The Coldest Knee Ice Pack Novels & Stories

I cradle it like it’s something precious, like it might disappear if I look away. The medical aisle is narrow and smells faintly of menthol. I crouch and scan the options, grabbing a large variety pack of bandages—small, large, waterproof. I don’t care what brand. I just need them to work. I find the Icy Hot in a roll-on tube and sigh in relief. My legs and shoulders are going to thank me later.

"Here." "I don't need that." "Yes you do. Don't be stubborn." He placed the ice pack on my knee and the cold shocked through me, so intense it made my teeth clench. I hissed at the sensation and my hands fisted in the blanket beneath me. "Too cold?" he asked and there was concern in his voice. "No it's fine," I managed even though it felt like my knee was being burned with ice. He settled back next to me and his hand rested on my thigh just above where the ice pack was.

Collins. “I was afraid that might happen,” she admitted. “These things often get worse before they get better. You’re doing the right thing. 15 minutes max in the ice bath, then make sure you dry her off thoroughly. Get her back in bed with ice packs under her arms and behind her neck. Make sure you both stay as close as possible and I’ll be there soon.” I listened carefully as she rattled off instructions. Reegan came out and scooped Kat off the bed, unwilling to wait any longer to start cooling her down. “Thanks Doc!” I told her and started to close the link.

He crouched before her and rubbed her sore knee, asking, "It's a little swollen. Do you have ice at home?" When she didn't answer, he stood up and padded over to the freezer. When he found an ice pack, he returned to the living room and set the pack on her injured knee. The icy touch of the pack on her red, swollen knee made her leg twitch. Gregory quickly moved the ice pack away, then placed it back gently. "Be careful next time." He spoke softly, his voice like a feather that tickled and probed at her tightly shut heart. "I can do it myself."

he mocked. I gritted my teeth and sighed as I headed towards the fridge, I took a few ice packs and wrapped it in the clean white clothing at the bed stand. "Lie down," I ordered. He did not complain and simply followed. I pressed the ice packs on his lower chest that was swelling, he grimaced when it touches his skin. I could not even imagine how painful that must be, it was starting to turn blue-black. This looked far worse than his injury at his arm.

The pads traced the hollow at its center, then slipped up over my shoulder and pressed against my nape. Freezing cold. His fingers were the polar opposite of his body heat, icy as if just pulled from a bucket of ice water. When they touched my burning, inflamed gland, the shock of hot and cold sent a spike of searing pain through my skin. Like being burned by ice. Like being burned by fire. I couldn't tell the difference anymore. My knees buckled instantly. A switch had been flipped on my nape, and every ounce of strength drained out of my knee joints. I slid downward.

I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as I gently took the melting ice pack right out of his hand. Brayden didn't pull away or snap at me to get lost. He just watched me silently even as I took his heavy, bruised hand in mine. I carefully wrapped the ice pack back around his split knuckles, pressing the cold fabric against his raw skin with the gentlest touch I could manage.

And the slope was wrong. I knelt behind the rear strut of our transport. The metal cooled rapidly as my cryokinetic field expanded. The heat of the Wasteland—a blistering 115 degrees—warred with the zero-point energy radiating from my skin. Sweat froze on my brow before it could drip. Thwip. My rifle coughed. A shard of condensed ice—harder than diamond and colder than the void between stars—crossed the three hundred yards to the ridge in 0.4 seconds.

He started shivering again. "Take the jacket off," I ordered. "You're getting hypothermia and you're ruining my sheets." He obeyed, shucking the heavy jacket and dropping it on the floor. He was wearing a t-shirt underneath that clung to him. I went to my mini-fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. I didn't have tea or anything fancy. I cracked the seal and handed it to him. "Drink." He took a gulp, his hand shaking. "Kade's in surgery," he whispered. "I saw his knee snap, Mia. It went the wrong way."

The kind of space that existed between places and didn't belong to anyone. He stopped and turned. His eyes moved to my cheek. Something crossed his face. Brief and controlled and gone before it fully formed, but I caught the edge of it. Something that wasn't neutral. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small cold pack, the kind athletic departments kept everywhere. He must have grabbed it from somewhere near the rink. He held it out. I took it. Pressed it against my cheek. The cold hit immediately and I exhaled without meaning to.