when he dug them into his scalp, the tight grip focusing the throb that pounded through his shoulder blades until it consumed his thoughts.
“You okay, Roller?”
Henrik recognized the shoes and voice of Steve, the trainer, and ignored the man. What the fuck did it matter if his shoulder hurt from the check into the boards or if the bruise on his thigh was pulsing in time with his heartbeat? It matched the drum in his head perfectly.
The guy squatted down, balancing on his haunches, his face still out of Henrik’s sight. He patted Henrik’s knee. “See me when you get your gear off.” He stood and walked away then.
Henrik heaved a sigh of relief. Thank fuck for a staff who understood timing and space.
The adrenaline rush that powered him through games was fading, the loss adding to the quick drain. He sat up and glanced around the room at his teammates. Losing always sucked, but the mood took an additional dip when someone got hurt too. Injuries were common in the sport, but that didn’t mean they didn’t bite every single time. In many ways it was easier when it happened to him than it was to watch one of his teammates go down.
Bowser’s stick to the face resulted in a lot of blood, six stitches, two lost teeth and a new smile every hockey player would proudly display. Nothing career-ending, but still not cool.
He glanced at the blood soaking through Feeney’s wrapped knuckles. The enforcer had stepped up to take the high-stick offender down a peg, which had netted Feeney a fat lip, the swollen knuckles and a lengthy penalty. There’d been a few times in the game when Henrik had almost done the job himself. Coach would’ve had his ass for the penalty time though. You’re more valuable on the ice than in the box.
He held in his groan as he stretched his shoulder. It was a muscle bruise at worst. He’d be fine. Ice, heat and a good massage was all he needed. But he’d see Steve as ordered.
The smack-talk was minimal that night, and Henrik ignored what there was of it. Trainer. Food. Workout. Shower. Home. With luck, Jacqui would be waiting up for him.
He’d given her a key last week after meeting her family. It’d made sense, given their schedules. Convincing her to take the key had been another round of wills versus logic. Every other girlfriend hadn’t hesitated to take it and then basically move in. Not Jacqui. He smiled.
“What’s that stupid grin for, Roller?” Kevin Karver questioned from across the dressing room, goalie equipment already off. As the backup goalie, he didn’t see a lot of action but was still vital to the team.
Henrik let his grin widen. “Fuck if you’d understand.” The guy was still single and young, like so many of the players. They were a fairly young club now with most of the guys under twenty-six, which only highlighted his advancing age.
“Ooh. Another girl got her noose around you?”
Right. He hooked his shoulder pads over his head, flipping the man off as he did. “Don’t you get tired of the same old jokes?”
“Not if they still work,” Sparks piped in.
Henrik shook his head, turning his back to the room. “You don’t know shit.”
“Maybe not,” Sparks said, shoving his arm as he passed. “But we do know you.”
Bullshit. The reflexive comeback echoed in his head around his clenched teeth and festering annoyance. They didn’t know him. He glanced over his shoulder at the guys he considered his brothers and logged how many really knew him.
None.
Exactly like his real brother. His disgusted snort went unheard by anyone but himself. And whose fault was it that he wasn’t close to any of them?
A slow ten-count cooled his anger down to mild irritation. It didn’t really matter. These guys still had his back, which was more than he could say about Soren.
Walters had been the only teammate he’d gotten close to since moving to Minnesota, and Walters was in Atlanta now. Six years here, and who did he trust once they left the ice?
He stripped off the rest of his equipment as Hauke ran through his post-game captain’s spiel, which was followed by a short one from Coach O. Henrik listened with half focus, his mind stuck on the state of his life.
He’d never been this confused before. But then, he’d never bother to analyze his life either. He’d simply cycled forward from girlfriend to girlfriend, season to season without pausing or questioning. There’d