“You know the Crushers have a home game tonight.You should go and confess your love to him.Bet he'd love that.”
“I don't love—” I stop, a horrible thought occurring to me.“Wait.He'splaying?Tonight?”
“Yup.”
“He can't be playing.His leg is nowhere near ready for that.”I sit up, my chest tightening.“He was barely cleared for light drills when I was working with him.There's no way he should be on the ice for a full game.”
Kinsey checks her phone again.“According to the Crushers Instagram, he's not just playing—he's starting.”
“That fucking idiot.”
“Maybe his athletic trainer cleared him?”
“They don't know his injury like I do.They don’t know how Jay pushes himself past the point of reason because he's too stubborn to admit when he's hurting.”I'm pacing now, my ice cream completely forgotten.“He's going to destroy that leg.He's going to set his recovery back weeks—maybe months—because he can't stand to sit on the bench.”
Kinsey is watching me with amusement laced across her face.“You really care about him, don't you?”
“I care about proper injury recovery protocols,” I say, dodging the question entirely.
“Sure you do.”
“I do!”
“Then why are you freaking out?”
I stop pacing, catching my reflection in the mirror above our dresser.I look manic.Unhinged.Like someone who definitely didn't just eat half a pint of ice cream while spiraling about a hockey player.
“I'm not freaking out,” I say, though my voice betrays me.“I'm just...concerned from a professional point of view.”
“Uh-huh.”Kinsey grabs the remote.“Well, if we aren't going to the game, then maybe we should check on him here.”
“What are you—”
She changes the channel, and suddenly there he is.
Jay Cross, in full gear, skating across the ice.
My stomach drops.
Even through the TV screen, I can see it.The way he's favoring his right side.The slight hesitation in his crossovers.The tension in his shoulders that says he's compensating for pain he won't admit to.
“Fucking idiot,” I mutter.
“You're fuming,” Kinsey observes.“Maybe you should go down there and stop him.”
“No.”
“Ally—”
“He's not my patient anymore.”The words taste bitter.“If his team cleared him, then maybe he is getting better.Maybe I'm wrong.”
But even as I say it, I watch Jay take a sharp turn and nearly stumble.He catches himself, plays it off, but I see it.The flash of pain across his face before he hides it.
“Fuckingidiot.”
“You said that already.”
“It bears repeating.”I turn away from the screen, unable to watch anymore.“Change the channel.”
