He smirks. “That’s your bar for comfort now?I’ve been worse?”
“Pretty much.”
He chuckles, then lowers his voice. “Charlotte says you’re ahead of schedule.”
That gets my attention. “She tell you that?”
“Dan did,” he corrects, but the grin’s still there. “Guess you’ve got a good PT.”
I roll my eyes, trying not to show too much. “She’s thorough.”
“She’s relentless,” he says with a short laugh. “Always has been. Good thing you’re used to stubborn people.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, because if he knew justhowmuch I liked it, he’d lose his mind.
David nods, casual. “Keep doing what you’re doing. The guys listen when you talk. Don’t underestimate how much that still matters.”
But as I watch him walk away toward the locker room, I can’t help the thought that sneaks in anyway.
It matters.
Just not the same way being on the ice does.
By the time I make it back to the training suite, my chest tightens because I know she’s right up ahead.
Charlotte’s already there, kneeling beside the table, organizing her kit. Everything about her is efficient: the way she rolls the bandage, the way she lines up her tools, even the calm set of her shoulders.
“Ready?” she asks, without looking up.
“Always,” I say.
She glances over, one brow lifting like she doesn’t quite believe me. Then she gestures for me to sit. “We’ll start with mobility, then balance. You’ve been favoring your right side again.”
I sit on the edge of the table, brace half undone. “Caught that, huh?”
“I catch everything,” she says lightly, adjusting the resistance band on my ankle. “Occupational hazard.”
The corner of my mouth lifts before I can stop it. “Sounds exhausting.”
Her eyes flick up, amused. “Good thing I like my job.”
The session moves slow, deliberate. Half squats, controlled step-ups, light resistance on the balance board. The room’s quiet except for the low hum of the AC and her occasional cue:
“Engage your core.”
“Hold that.”
“Good.”
She steps closer to tighten the straps, her fingers steady on my leg.
“Still comfortable?” she asks.
I nod, though comfort isn’t what I’d call it. My pulse’s been uneven since she walked in.
She straightens and taps a note on her tablet. “You’ll be cleared for light stickhandling soon,” she says quietly. “You’re ahead of schedule.”
“Because of you.”
