8

“You’ll have it.”

They chatted a bit more about beer, and about her travels, before they both realized White was taking way too long coming down from his room. Tim checked his phone to see if the boy had texted him back. The message he’d sent wasn’t marked as read.

Had White fallen asleep?

All the rookies roomed with a veteran player. Tim would have liked White to have roomed with Perron or Mason—the latter could have helped the kid pick his fights a bit better from the start—but the head coach had paired him up with Mirek Brends, a Swedish defenseman who didn’t speak much English. Which made calling Brends to check on White pointless. He considered calling Callahan, but the team’s captain had probably gone out to celebrate with a few of the guys.

“Maybe White’s not here?” Madeline seemed to read his thoughts, but concern shadowed her eyes. She’d decided White needed her to look out for him.

The kid clearly needed someone to do it. Tim wouldn’t have left him alone if he hadn’t been cleared by the team’s doctor, but White had said he’d be in his room watching TV because he wasn’t feeling up to going out. He wasn’t impulsive, so Tim didn’t see him changing his mind.

He did see him putting on a brave front for the doctor and the team though. Tim didn’t want to second-guess the doctor, but he couldn’t help worrying a little. He glanced over at Madeline when she cleared her throat to get his attention.

“He wasn’t feeling up to going out. He got in a fight and was a bit roughed up.” Tim braced himself for her to give him hell. One of the things he’d liked most about her was that she cared about the boy, but that could be the very thing that ruined his chances with her. He scratched his jaw when she simply looked at him expectantly. “I’m sorry to delay our date, but I want to go check on him.”

She inclined her head. “I thought you would. Should I wait here?”

Now that impressed him. With how motherly she’d been to White, Tim had assumed she’d insist on tagging along. That she trusted him to decide what was best made him a lot more comfortable than her not giving him a choice. He motioned for her to follow him.

“I think he’ll be happy to see you.” He chuckled as he pressed the button to call the elevator. “And his pillow.”

“Probably.” She went quiet as they got on the elevator, her expression thoughtful. After a few minutes, she met his eyes. “Why did you look so surprised when I offered to wait?”

Tim shrugged, seeing no reason not to be up-front. “You’ve been babying him. I honestly thought you’d plow me down on your way up to make sure he doesn’t need a Band-Aid.”

“Ha! I did mention I have younger brothers?” She smirked at his nod. “I’d have a head full of gray hair if I panicked every time one of them got hurt. I’m sure he’s a mess, but he’s a big boy. And you’re his coach—”

“Assistant coach.” He corrected her out of habit, but he had a feeling she hadn’t said that by mistake. Some of the men considered Tim their coach and saw Paul as more of a figurehead. White was one of them.

“His coach,” Madeline repeated, clearly feeling the same. “You’d know if he’ll be comfortable with me being around.”

“I’m positive he’ll be fine with it.”

“Good.”

The elevator stopped and Tim let Madeline get off first, but stopped her partway down the hall with his hand on her arm, his tone very serious even though he struggled not to laugh. “I don’t need you making my boys soft though, so no kissing all his little bumps and bruises better.”

“Agreed. No kisses.” She took his hand and rose up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his in a slow, sensual kiss that had him wanting to continue down the hall, past White’s room and straight to his own. He ran his hand over her hair, inhaling slowly as she put a breath of distance between them, speaking with quiet laughter in her voice. “I’ll save the kisses for you, but I can’t promise not to pet on him a little.”

He snorted and knocked on the door to White’s room. “Fine, but you’re not tucking him in.”

“May I sing him to sleep?”

White didn’t answer. Tim tested the doorknob. Found the door unlocked.

“Yeah. Sing to him if you want.” Tim swallowed hard as he pushed the door open. The room was dark except for the flickering of the TV. “Hey, White? You in here?”

Shit, what if the kid did have a concussion? Blood on his fucking brain and he was alone, had maybe fallen asleep and—

“Ian?” Madeline reached out and squeezed Tim’s hand as she called out. She crossed the short hall with the door that led to the bathroom. Moved into the bedroom. “Hello, darlin’. Oh, that looks like it hurts. No, don’t sit up. Tim, can you go fetch some ice?”

Moving to the end of the bed, Tim looked White over and winced. His face was a lot more swollen than before, one eye so puffy he couldn’t open it, and there was blood crusted on his chin. The doctor had given White some painkillers, but Tim had a feeling the kid hadn’t taken them. Fully-clothed and cringing at every movement, White looked utterly miserable.

“I okay. Little sore.” White tried to smile at Madeline as she smoothed his light brown hair away from his face. It turned into a grimace. “Hurts to talk.”