Rinkmates: A steamy Hockey Romance (The Mates series Book 1)

I can’t erase the image of Riley crumpling to the ice, blood smearing across his pale skin. The sound of my own scream still echoes in my ears. In that moment, something primal took over—I shoved that mammoth of a goalie with a strength I didn’t know I possessed, not caring about the consequences. All I could focus on was getting to Riley.

Now, as I stand next to him, my hand gripping his like a lifeline, I silently will him to open his eyes. The medical staff bustles around us, their voices a low murmur as they assess his condition. “The punch triggered a vagal response,” one of them explains. “The sudden impact can cause a reflex through the vagus nerve, leading to a drop in heart rate and blood pressure. That’s why he fainted.”

I nod, only half listening as they clean his wounds.

An eternity seems to pass before Riley finally stirs and his eyelids flutter open. Those whiskey-colored eyes find mine, and my name forms on his lips. “Lia…”

“Hey,” I whisper, so happy he’s awake. He scared the shit out of me. “You forgot your keys. I didn’t know if you needed them, since I’m training with Aiden all night. Our show is in three days, and—”

“Thank you,” he interrupts, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He starts to draw circles on my skin and each trace of his feels like a burning fire while he looks at me like I actually mean the world to him.

I swallow hard, suddenly aware of Colton and Jayce’s curious gazes boring into us. Heat creeps up my neck, but I don’t let go of Riley’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got sucker punched by a grizzly bear,” he jokes weakly. “But I’ll live.”

“You better,” I threaten, trying to keep my tone light even as my heart constricts. “I didn’t just scream my head off in Hungarian for nothing.”

He laughs. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Jayce and Colton say as if from one mouth.

“I think Devereaux is afraid of her now,” Jayce says.

Riley’s grin widens, and for a moment, the pain and uncertainty in his eyes fade away. “Guess I owe you one, huh?”Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“More than one,” I shoot back, a playful smile spreading across my face. “But who’s counting?”

“Let’s just stick with one because you downgraded my apartment with that hideous plant.”

I burst out laughing. “Oscar isn’t hideous, and he’s already looking better.”

“I’m obsessed with—organization,” he snaps, but the way his voice wavers makes me pause. There’s a flicker in his eyes, a tension that makes it seem like he’s holding back something more personal—as if he wanted to say he’s obsessed with me, not just his need for order. But that’s absurd, right? My thoughts are absurd.

I quickly change the subject, my heart racing as if I’ve just dodged a bullet. “Do you need anything? Meds?”

The medical staff offers him various meds the second I ask him, but he shakes his head.

“No thanks, I’m fine. Just tell me, is my nose still the prettiest you’ve ever seen?” And that stupid smile of his makes me forget the worry I just felt because of him.

“Yes.”

“Then I’m okay.”

The doctor gives him an ice pack, and he holds it against his cheek.

“Shit, is this how you get all those ladies in bed?” Jayce throws his head back and lets out a loud, hearty laugh, and Colton joins in.

I want to laugh, too, but then Riley winces and shifts uncomfortably on the exam table, adjusting the ice pack on his bruised cheek. Jayce and Colton had rushed him to the team doctor after Derek’s punch landed square on his eye. The sight of Riley crumpled on the ground had been enough to send a chill through me.

“Derek was just being his usual asshole self, trying to get under my skin,” Riley explains with a pained expression.

The doctor takes a look at Riley’s eye. “It’s definitely going to swell.”

“What did Derek say to you?” I ask, feeling an unexpected surge of protectiveness rushing through my core.

“It’s okay,” Riley tries, but the pain etched in his features tells a different story.

No, Derek said something that cut deeper than any punch ever could. When I entered the arena, I saw them immediately. At first, I thought they were just talking, but then I noticed the yelling and the look on Riley’s face. It was as if something inside him shattered. I couldn’t stand it, and before I knew it, my feet were moving toward the ice in overdrive.

“No, it’s not,” I insist.

The doctor interrupts us with a bottle of ointment. “I’ll give you this for now. It should reduce the swelling, and you’ll be fine by next week for the play-offs.”

Frustration boils in my chest and I let out an exasperated sigh. “This is ridiculous. Who would sabotage their chances of winning by purposely injuring you? What an idiot!”

There’s a flicker of amusement in his face. “This isn’t funny, Riley. What exactly did he say to you?”

“Baby, it’s fine,” Riley repeats, wincing as the doctor applies surgical glue to the cut under his eye. “I charged at him first. It was my fault—ouch.”

The doctor apologizes but keeps working.

My hand involuntarily grips Riley’s arm. “What—”

“He said his dad bought him a spot on the team,” Jayce chimes in, glancing at my hand on Riley. The way I hold him.

I quickly let go of him, forcing myself to remain calm. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jayce says, standing up straighter. “He said Ri’s copying skills from other athletes and that his parents bought his career and, well, you.”

“That asshole,” I mutter through gritted teeth, earning a surprised look from Jay.

I notice Colton stifling a laugh, and anger flares hot in my chest. How dare Derek treat Riley this way!

I bend down to Riley, our eyes locking with a depth of emotion. “Listen to me. He’s wrong. Your father may have helped you, but it’s you making those shots. Do you hear me?”

Riley hesitates, then nods slowly.

“I saw countless rich girls trying to match me. But who won the gold? I did. And I didn’t have a penny. It’s about skill. You can’t buy success in sports. Sure, money can help, but in the end, it’s you and your team out there. It’s you making those decisions. It’s you calling the shots out there. Not your father or his money. Don’t ever believe a guy like Derek. Believe in yourself, because people will always try to be like you and hate on you at the same time.”

His eyes soften, a flicker of gratitude breaking through the pain. “Thanks,” he whispers, voice shaky.

“Now, excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

Before I can second-guess myself, I charge out of the medical room, ignoring everyone’s surprised looks as I head to the locker room, and lucky me, I spot Derek lingering in the hallway. His eyes widen when he sees me storming toward him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I demand and push him with both of my hands. Just like he did with Riley, but he doesn’t move an inch. It’s as if a fly collided with him.

Derek holds up his hands defensively. “Woah. Watch out there. You know I’m a giant compared to you, huh?” His mouth is twisted into a sneer as he looks down at me.

“I don’t fucking care.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? Coach asked me to provoke him. I took it too far.”

“Damn right you did,” I snap. “Hold on. Your coach did what?” Riley’s coach would mess with his mental health like that?

Derek rakes a hand through his short black hair, his eyes shifting back and forth. “He wanted me to check if Riley’s able to control his shit or not.”

“That is stupid,” I say. “Provoking each other won’t help. All that got you is him having a black eye and you risking your game next week. I can’t believe you said yes.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, but Coach—”

“You have your own mind! Do you even understand what you just did? You deliberately provoked another teammate into hurting you. Whatever your coach said. That’s not coaching, that’s abuse.”

He just stares at me, his mouth agape.

I nod to the locker room at the end of the corridor. “Everyone in there is pissed at you. You better start thinking of one hell of an apology.”

Leaving him sputtering in the hallway, I march toward Mercer’s office. I know abusive coaches when I hear about them and this needs to be stopped before it gets worse. Fear claws at my throat but I swallow it down. I’m done being timid.

I burst into John Mercer’s office without knocking. He looks up from his desk, startled. I’m a little taken aback since I had imagined him dark haired with a suspicious mustache but, well, I guess my imagination just ran away with me. He looks more like Santa Claus. His beard is shorter but still. Riley’s coach is Santa during summer vacation.

“Miss James, how can I help you?”

“What kind of messed-up coaching tactic is having one player assault another?” I say, my voice shaking with fury.

To my utter disbelief, Mercer actually has the nerve to laugh. “Well, well,” he says, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “Looks like our resident hothead has found himself a little spitfire.”

“This isn’t funny,” I say. “What you did today was cruel and unnecessary. You know he just started therapy. He was about to knock the shit out of your player and then what? What if he got hurt? You just risked your own game.”

“No offense, sweetheart, but I’ve been coaching longer than you’ve been alive. I think I know how to handle my players.”

“I’m not your sweetheart, and if this is how you handle them,” I grind out through clenched teeth, “then you don’t deserve to be called a coach.”

Something flickers in his expression—a hint of surprise, maybe even a grudging respect. But I won’t back down. I’m none of his players, I’m not even Riley’s girlfriend, and since he knows of our truce, there’s no way he can punish Riley so I just say what’s on my mind.

“If I were you, I’d let him heal instead. Mental wounds are just as real and serious as physical ones. He’s already going to therapy once a week, so let the professional handle it. Instead of pushing him to face his fears, be a source of stability in his life.” I’m so proud of Riley for facing his fears. Mercer is not going to ruin it for him.

“You’ve got guts, kid,” Mercer acknowledges, tilting his head to the side. “I’ll give you that.”

“I don’t want your praise,” I say, straightening up to my full height, which is not much, but I think I’m making my point. “I want your word that you’ll never put Riley—or any other player—in that position again. He’s healing. Let him.”

Mercer regards me for a long moment, his eyes searching my face as if trying to gauge my sincerity. Finally, he nods. “Fair enough, I won’t do it again,” he says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “But let me ask you this: How far are you willing to go to protect him?”

“What do you mean?”

A slow, calculating smile spreads across his face. “I have a proposition for you,” he says, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Come to our high-stakes games. Like the one against the Bears. Be there to keep Riley calm when he meets Houston again. I’ll even pay you for your time.”

I stare at him in disbelief, my mind reeling. “You want me to be his…what? His emotional support cheerleader?”

Mercer shrugs. “Call it what you want. But I think we both know that you have a unique ability to get through to him. And if that means the difference between winning and losing…” He trails off, letting the implication hang in the air.

The nerve this man has. “I’m not interested in your money,” I say, almost spitting the words out. “But let me make one thing perfectly clear. If you ever pull a stunt like this again—if you ever put Riley’s well-being at risk for the sake of your own ego—you’ll have a lot more than a ‘little spitfire’ to deal with. I can be one hell of a pain in the ass when I want to be.”

Mercer’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and for a split second, I swear I see a flicker of fear in their depths. But then it’s gone, replaced by a mask of cool indifference. “What if I tell you that I’m willing to pay you a lot of money?”

“Then I tell you again that I don’t want your fucking money. I’ll be there for him nevertheless, and he’ll tell me where and when he needs me.”

“Noted,” he says, waving at me in dismissal. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a team to manage.”

I give a curt nod and spin on my heel. Shit. My heart pounds in my throat and my hands shake with adrenaline. I have no idea what I’ve just gotten myself into, but one thing is clear: I don’t like it when Riley gets hurt. But the most startling part is, why would I fight for him like this when I’d never have the guts to do it for myself?