But as he executed a particularly sharp turn, sending ice spray into the air, Liam couldn't quite shake the image of those direct, challenging eyes that had met his across the practice facility.
Maybe Ms. Bennet-Cross would prove different from the others—willing to look beyond the narrative she'd been fed.
Or maybe she'd just be another reporter who saw what she expected to see.
Time would tell.
He increased his speed, focusing on the ice ahead rather than the media storm behind.
CHAPTER FIVE
Libby paused at the doorway of the physical therapy room, spotting Jane working with a player. She knocked lightly on the doorframe.
"Sorry to interrupt. I need to ask about the spare key to your apartment, but I can come back later."
Jane looked up with a smile. "It's okay, Lib. We're almost done." She turned to the defenseman on the treatment table. "Jensen, do you mind if my sister waits here while we finish? She's Libby from the Herald."
Jensen glanced over and gave her a teasing wink. "The one who wrote that piece on our defensive zone coverage? Yeah, no problem, Ms. Jane."
"Thanks," Libby said, staying near the door. "I'll just wait quietly."
She entered and found a chair in the corner, putting away her press credentials and pulling out her personal notebook rather than her work one. From her position, she couldn't help but admire the way Jane guided the defenseman's injured shoulder through a series of precise movements. Jane's hands were gentle but confident, her voice calm as she explained each exercise.
"That's it, Jensen. Hold for five, then release slowly. The muscle memory is building, even if you can't feel it yet."
The defenseman—six-foot-four of tattoos and missing teeth—followed her instructions with the obedience of a kindergartner. Jane had that effect on people. There was something in her quiet competence that inspired trust, even from men who body-checked opponents for a living.
Libby glanced down at her notes while she waited. Three days into her Boston assignment, and she was already developing a rhythm—morning practice observations, player interviews, strategy analysis for the afternoon edition. Her first three articles had been well-received, with Reid noting that her coverage was bringing "fresh perspective" to their playoff reporting.
The door opened, and Chase Bingley entered, his assistant coach credentials hanging around his neck. His sandy hair was slightly rumpled, as if he'd been running his hands through it while watching game tape.
"Jane, do you have the progression report for—" He stopped mid-sentence, noticing Libby. "Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt."
"Not interrupting," Jane replied, her voice maintaining its professional tone though Libby didn't miss the slight color rising in her cheeks. "Jensen's almost finished, then I can get you those reports."
"No rush," Chase said, his easy smile warming the room. "Jensen, looking good. Coach wants you in walk-through at eleven if Jane says you're cleared."
"He's cleared for non-contact only," Jane said firmly. "Another three days before we test that shoulder against actual pressure."
Chase nodded without question. "Whatever you say, boss. Your expertise hasn't steered us wrong yet."
The simple deference to her sister's professional judgment made Libby like Chase immediately. Too many coaches viewed medical staff as obstacles rather than partners.
"I'll grab coffee while you finish up," Chase continued, his gaze lingering on Jane for a moment longer than necessary. "Can I bring you anything? Black with one sugar, right?"
Jane looked up from her work, genuine surprise crossing her features. "You remembered that?"
"Of course," Chase replied as if it were obvious. "Libby? Coffee?"
"I've reached my daily maximum of liquid anxiety, but thanks," Libby said, watching the interaction with undisguised interest.
As Chase left, Jensen caught Jane's eye with a knowing grin. "Coach Bingley sure remembers a lot about your coffee preferences, Ms. Jane."
"Focus on your rotator cuff, Jensen, not my caffeine habits," Jane replied, but her small smile betrayed her.
After finishing, Jane joined Libby, her professional composure returning despite the lingering warmth in her expression.
"So," Libby began, "that was subtle. 'Whatever you say, boss.' I'm surprised he didn't just hand you his heart in a medical cooler."
