"That you're trying." He stood, grabbing his tablet again. "Which is more than a lot of guys in your position would do. So keep trying. I'll handle the media circus."
"Thanks, Nathan."
"Don't thank me yet. I'm about to ask you to do a rehabilitation interview in two weeks." He grinned tiredly. "But we'll worry about that later. Right now, just focus on the clinic. Show people you're more than one bad moment."
He headed for the door, then paused. "Oh, and Easton? Maybe avoid the gym during peak hours. The less the media knows about your routine, the better. Plus…" he gestured at his coffee, "… I can't handle another paparazzi situation before I've had at least six of these."
The door swung shut behind him, leaving me alone with the weights and the echo of his words.
Show people you're more than one bad moment.
Yeah. That was the goal, wasn't it?
I was twenty minutes into a punishing cardio routine when Beck arrived, gym bag slung over one shoulder, looking disgustingly well-rested for someone who'd probably been out late with more than one woman.
"Henley." He dropped his bag on the bench. "I didn't know you were allowed back in the building."
"Gray area. Technically suspended from team activities, but the gym's attached." I wiped sweat from my face. "What are you doing here?"
"Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd get a head start." He started stretching, eyeing me carefully. "How you holding up?"
"Still standing."
"Uh-huh. That's what you said three weeks ago before you nearly killed that reporter."
I shot him a look. "I'm working on it, Beck."
"Right. And I'm the next Gretzky." He finished his stretch and moved to the weights. "Seriously though, you doing okay? Nathan just left looking more stressed than usual, which is saying something."
"He was updating me about the sponsor situation."
"Ah." Beck nodded knowingly. "How bad?"
"Three gone, two more deciding." I grabbed a towel. "But I'm handling it."
“By hiding in the gym at six AM?"
"By doing what I'm supposed to do. Therapy, community service, staying out of trouble." I grabbed my water bottle.
Beck's expression shifted, something almost mischievous crossing his face. "The vet clinic? With the court-ordered service?"
"Yeah."
"How's that going? Weird cleaning cages and stuff?"
"Better than I expected. Helped with an emergency the other day. Sick puppies with parvo. I felt useful for once." I took a long drink of water.
"And the vet?" Beck asked too casually. "The one running the place?"
I kept my expression neutral. "What about her?"
"Is she cool? Nice? Is she," he grinned, "hot?"
I rolled my eyes. "Beck."
"What? It's a valid question." He loaded weights onto the bar. "If you're going to spend two hundred hours somewhere, at least it should be with good scenery."
"She's…" I trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence. Beautiful didn't cover it. Smart, focused, competent in a way that both drew me in and made me wary. "I knew her a long time ago. She’s a friend of Holly’s. She's different now. Harder. Like life beat her up a bit."
