he stood and scooped me up out of the water like I was some delicate little omega and not a gangly alpha.

Ash threw soft, brightly covered Maimers stadium blankets over us. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” But all I could do was look up into the red-bearded face of the man I’d last seen on a plane four months ago. His hair and beard were now neatly trimmed, not scruffy.

Still, there was no doubt it was him.

This was the man whose hand I’d rode on an airplane. The kind man who’d given me his extra seat, and instead of ignoring me, took care of me.

The man who was now dripping wet and wearing a black shirt with the black and silver New York Knights logo on it. His shorts had a twenty-six on them.

Hockey. Of course! Hockey had forwards, too. He’d given me a hockey sweatshirt.

Why had I never made the connection?

Green eyes danced with concern and recognition as he cuddled me to his chest, heading toward the heat lamp. “Hey, Kitten. Long time, no see.”

My teeth chattered as it hit me. “Hey, Grif. I guess you’re not a fútbol player.”