Chapter Fourteen

S omething cool touches the back of my neck. I can hear the whine that escapes my mouth at how much pain I'm in. I don't feel well at all.

I try to adjust, but I'm not feeling any better. Going to sit up, my stomach rolls.

Oh god, I'm going to puke.

I try to lean over to grab the trash, but something is in my way.

No, not something.

Someone.

I can't stop it, though. I spew all over myself, the person next to me, and the bed. Then I burst into tears as my body shivers.

"It's okay. Don't cry. It will make you feel worse."

I recognize the voice immediately, only making me feel worse. Of course, Clayton would bear witness to one of the most embarrassing moments in my life. Why not?

"Let's get you into the shower. I'll call one of the guys to come grab the clothes and wash them for us."

"No," I whimper, "I don't want them to see me like this. I don't want you to see me like this."

"Don't be stubborn. This is what friends do." He stands up, stripping out of his shirt, dropping it on the bed. Then he takes off his sweats, leaving him in boxers.

I'm still in his hoodie, now covered in vomit. Thankfully, it seems my sleep shorts were saved.

Slowly, he peels the hoodie off, leaving me in a tank and shorts, making me feel even cooler.

I sob a little at how I feel right now. That only makes my head ache more.

"We are going to get you cleaned up. Come on." He helps me out of the bed, avoiding the puke.

He has me sit at the end of Peyton's bed as he strips my bed, putting the linens in a trash bag. Then he wipes down the protective covering I put on the mattress as soon as I moved in. Thank God, I'm paranoid of bed bugs.

I know I'm feverish, and maybe it's just the delusions, but watching him grab my bathing caddy and some towels is oddly intimate. I feel like we are crossing a line right now. One that feels monumental.

Then again, maybe I'm losing it.

I sniffle, trying to keep from sobbing. My nose is stuffy as it is. All of this crying is only making it worse. I try to suck in a breath but end up coughing, which only makes me want to cry again.

It's like a vicious cycle.

"Okay. Up you go." Clayton moves to me, picking me up before grabbing the caddy with all my things stacked.

"You can't go in the bathroom with me. Strict rules," I mumble against him.

"Fuck the rules. I'm not letting you sit in there by yourself. I'll handle it," he grumbles, pushing against the door.

The dorm bathroom is thankfully empty. It makes me wonder what time it is. Hell, I don't even know what day it is.

"Don't you have a game?" I ask him.

He looks down at me, confused. "Shorty, it's Tuesday. My game isn't until Friday this week."

"Oh," I mumble. So it's Tuesday. That's good. I remember texting him to tell him I was sick today. I haven't lost too much time.

I hear the shower turn on as he continues to hold me in his arms.

"You can put me down. I know holding weight stationary like this can't be comfortable." I tell him.

He snorts. "I bench press more than you. It's fine."

Then he steps into the shower, clothes and all, with me in his arms.

The water isn't warm. In fact, it's a little chilly.

"Why is it cold?" I whimper.

"It's not. It's room temp, but you have a fever, so it feels worse. We need to break your fever."

I shiver, but he keeps me in his arms. Slowly, he lowers himself until he's on the floor, with my body under the water, my face tucked into his neck. He pulls the hair tie out of my hair, and gently he pulls the caddy closer, grabbing my soap.

"We need to get you washed. Are you good with me touching you above your clothes?" he whispers.

"Yes," I rasp.

He puts some soap in his hand before gently rubbing my collarbone. True to his word, he doesn't even attempt to touch my breasts. Instead, he pulls the tank top up a little to clean my stomach. Then he runs soap down each of my legs. Being under the water washes the soap right away, but I appreciate him attempting to make me feel cleaner.

"This isn't a coed bathroom," a voice suddenly calls out.

My eyes pop open as I raise my head. I didn't even realize I had closed them. Clayton hushes me, pushing my head back down. Turning a little, I see Angela, our resident assistant, standing outside the shower. Clayton didn't even close the curtain.

"Angela, how long have we known each other?" Clayton asks suddenly.

I furrow my brows. They know each other?

"Since freshman year," Angela admits.

"Have you ever seen me with a girl like this? Or at all?"

"No," she replies immediately.

"Grace is my best friend, and she is really sick. We even have our clothes on. Now do you think that rule was put in place to keep someone from helping an ill friend, or do you think it is so people don't fuck?"

Angela sighs, but I'm not looking at her anymore. My eyes have fallen closed again. The water is starting to not feel so bad.

"She's really that bad? Should we take her to a doctor?"

"No. I've got her. It's a fever. I'll make sure she is okay."

"Okay. I'm at the end of the hall if you need me," Angela says.

Then she must leave because Clayton kisses my forehead before whispering to me, "Can I wash your hair now? You have some stuff in it."

I grimace at his words. I'm sure I look like a mess. I'm glad we are friends because, had we been more, this for sure would have scared him off.

I turn my head toward the water, letting it rain down on me. He is gentle as he runs his fingers through my hair. Then he puts shampoo in his hands, slowly massaging my scalp. It feels so good, especially with my head aching.

I must moan, because he chuckles a little.

"Not exactly the way you want to make a girl moan, but I'll take it," he mumbles.

I smile, opening my eyes slightly to look at him. He's beaming at the small smile on my face.

I let my eyes fall back closed as he rinses my hair before repeating the actions with my conditioner. By the time he is done, I feel better.

He moves me off of his lap and sets me right on the edge of the shower with a towel.

"Let me rinse off," he tells me.

Then he uses my body wash to wash himself around his boxers. Once he rinses, he turns off the shower. Then he wraps a towel around his waist before peeling off his wet boxers. He leaves them in the caddy before wrapping me in my own towel, picking me up along with the caddy. Then he heads back to my room.

"Why are you so perfect?" I mumble against him, still feeling so tired.

"I had a lot of practice with Cora," he admits.

I didn't think about that. With his mom working a lot, he basically helped raise Cora. I'm sure that's how he knows what to do.

When he opens my door, I'm surprised to see Brett and Wyatt inside my room. Wyatt is making my bed while Brett is wiping down surfaces with sanitizing wipes.

"What's going on?" I manage to rasp out against my throat.

It feels like sandpaper in there.

Brett looks up and frowns. "You need something for your throat? I'll go grab you a tea." Then he's gone.

Wyatt doesn't say a word, but I'm not surprised. He finishes making my bed before turning to us. He holds out a bag with clothes in it before looking at me. He nods once, then steps outside, grabbing the trash bag by the door.

"Why are they here?" I ask Clayton.

He sets me on my feet. "I texted them and asked them to come grab the linens. Guess they decided to clean up a bit too. They sent me over with stuff for you to make you feel better."

"They did?" My eyes grow teary.

These big, gruff hockey players went through all of this for me.

"I know. I was surprised too. Now let me pull these sweats on, then we can get you changed."

Quickly, he pulls his sweats up under the towel. He manages to keep himself mostly covered, but I do manage to get a glimpse of his ass. I don't even try to look away.

If he caught me, he doesn't say anything. Instead, he turns, unwrapping the towel from around me. Then he slowly dries the skin he can see.

"How do you want to do this? I need to change you, but I don't want to be disrespectful or make you uncomfortable. I also don't feel comfortable leaving you on your own. You are still feverish and have said some things that make me concerned for your stability."

"I get it. Maybe just close your eyes and hold your arms out so I can use you if I need to?"

He nods, doing what I ask.

Slowly, I peel out of the tank. That was the easy part. My nipples pebble in the cool air. I feel weird standing in front of him topless, but he hasn't peeked once.

I drop the tank on the floor before grabbing his arm to peel my shorts off. I stumble a little, falling into his chest. I wince when I realize my bare breasts are against his bare chest. He is a gentleman and doesn't say a word. Instead, his hand grips my hip as he helps steady me.

Moving over a little, I grab the first shirt on top of my clothes and put it on. Then I grab a pair of pajama pants and slip them on as well. By the time I'm done, I'm exhausted.

"All done."

He opens his eyes, looking at me from head to toe. Then he reaches behind him and grabs a hoodie, helping me put it on. It smells just like him. It's comforting.

"Thank you," I mumble.

"You're welcome. Sit on the edge of the bed. I need to brush your hair," he tells me as he picks up my wet clothes and his boxers from my caddy. He opens the door, handing them out. I see Wyatt there waiting.

"Brett is on his way back with tea and some food for you. I'll cover for you with Coach."

"Thanks, man." He fist bumps him before shutting the door.

Then he moves behind me with my brush in his hand.

"I don't know if I can handle you brushing my hair," I admit.

"If I don't do it now, it will get all tangled and hurt more later. Trust me. I'll be as gentle as I can."

"Okay," I tell him.

Thankfully, he's as gentle as he promised. Within minutes, he has my hair brushed. Then he starts to braid it. It's such a simple thing, but it has me emotional. The fact that he would even go as far as brushing my hair is enough. Add in the fact that he knows how to braid? If I wasn't so sick, I would be swooning right now.

"There. Now get under the covers. I'll get your medicine."

"What time is it?" I ask as I move into the spot next to the wall.

He looks at his phone. "Eleven."

My eyes widen as I glance at the window, seeing that it's dark out. "Where the hell is Brett going to get tea at this time?"

Clayton shrugs as he hands me two tablets and a bottle of water with something added to it. I don't question it. If the guy wanted to roofie me, well, he could have by now.

I drink half the bottle before leaning against the wall.

"Do you want to try and eat something?"

My stomach protests the thought, so I shake my head no.

"When's practice?" I ask.

"Six. Don't worry about it. I have it handled."

I sigh, wanting to argue, but I don't have the energy. I do feel much better now. More like a human.

"Under the tongue," Clayton tells me, sticking a thermometer in my mouth.

A knock on the door distracts him. I smile when Brett walks in with a coffee mug.

"It's honey chamomile tea. It's supposed to be good for when you are sick," he says.

The thermometer beeps, so Clayton takes it, smiling.

"One oh one. It's going down."

Brett brings the tea over, handing it to me.

"Where did you get it?" I ask him.

He gives me a sheepish look. "One of the girls I used to mess around with loved this shit. I went over there and asked her for some."

Clayton snorts.

"She just gave it to you?" I ask.

He nods. "I mean, I owe her a date now, but I told her it was an emergency. Told her my best pal was sick. Had to get you better as quick as possible."

There go those stupid emotions again.

He must see that I'm about to cry because he points at me and says, "Don't even think about it. It's just tea."

How did I get so lucky to have these guys in my life?

Much to Grace's dismay, I did not leave her to go to practice this morning. She was still running a mid-grade fever and hadn't eaten anything yet. So after skipping class to make sure she ate and took her medicine, she finally started to feel better.

It's the only reason I agreed to come to afternoon practice. Well, that, and Peyton agreed to go back and sit with her. She made Beckett go with her and sanitize the room, but she went. Now she's sending me hourly updates even if I can't read them while on the ice.

"Everything good?" Coach asks.

I had texted him last night letting him know I needed to miss practice. He didn't ask why. I've never asked, so he knows it was important.

"Someone really close to me was very ill. I was concerned to leave her alone," I tell him. "She's feeling better now."

He frowns. "You didn't bring that sickness to my rink did you?"

I hope not. I don't say that, though.

"No, sir. I sanitized and took precautions. I don't feel ill. I'm good to go."

"Good. Don't make it a habit," he tells me, patting my shoulder.

I nod, getting on the ice to start warming up. Brett skates up to me moments later.

"While you were gone this morning, Cooper tried to rally the guys to vote you out. None of them listened, but you need to lock that down quick, otherwise he's going to end up being traded. The guys respect you. They won't take the newbie over you."

I sigh. Of course he did. He's a young buck who thinks he knows best.

Skating over to him, I tell the other guys around him, "I need a minute with Cooper."

They don't question it. They just skate away.

"What is it this time? Come to steal my friends too?" He huffs.

I shake my head. "Grace is sick. So while you were campaigning against me, I was at her dorm making sure her fever didn't get severe enough to take her to the hospital."

Regret shows on his face. I know he hadn't tried to contact her since she left him in that café.

"Whatever, man. Just stay out of my way. You'll be gone at the end of the season anyway." He goes to push past me, but I grip his jersey.

"You need to cut it out. You want to be captain? You can be a great one, but you are letting your personal life dictate your game. Hate me all you want. Curse my name until you are blue in the face outside of this rink. In this rink, though, you're not Kellan, and I'm not Clayton. You're Cooper, and I'm James. We're a team, and we fight together. If you can't make that happen, then you need to consider trading schools because this isn't the team for you. Honestly, maybe consider leaving the sport. There's no room for selfish players in hockey."

Leaving him with that, I skate away.

"Do you think it helped?" Wyatt asks when I stop next to the net.

I look back at Kellan. He looks angrier than ever.

"No. I think it might have made it worse. I think the kid needs to hit rock bottom before he will pull his head out of his ass."

Skating to the middle of the rink, I look to Coach, and he nods.

"Sticks in the middle, guys. We're going to do schoolyard rules. Coach will distribute the sticks with no rhyme or reason. You play the position you agree upon in your groups. Don't aim to hurt one another. Let's loosen up," I call out.

Then I skate backward as Coach skates out and starts distributing the sticks. Once he's done, he points at Wyatt and Hanks.

"Flip a coin. Heads or tails. Winner gets James's team. James is home jerseys." He looks over to the other team. "Cooper gets away."

Once the goalies are chosen, Wyatt on Cooper's team, I skate over to Coach. "You sure this is a good idea?"

"Sometimes you have to break it down to the basics. Ever since Cooper has gotten here, there has been some animosity. Now, I know I act like I don't know about your personal life, but I have eyes. He doesn't like that you're sweet on that girl you sneak in here after practice. Truthfully, I don't care. You need to get some aggression out, so do it. Don't aim to injure, but play by street rules. Hopefully tomorrow morning, I'll have my elite team back because, after last week's game, I was starting to get concerned that I picked the wrong players."

He nods at me once before turning and walking out of the rink altogether. The other coaches do the same, leaving just us guys.

Skating back to the middle, I look to Kellan. "Street rules. First to six wins. Only restriction is no permanent injuries that will take anyone out of the game. Agreed?"

Kellan smirks. "Agreed."

Fuck, this is going to hurt.

All of the guys on the team are good, but there are some that are better than others. Somehow we each got a good selection of both first- and second-string players, making it pretty even. Hanks is playing his best. You would think this is a puck game by the way he is defending the goal right now.

In fact, all of the guys seem to have extra motivation in them right now. As if this isn't just a practice.

"Come on, dude. That was a fucking check and you know it. Stop playing dirty," Beckett calls, pushing Linkerman into the boards.

"I didn't check you. Stop being a crybaby," Linkerman says, pushing back.

He skates away as I call for a break, and we all take a quick water break before we are at it. This time, it's me and Kellan facing off.

Neither of us says anything, but the vibe is there. We are out for blood.

Him because he thinks I took something of his. Me because he hurt a girl I've grown to care a lot about.

One of the guys drops the puck, and we each slap the ice. I get a piece of the puck first, sending it flying to Beckett. He's angry now, moving down the ice. I smirk at him as I move with him. He passes the puck to me. I go to pass it back, but a stick catches me in the shin, causing me to trip.

My blood is boiling. Looking up, I find Kellan smirking down at me.

"Oops. Sorry Cap."

I brush it off, calling for another face-off. This time, Kellan gets the puck. They move it down to the other end of the rink. When Kellan takes his shot, Hanks stops it, catching it in his mit.

Kellan curses, skating back to the face-off area. This time, I let Beckett take it. He gets the first hit, shooting the puck toward me. I take off as fast as I can down the ice. Then I make a Hail Mary shot, hoping Wyatt misses a block for once in his life.

I don't get a good hit on it, though, because Kellan is there, shoving me into the boards.

I've had enough of this punk. I've been trying to stay impartial because the team is more important than our petty shit, but fucker just earned himself a punch.

Pushing him back, I toss off my gloves, then my helmet. He's already doing the same.

Then I swing. I hit him right in the jaw, making him stumble back.

He gets his footing, coming back at me to throw his own punch. I don't duck it. I let him hit me.

Do it. I dare with my eyes. Hit me.

When his flesh meets my skin, I throw my second punch, hitting him in the eye. He curses, but continues to try and grapple with me. He manages to hit my nose, causing it to bleed, but I keep on with him too.

The guys are there now, pulling us apart.

I'm heaving, but so is Kellan. Everyone around us is frozen, watching us.

"Are you happy now? You got your licks in. Can we move the fuck on?" I ask, spitting blood on the ice.

He takes a few deep breaths before looking back at me.

We all await his answer.

"I hate you, James, but on the ice, yeah. I can move on."

"Good. Feeling's mutual. I'm calling it. Practice is done."

I don't waste another second. I skate to the bench, grabbing my water as I bleed all the way to the locker room.

As soon as I step in, Coach is there waiting. He hands me some gauze for my nose.

"Is it over now?"

"It is. We will be in top shape Friday."

"You better be. Scouts will be there."

With that, he leaves, making me wonder what the fuck I'm doing anymore.