“I… didn’t order this,” I say.
She gives me a flat look.
“You didn’t have to. I’ve got eyes. You’ve got new-in-town, frozen-to-your-soul omega energy, andthat”—she taps the plate with one sparkly fingernail—“is the cure.”
I stare.
“Is this the regular special?”
“No,” she says, her expression completely deadpan. “This is theBevspecial. It comes with unsolicited advice and absolutely no room for complaints.”
“Just eat it, Emery,” Coach grins. “She gets offended if you don’t.”
“Damn right I do.” Bev points at him without even looking. “You need anything else, sugar, you holler. And if that one over there,” she jerks her chin toward Beau’s corner of doom, “gives you trouble, tell him I said to behave, or I’ll start slipping decaf into his coffee.”
She winks, then leaves us again.
I look at the plate, then at Coach.
“Does she come with the benefits package?”
“Sheisthe benefits package,” he says. “Her and Marlene, anyway.”
“Marlene?”
“Mmhm. The cook.”
I take a bite of the pancake and feel myself really exhale for the first time in hours.
“Well, looks like the storm’s easing.” Coach says, peering out of the windows. “I need to head back to the rink, but we’ll reconnect first thing tomorrow.”
“Seven a.m.,” I say, feigning optimism through a mouthful of pancake. “Because nothing saysfresh startlike frostbite and soft tissue assessments.”
“That’s the spirit,” he says. “I’ll give you the full Icebox tour, introduce you to the staff, and then we’ll ease you into the rotation.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“And by ‘ease,’ you mean shove me headfirst into a pile of overconfident, under-stretched hockey players and see who taps out first.”
His mouth twitches.
“Something like that.”
I keep eating while Coach tugs on his gloves, clearly in no rush to bolt.
“That being said, you’ll be working with most of the roster at some point,” he says. “My plan was to send 'em to you one by one, let you meet them all and do some assessments. That sort of thing. It's been a little while since the last PT left, and they've gone too long without being checked up on. Some guys need basic rehab, some need maintenance, and some just needto be told to sit their asses down and stop pretending they’re invincible.”
“So, the usual,” I mumble around a mouthful of hash browns.
“You’ve got full run of the PT room. We’ve got a small gym setup too—nothing fancy, but it gets the job done.”
I nod, chasing it all down with the last of my coffee.
“Honestly, that sounds perfect. I’ve spent enough time in high-end clinics: the ones with the fancy glass walls and hydro beds and massage chairs that cost more than my car. Know what I get out of it?”
He blinks at me.
“Burnout,” I finish. “Well: that, and a steady rotation of guys who thought protein powder cured everything except their egos.”
