Hands Off The Ice King novel Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Levi’s POV

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The ice crunched beneath my skates as I moved swiftly across the rink. Cold air burned through my lungs. The familiar scent of sharpened steel, frozen ice, and rubber pucks filled the empty arena. Usually, this was the only place where my head felt quiet.

One, two, strike.

The puck shot off my stick with force, slicing through the air.

But instead of gliding cleanly into the goal like it always did, it slammed against the side frame with a loud clang before ricocheting away.

I cursed under my breath and slowed to a stop.

The sound echoed throughout the empty rink mockingly.

I removed my helmet roughly and ran a hand through my damp hair before glancing toward the bench instinctively. Toward the exact spot where Hope had been standing earlier.

I could still picture the expression on her face. Those stubborn eyes shining with unshed tears while she glared at me like she wanted to murder me and prove a point at the same time.

I’m not a quitter, Levi Reeve.

I clicked my tongue.

Was she seriously about to cry over that?

Still, there was something strange about her. Even while her eyes were watering, she still looked furious more than hurt. Like she refused to let herself break in front of me no matter how angry or embarrassed she felt.

She was annoyingly stubborn.

I pushed the thoughts aside and skated toward another puck.

Focus.

I moved to hit another puck, but again, instead of entering the goal, it hit the upper frame before flying straight back toward me. Like fate personally deciding to piss me off today, it slammed directly into my injured shoulder.

Pain exploded through my arm.

“Fuck.”

The hockey stick slipped from my grip and clattered against the ice. I sucked in a sharp breath and grabbed my shoulder instinctively while the ache pulsed deeper beneath the padding.

For a moment, I just stood there breathing through it. I pressed carefully around the area and hissed under my breath.

Just fucking great.

I flexed my shoulder experimentally. Another sharp stab of pain shot down my arm immediately. Any normal player probably would’ve stopped practicing by now. Too bad I wasn’t normal.

I clicked my tongue, picked my stick back up, and gathered the scattered pucks.

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11:42 Wed, Jul 15 AMM.

Chapter 11

Things hadn’t gone my way all day.

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The only mildly entertaining part had been watching Hope storm back into my room looking completely offended after I told her I hated sweet drinks.

A small smirk tugged unconsciously at my lips at the memory.

She had looked seconds away from strangling me with the coffee straw.

Cute.

The realization made the smirk disappear immediately.

I frowned at myself before grabbing my belongings and heading toward the locker room.

The familiar scent of detergent, sweat, and disinfectant greeted me when I entered. I tossed my gear inside my locker before standing in front of the mirror to inspect my shoulder properly.

The bruise had definitely darkened.

I rotated my arm slowly. Pain shot through the joint hard enough to make me curse aloud. Still, I ignored it. I always ignored it.

Instead, I grabbed the pain-relief spray from my locker and coated the area generously until the skin turned cold and numb beneath the chemicals.

I shoved the bottle back into the locker and headed out again.

It was late already, but this routine had become normal for me during championship season. Practice. Ice bath. Recovery. More practice. Sleep for a few hours. Repeat until my body gave out. Simple.

As I walked through the hallway toward my room, a faint light caught my attention.

The rehab room was still open.

I frowned slightly.

Usually, nobody stayed here this late unless someone got injured badly enough that Beth had to babysit them through the night.

Curiosity tugged at me before I could stop myself.

Without thinking much about it, I changed directions and walked closer quietly.

I paused near the doorway and saw the person inside. Hope sat at the desk inside with a clipboard balanced on one knee.

Her hair was slightly messy, falling over one shoulder while she scribbled notes furiously. A pen rested between her lips as she muttered quietly to herself.

“I should prioritize deep tissue massage therapy for him,” she murmured while flipping through pages. “Electrical nerve stimulation could help too… maybe assisted mobility exercises…”

Was she… making treatment plans? For us? At this hour?

She hadn’t even been with the team for a full week yet. Most people barely lasted a few days before becoming overwhelmed by the pressure of handling professional athletes. But there she was, sitting alone late at night doing extra work nobody asked her to do.

“Sir Levi?”

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11:42 Wed, Jul 15 A MM.

Chapter 11

I stiffened instantly at the sudden voice behind me.

I turned around to find Mr. Wallace holding a mop bucket nearby, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.

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Mr. Wallace was one of our janitors and one of the oldest staff members in the facility. Every player knew him. He’d practically watched half the team grow up.

I immediately raised a finger to my lips.

“Shh.”

Mr. Wallace blinked in confusion. “Are you going to get treated now?” he whispered.

“Shh,” I repeated more urgently.

Inside the rehab room, Hope’s head lifted immediately.

“Mr. Wallace?” she called out.

My eyes widened. Without thinking, I quickly stepped behind the nearby pillar out of sight.

Mr. Wallace looked at me like I’d completely lost my mind.

“You didn’t see me,” I muttered quietly.

He looked deeply confused. Still, after a moment, he nodded slowly. Just in time too, because Hope suddenly stepped out of the rehab room.

She sighed in relief when she saw him.

“Oh, it is you, Mr. Wallace. I thought I heard another voice.”

Mr. Wallace glanced subtly toward where I hid, but I shook my head sharply. Only he could see me from this angle.

“No, no,” he chuckled awkwardly. “Just me. What are you doing here so late?”

Hope smiled sheepishly and lifted the clipboard slightly. “I needed to make care plans.”

“You work too hard, young lady,” he said warmly. “You should head home before it gets even later.”

“It’s okay,” she replied cheerfully. “The last bus to my place leaves around eleven anyway. I still have time.”

I frowned unconsciously behind the pillar. The bus? At this hour? Did she seriously commute home alone this late every night?

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