Chapter 10: Behind Closed Doors

Giannas’s POV

The giant stadium screens were still flashing our faces when Ryker turned around and skated back to his team. The noise in the arena was like thunder. Everyone was looking at me, whispering and pointing at the number 88 on my chest. I kept my face blank, stood up, and walked quickly out of the VIP section before the crowd could block the stairs.

I waited for Ryker by his black truck in the dark parking lot behind the arena. The night air was freezing, and I pulled my leather jacket tight around my body.

After twenty minutes, the heavy metal doors of the arena opened. Ryker walked out. He was wearing his black sweatpants and a gray hoodie. He had his heavy gear bag slung over his big shoulder. He walked slowly, with his head down.

When he reached the truck, he did not say a word. He threw his heavy bag into the back of the truck with a loud thud, but I noticed his right arm shook when he lifted it. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his cheek were jumping.

"Are you okay?" I asked, looking at him closely as we both got into the front seats.

"I'm fine," he frowned and started the truck with his left hand. "Let's just get back to the suite."

The drive back to the East Wing building was completely silent. Ryker gripped the steering wheel with only his left hand. His right hand stayed flat on his lap, perfectly still. I knew sports injuries. I knew how athletes hid their pain from the coaches and the media. Ryker had obviously taken a massive hit against the boards in the third period, and he was hurting bad.

We got up to the penthouse suite and stepped inside the warm, dark hallway. The heavy front door clicked shut behind us, locking out the rest of the world.

The second the door locked, Ryker let out a sharp, painful groan. His massive body swayed to the side, and his shoulder hit the wall hard. He dropped his truck keys on the floor.

"Ryker!" I stepped forward, my hands automatically reaching out to catch his arm.

"Don't touch it," he hissed, his face going completely pale under the hallway light. He slid down the wall until he was sitting flat on the hardwood floor, his left hand clutching his right shoulder. Sweat was dripping down his forehead, even though it was cold outside.

"You're hurt," I said, kneeling down in front of him on the floor. "You took a bad hit at the end of the game."

"The scouts were watching," Ryker muttered, his breathing fast and shallow. His gray eyes were tight with pain. "If they think I'm broken, they will drop my draft score. I had to finish the game. I can't go to the team doctor. He will report it to the school."

"Let me see it," I said.

"No," Ryker snapped, trying to pull away. "The contract says we are strangers behind this door, Cole. Go to your room."

"The contract says we protect your image so I can stay hidden," I countered, my voice firm and steady. I didn't care about his angry attitude right now. "If you can't skate next week because your shoulder is ruined, our whole deal is over. Now, take off the hoodie."

Ryker stared at me for a long moment, his gray eyes dark and stormy. Slowly, using only his left hand, he tried to pull the heavy gray hoodie over his head. He gasped in pain as the fabric caught on his right arm.

"Stop moving," I commanded.

I leaned in close, my face only inches from his chest. I grabbed the bottom of his hoodie and carefully helped him slide it up and over his head. The smell of his warm skin, winter air, and expensive soap filled my nose. When the shirt came off, my breath caught in my throat.

His right shoulder was already turning a dark, angry purple. A massive bruise was forming across the thick muscle.

"You need ice, and you need it now," I said, my voice dropping.

"There is a medical kit in my bathroom," Ryker whispered, his eyes locked on my face. He was breathing hard, his bare, muscular chest rising and falling right in front of my hands. "Bottom drawer."

I stood up quickly, my heart hammering against my ribs, and ran down his side of the hallway into his private room.