Humiliated, Riley kept his head bent as Coach Sullivan gripped the collar of his sweater, holding him in place while the medical team checked him for injuries and asked rapid-fire questions.
It’s not like he could answer them when his lungs refused to work, but no one was paying attention to him anyway.
“Was there contact between his head and the ice?” Lloyd Cooper, the Citadel’s team physician, asked everyone. “Did anyone see?”
Riley tried to shake his head, but someone held it still.
He didn’t take a hit to his skull, but his ego—that was a different story.
“Loss of consciousness?” Lloyd asked him, his cold fingers pressing against his face as someone else removed Riley’s helmet. “Is your head hurting, Mr. Evans?”
“I’m fine,” Riley rasped. The extra fuss was making his cheeksburnas he met the concerned looks of everyone around him. “I was thinking about something dumb and wasn’t paying attention. I’m good. I swear.”
Riley knew practice was over for him, and at the rate he was going, so was his career.
“Off the ice,” Coach Sullivan ordered. “We’ll get you evaluated and send you home for the day, just to make sure. I’m not taking any chances, Evans. We need you healthy before the season begins.”
Riley shrugged. He was in no position to argue with his coach or the doctors, and concussion protocol was taken seriously in his line of work. He had no choice but to be carted off the ice by several of the staff while his teammates watched, murmuring words of encouragement that did nothing to soothe his frayed nerves.
Once he was sitting in his stall and had taken a small mouthful of water to wet his dry throat, he was quickly evaluated and deemed physically okay, but he was still being sent home.
“I told Sloan he’s done for the day, too,” Coach Sullivan said to Dr. Cooper, talking softly over Riley’s lowered head. “He knows what to look out for, and I made sure he had your number in case he has questions.”
Dr. Cooper hummed and set a firm hand on Riley’s slumped shoulder. “I don’t think there’s any need for concern, but it’s good to know his roommate will be there to take care of him.”
Riley let out a snort without meaning to, but the thought of Sloancaringfor him was so pitiful that he couldn’t help himself.
The silence in the room was loud, and Riley’s pulse reacted, sending blood rushing to his face and neck again.
God. He just couldn’t keep his mouth shut, and he couldfeelthe hole that he was trapped in getting deeper and deeper.
“You’re both a pain in the ass,” said Coach Sullivan. “And you’re both lucky that I can see your potential better than you can.”
Coach tapped Riley’s shin pad with her stick, and Dr. Cooper’s chuckle only added to his misery.
“Rest tomorrow, and I’ll see you on Monday at eight A.M. sharp, Evans,” said Coach Sullivan. “Maybe if I convince you and Sloan to hold hands at the team breakfast, you’ll make friends faster.”
The thud of skates approaching told him that Sloan had joined the injury party. Riley could sense his surly teammate’s attitude from across the room.
Panic took hold, and Riley lifted his head to send a pleading look at his coach and the doctor. “I have friends I can stay with. I don’t need?—”
“I got him,” Sloan said, shoving himself into the conversation. “He’s coming with me.”
Then Sloanliterallyshoved himself into Riley’s space, and Dr. Cooper and Coach Sullivan disappeared behind a towering body with white-blond hair, blue eyes, and a glare.
Sloan put his hand on the shoulder that Dr. Cooper squeezed, but his grip was less friendly and borderline painful.
Riley glowered at Sloan as Coach and the medical team cleared the room, and then it was just the two of them battling it out silently with their frowns.
It was stupid and childish, but when Sloan blinked first, Riley grinned and said, “I win.”
Sloan blinked again, and then he rolled his eyes and stepped away, giving them more space to breathe.
“You definitely have brain damage,” Sloan snarked. “Get out of your gear so we can shower and leave. I’ll fry up some carbs, and you can rest your eyes while I put a game on or something.”
They were talking without fighting. Sure, Sloan was pissed, but at least they were communicating again.
Not wanting to make matters worse, Riley gave in to Sloan’s demands and started stripping his gear. Despite not hitting his head hard, it was beginning to ache with the adrenaline wearing off.