Ice Tyrant’s Obsession

Chapter 2

~~LOLA~~

The next day I didn't wake up laughing.

I didn't even get to sleep until five this morning.

Now I was in school and after zoning out through all my morning classes and excusing myself in the middle of every lecture to go bawl my eyes out in the restroom—I was now standing at the Ice arena in a dark navy scrub, my hair pulled in a rough updo and a lanyard dangling from my neck.

In here, I was hoping to get my mind off Ryan.

A clipboard dangled from my fingers as I half-heartedly watched the game happening on the rink.

There were sharp scrapes of skates and ice dust sprinkling off blades. Players in dark blue and red jerseys moved between themselves with swift gaits in a heated chase for a puck. The roar from the audience was an earful but it was enough to drown out my thoughts exactly like I wanted.

I leaned my hips on the medical counter near the bench gate, doing well to blend behind the dozen heads of half-seated hockey players and other heads I guessed belonged to trainers and coaches who were barking out orders in low almost agitated voices.

It was clustered here.

My phone dinged in my pants, and when I pulled it out, there was Mom’s text: [The moving men will be here by 4 pm; they’ll need your help.]

Of course.

By the time I looked away from my phone a commotion on the ice caught my attention.

Someone was being beaten up. Scratch that! They were actually both punching daylights out of themselves. The plexiglass rattled with sheer force and after a brutal two minutes of throwing fists with the player on blue visibly overpowering, both players were forced apart and ushered off the ice.

I stood there confused, dreading whatever I had just witnessed.

The player in red dived to the left and the one in dark blue skated forward, crossing the bench gate with his shoulders ducking low at the entrance to accommodate his height.

I was able to catch sight of his dark damp hair and the way he ran pale veiny palms through the strands after tugging off his helmet while the other benched teammates sandwiched him.

“We need your help.” A woman walked up to me, heaving.

I straightened as my heart started an erratic pounding.

So soon? It was my first day as a physio student assistant, and I was just here to watch the game.

“The head physio…” I jabbed a thumb behind me but she wasn't listening.

“Please escort Vaughn to bay three.” She cut in.

Every other word fell flat on my tongue on seeing that the said guy had already begun approaching. He was seemingly large and towering at a terrifying height I couldn't decipher or maybe I was just too small?

Despite the steam rolling off him along with that deep-seated scowl that snapped his facial muscles tight, he still served face…

He brushed right past me before I could recover.

“Go with him, please. Don't leave him by himself.” The woman urged.

What?

Taking my steps one at a time, I turned around and moved after him. The farther we got away from the rink’s noise, the more the atmosphere closed in.

He seemed to swallow the space whole and never even stopped to take a turn and see who was behind him.

I pressed my lips tightly, taking silent steps after him and only clearing my throat when it seemed like he would pass the physio bay.

That was enough to halt him.

“We are meant to be going in here.” I pointed a finger towards the steel door on my right that had the ‘Bay three’ tag. And I didn't wait for him to look in my direction before I pushed the door’s knob and walked in.

Unfortunately, he complied and followed in after me.

The head physiotherapist was out, what do I do?

“Please take a seat.”

I reached for my bag to take out my notepad, relieved that I had chosen proactiveness over laziness the previous night. I pressed the note to my chest, if our interaction was to go well… I would have to peek in here.

When I finally gathered the courage to properly acknowledge him, he was already seated on the treatment table as he pulled off his glove, his knuckles flexing.

“Uhm…does your head hurt?” I asked, my eyes drifting from my note as I frowned at my own handwriting.

That was when he finally paid real attention to me. His brows twitched and his grey eyes sank a shade darker as he stared at me with something close to recognition that flickered once in his eyes and vanished.

Ten heartbeats later, he had yet to respond.

He just had his gaze intensely fixated on me.

Was it the note in my hands? Did it make me come off as unprofessional?

“Did you hear me?” I was already rattled.

“I feel fine.”

I exhaled when his voice came, although a low sound, it was progress.

“Okay, any form of dizziness?”

“No.”

“How about Nausea?” I pressed.

“No.”

I flipped a frantic finger through my notes, chills creeping into my spine at how small my figure kept shrinking beneath his hooded eyes.

“Do you by chance have a sudden urge to hit another hockey player?” I blurted and cut in almost immediately. “Sorry, that wasn’t in the note.”

“I have a split lip, a bruised face, and a swollen knuckle.” He pointed out, his voice lazy and… inviting.

I schooled a bright smile onto my face. “Of course Mister Vaughn, but this isn’t a sick bay and I can only help calm your injuries with whatever resources are available.” I mentally cringed at my words.

Very unprofessional.

And no I didn’t want to help with his split lip or the bruise. I was scared to get close, scared to touch him.

I still scrambled around for ice packs and antiseptic wipes and when I stepped into his space this time, I wasn't breathing.

He smelled like ice and something rough as I pressed the ice pack high against his cheekbone. “Just hold this in place for me,” I whispered.

His palm covered mine instead and I flinched, instantly pulling away. The ice pack crashed to the ground between us.

“Sorry…”

His shoulder sagged down as he bent to reach for it. He leaned back up and resumed staring at me.

Now I badly wanted this to be over.

Silence fell thick between us as I proceeded to wipe the blood trail along his Jaw and bottom lip. “Violence is bad, it’s terrifying… don’t you think? The audience must have felt that too.” I felt the urge to fill the silence.

“You must be a novice to the game.”

Clueless about what that meant, I parted my lips to throw a retort only to look down at my chest to see his vein-streaked fingers dangling around my lanyard.

“Lola.” He said, and I had never wanted my name to be for me alone until that moment.

That was a sick thought.

I was going to back away and tell him we were done, not until he tugged the lanyard’s rope and I flailed forward like a doll, falling chest-first into him with an almost yelp before my butt dropped down on his legs.

I froze.

He wasn't touching me. I was the one clinging tight to his jersey with a racing heart while he just held onto the damn ID, looking the least affected.

He felt dangerously steady, the familiar kind my brain must have picked from somewhere, or maybe I was just attention-starved after Ryan’s betrayal.

“What the hell are you doing?” I feigned irritation.

“You feel familiar.” He rasped.

I retorted. “You are wrong. And by the way, this is a physiotherapy bay. I'm here to make sure you aren’t broken and it seems all’s well with you, Mister Vaughn…”

He didn't let me land, he just calmly leaned in with his breath pouring hot on my face. “Run your diagnosis properly, Lola.”

“You…”

The creaking sound of the doorknob turning interrupted me.

Alarmed, I jumped off his thighs where I’d lost myself on and backed him as the head physio, a red-haired woman in her mid-thirties, walked in.

She paused at the door briefly, her eyes scanning my face for a moment before dropping on the hockey guy behind.

I was hyper-aware of his eyes on me.

“Thank Goodness you are here Mrs. Parker.”I began, anything to hide any hint of nervousness that might have given away the fact that I was just sitting on a patient’s legs.

“Vaughn!” Mrs Parker flashed her set of white teeth at him.

He remained silent.

“I need to run along now.” I was already moving to get my bag.

“It’s alright Lola, I will take it up from here,” she replied.

Great.

I didn't spare him another glance, that would be disastrous.

I bolted for the exit while cursing silently under my breath. Halfway through the door, my phone buzzed in my scrub pants. I reached for it, my heart crashing against my ribcage as thoughts of Ryan came rushing back.

For a minute there, I had forgotten about my reality… this was it.

He sent a text after nearly eighteen hours.

[Dinner by six? Please Lola, don't air me]