I held up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I promise I’ll be good.”
She stuck out her arm again, full stretch. I lifted my right to do the same, our hands meeting, palm to palm. Then I waited.
“Is this… some weird physio version of that scene in Ghost, only less sexy?”
She didn’t answer, but I soon came to realize what was happening, and it was decidedly unsexy. Reese leaned forward in slow, timed increments, all the weight going to her outstretched arm.
“Hold.”
I clenched my jaw, feeling the twinge in my shoulder become a pronounced twitch. “It’s recent.” I lied. “From the game against the Flames.”
Her eyes were glued to the spot under strain, and she leaned some more. “Hold.”
Blinding white heat popped in the joint, calling that dreaded stab to shoot through. I dropped my arm abruptly, and she stumbled forward after it, almost landing right in my lap. She stared at me, her hands set on either side of my thighs, and although I braced for it, no lecture came. She simply straightened and moved to the side to have a closer look.
Her hands were warm, soft, as she gently palpated the joint. I thought about the faces Hunter used to make—before he and Holly were a thing—when Reese would work out his post-match kinks with a quick massage.
“Does this hurt?” She ran her fingers over the surrounding muscle, each press sending waves of pain to pulse through it.
“No.”
“This?”
I winced, but managed to avoid pulling out from under her touch. I’d been putting myself through torture for months, so making it through a measly exam was nothing.
“No. I told you it was just a bad knock. It’ll be all healed up in a couple of days.”
She gave me an unimpressed look, then moved on, her hand sliding to my right elbow. “Bend your arm and lift it out to the side.” I did as I was told. No joking around. “Now lift your hand like you’re gonna wave, but keep your upper arm static. Okay, now drop your hand below your elbow…”
I bit back the groan that wanted out. Way before I got to half rotation, let alone below my elbow.
Reese turned from me without another word and went to grab stuff from her desk. She came back over with a fresh roll of tape and anti-inflam gel.
“Did I win, Doc?”
“You’re an idiot. Stand up.”
I slid off the bed and stood to attention, smiling through the lingering irritation in my arm. She’d woken up what I’d spent the day icing back into submission, and I could only imagine how much louder it was gonna be on the ice in a few minutes.
She worked fast, applying the gel, then measuring and cutting the tape to strap my joint into a supportive set. “This’ll get you through the game, but I’m gonna need a scan to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
“Nope.” I pulled my shirt back on, already feeling the added quiet in my movements.
“I’m not kidding,” she said, hands on her hips. “I can’t treat you if I don’t know what I’m treating. It could be nothing, or it could be surgery waiting to happen.”
“Or it could be nothing,” I said, halfway to the door. “I feel better already. See?” I flapped my arms at my sides. She didn’t crack a smile. “You can just keep taping me up like this until after we lift the Stanley Cup. Deal?”
There was no answer, and I didn’t hang around for one, either. I had a game to get to.
4
Reese
“Thank you all for meeting me,” Holly said to van der Berg, McAvoy, and me. “And thank you, Coach, for generously providing your office for the occasion.”
He grumbled, arms folded over his chest. “I’d rather sharpen the entire team’s blades on my teeth than sit in that broom closet of yours. Smells weird. No offense. You smell nice.”
She stared at him with a wide-eyed, somewhat stunned smile. “Uh, thank you. As I was saying, it’s time to implement our proactive media strategy. The team’s comprehensive win against Montreal Canadiens means we’re closing in on the playoffs. What we do from this point forward will determine whether we go in as favorites or not.”
