My music comes on in the car, blaring through my speakers. I don’t bother to turn it down, needing something more than the two cups of coffee from Britt’s to keep me awake.
The air fills with the sound of chimes, and I recognize the song even though I haven’t heard it in years. Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere.” I can’t help but grin. The last time I heard it was Austen’s wedding.
I grimace through the pain as I drive. I still wasn’t cleared to, but I will be damned if I let my mother drive me around like I’m a goddamn teenager. She’s bad enough as is. I don’t need to rely on her or my dad more than I already am.
I could ask Austen, but he works during the day. Britt would do it, if I asked her, but she’s close to her due date and the last thing either of us needs is for her to go into labor in the middle of taking care of my ass. Her husband would really hate me then. I get it. His wife’s best friendis her hockey player ex-boyfriend. Most people don’t get it because they think exes can’t be friends, that there’s a blurry line there or something.
Just because I’ve slept with Britt in the past doesn’t mean I want to sleep with her now—I don’t. Our relationship is purely platonic.
The ride to Sharks is riddled with traffic and by the time I get there, I’m five minutes late.
Great, already not off to a good start.
Getting out of the car, my leg stiffens, and it hurts. I grimace again, walking slowly. Seven minutes late.
My therapist is going to kill me. Maybe I should have left earlier, but I didn’t want to.
I was having too much fun with my bestie and her kids, the mini besties, and now I’m fucking late.
The receptionist looks bored out of her mind when I get to the desk.
“Alex Brewer, one o’clock. Sorry, I’m a bit late,” I say as I flinch and shift my weight onto the other foot, hoping a little charm will go over well.
I should have stopped for donuts, but I stupidly thought I’d have enough time to get here
“Room 32,” she says with a smile.
“Thanks.” I saunter through the main gym.
This place is nice. Aesthetically, it doesn’t look all that different from most places. Bright open light, all whites and grays with a smattering of black, but there’sa simplicity, too. It’s oddly relaxing. I get to room 32 and check my watch. Nine minutes. Fuck me sideways. I knock, and a second later the door opens and my knee twitches, wanting to buckle instantly.
My gaze meets familiar amber eyes and a bitter scowl.
“You’re late,” Jordan hisses.
“Traffic,” I say, my voice breathless.
I blink a couple times, thinking perhaps I’ve lost my last fucking marble. That the nail polish chemicals have seeped into my brain. Jordan Mackenzie glares at me, and I have to remember to fucking breathe. I feel like someone’s punched me in the chest and kicked out my knee.
He steps to the side, waving me in impatiently.
“Come in,” he mutters.
I have half a mind to turn around and walk away because just seeing him brings back too many memories that I don’t want to think about.
I could request another therapist, but I don’t want to push my luck. Britt pulled strings to get me in here as is, and I don’t want to overdo it. And I mean, I’m an adult. I can handle working with Jordan if he’s going to fix me. I could work with anyone who’s going to do that. I can ignore the past and my fast beating heart if it means I’ll be back on the ice. It takes everything in me to stand up straight and walk into his room when I feel like I want to collapse. My knee fuckinghurts.
But that’s what I’m here for. To work through the pain and get back to where I need to be.
Home. On the ice.
I should have known he was a physical therapist. I’m more than embarrassed to say that I didn’t, but how was I supposed to know anything when every time I saw the man, he acted like I didn’t exist? It’s not like I talk to Austen a lot, and when I do, the topic isn’t what his hot friend that I’ve slept with is up to.
But of course, because the universe loves to fuck me like the little slut I am, I wind up in Jordan’s office—of all the therapists in fucking Virginia.
“So you’re a therapist. Nice,” I bite.
“Let’s get one thing straight here, Alex,” he says as he shuts the door.
