“They’re also necessary to strengthen the muscles around your rotator cuff.”
“When can I resume normal workouts? I’m not talking about being put back on the roster. I just want to lace up my skates and stretch these muscles.”
“At least another week,” I replied. “In the meantime, stretch them on the treadmill when you’re done. But make sure you’re not swinging your arm too much. Wear a sling.”
He grumbled something, but resumed his cable rows.
I made the rounds among the other players, then returned to Rhett. I stood next to him, watching him go through the next exercise with a light dumbbell.
“Sorry I’m so grumpy,” he said after a few minutes of silence. “I’m just sick of riding the bench. I want to be out on the ice, helping the team.”
“I know. I don’t blame you. But the best way to help the team is to be patient and let your shoulder heal.”
He put down the dumbbell and smirked at me. “I kinda hate you right now, June. Deep down I know you’re right, but I still hate it.”
“As long as you do what I say, you can feel however you want.”
“Thanks for not taking it personally.” He held up his left hand. I gave him a high five, and our fingers laced together at the end for a moment.
“June?” one of the other players asked.
I let go of Rhett and turned toward them. “What’s up?”
“Can you check my bench form? It doesn’t feel right.”
“Damn, Shawn,” Rhett said. “You’re tryin’ to steal my girl.”
I rolled my eyes, then helped Shawn with his bench workout.
But I couldn’t help but glance over at what Rhett was doing every few seconds. I told myself it was because I was his trainer, and not because of any deeper reason.
*
The game against the Flames was a tough one, both teams battling back-and-forth for all three periods. They were tied with only a minute remaining in the game. There was a scramble at our goal, which pulled Elias Nystrom, our goalie, out of position. He was slow getting back in front of the net, and the Flames scored the game-winner.
I wondered if anyone else noticed that he was always a little slower while twisting to his left. It was getting to the point that I was tempted to bring it up to Coach Jay.
Like everyone else, I was in a bad mood after that game while setting up the ice baths with my two interns. I was developing a codependent relationship with the Reapers; I rode the same high as the players when they won and was down in the dumps when they lost.
Maybe Cole was right about me being a member of the team. That was a nice feeling, although it made me wish I could help them win.
Rhett was still in the locker room when I packed up to go home. “Gonna spend half an hour on the treadmill,” he told me when I walked by. “It’ll make me feel like I’m doingsomething.”
“As long as you—”
“Wear my sling?” He held it up for me to see. “Way ahead of you!”
“Atta boy,” I said, which made him grin even wider.
It was the first week of November, and the nights were starting to feel chilly here in Georgia. I was halfway across the parking lot when I realized I’d left my sweatshirt in my office. But I didn’t feel like turning back. I could get it tomorrow.
Most of the lot was empty, but there was one car that caught my attention. It was a new Ford Bronco, black with red trim, the Reapers colors. Whoever was inside was blasting music so loud I could feel the bass in my feet.
As I passed, I realized that the guy sitting behind the wheel was the goalie. Elias Nystrom.
I’d had a long day, and I just wanted to go home and relax on the couch. But I couldn’t stop myself from turning away from my car and toward the Bronco. Being a member of the team—or, at the very least, an employee—meant trying to help them win any way I could.
I tapped on the driver-side window. Elias turned to me and frowned, so I tapped again.
