Free Blind Ice (Razors Ice Book 5) by Rachelle Vaughn Page B

twenty guys so that they could make the most of their trip and visit as many patients as possible.
    “Let me know if you need anything while you’re here. Anything at all.”
    “Okay.”
    “Here, why don’t I give you my number so you can call me if anything comes up?”
    Logan almost winced at the double entendre, but he didn’t. He was here for the kids and he was also representing the Razors organization as a whole.
    Once again, he found himself disinterested in the woman in front of him doling out advances like an ATM.
    Before he knew what was happening, Kammie with a K had taken his phone from him. With a sensual cock of her hip and a tilt of her head, she typed in her number and handed the phone back to him—but not before she made sure her hand brushed against his during the exchange.
    Logan shot her a polite smile that she couldn’t tell was just to placate her. When he could free himself of her grasp—just because he was a pro athlete, some women thought they could get extra handsy with him—Logan got back to the real reason he was here.
    He and Trik paired up together, but when they were separated in the hoopla of taking photos and meeting excited parents, Logan moved on to the next room without his linemate.
    Inside, a little boy lay in the big hospital bed, bandages wrapped around his head. He looked helpless, unable to see the world around him—the dangers and the wonders.
    Logan cleared his throat to alert the little guy of his presence. “Hi, I’m Logan.”
    The kid perked up and Logan was glad to see it. “You play for the Razors, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “They told us you were coming.”
    Logan moved further into the room and away from the sound of Trik flirting mercilessly with one of the nurses in the hall. Kammie-with-a-K was spreading herself awfully thin.
    “We stopped by to give you guys some pucks and trading cards,” Logan told the kid.
    The boy held his hand out and Logan dropped a signed puck onto his palm.
    “Thanks.”
    “Sure, no problem.”
    Unable to see, the kid felt his way around the tiny ridges on the puck with his finger.
    The image of the small boy clutching the puck to his chest would stay with Logan long after he left the hospital.
    After saying goodbye to the boy, Logan walked into the next room and found a little girl sitting up in her bed. Tubes snaked from her frail body and her slender shoulders were slumped over the tray that stretched over her lap. Her tongue was sticking out, clamped between her teeth and she was attempting to paint her fingernails. Her little hands were shaking and the nail polish brush kept slipping from the nail and onto the skin.
    She was probably eight or ten, but Logan didn’t really know. He wasn’t around kids enough to recognize what age they were just by looking at one. Either way, she looked like she belonged playing in a bouncy castle rather than lying in a hospital bed. Hell, all the kids here did.
    “Hey there,” he said gently so as not to startle her. “My name’s Logan.”
    She looked up at him and Logan found himself staring into the brownest eyes he’d ever seen.
    She licked her cracked lips and gave him the barest hint of a smile. “I’m Rebecca.” She put the applicator brush back into the bottle and looked him up and down. “You’re very tall.”
    He smiled. “Yeah. Watcha doin’?” he asked, not sure of what else to say.
    She examined her nails and picked pink polish from her cuticles. “Painting my nails.”
    “That’s cool,” he said lamely but she didn’t seem to mind. “I brought you a puck and some cards.”
    She took the autographed trading card from him and looked it over front and back. “You’re a hockey player.”
    “Yeah. Do you like hockey?”
    Standing over her, he felt like Goliath to her David, so Logan pulled a chair over and sat down next to the bed.
    He wanted to ask what was wrong with her. Why she had so many tubes and machines hooked up to her. But he didn’t. That wasn’t