Fuck, what the hell had the boys been thinking, talking me into becoming friends with her. Kissing her would have been a terrible idea for about six hundred different reasons. We two people who were learning to share a space and build trust.
That moment in the kitchen where she’d been pressed against me, that caused my heart to pound, was nothing more than the result of having an attractive woman in my space. It meant nothing else.
I took a long drink of water and grabbed my phone, pulling up some plays from earlier this week that I wanted to go over. My focus wasn’t on finding a relationship with anyone. Instead, I focused on hockey, on being the best player I could be, and on hiding the fact that my shoulder was fucked.
Chapter 8
Bianca
I’d had my shower,and now I sat in my room with an open journal in front of me. I should have been reading up on therapy protocols and making some notes for my training sessions tomorrow. Instead, I sat here, pen in hand, unable to concentrate on anything but how it had felt to be held in his arms.
I kept replaying the moment where his arms had come around me, his hands resting on my hips as every professional boundary we’d both carefully constructed instantly dissolved.
This was bad.
Getting involved, or wanting to get involved with him would be career suicide.
While I knew this, I still sat here, thinking of his touch, of his smile, and how amazing he smelled. I could still feel his hand over mine as he helped me to crank the dough through the pasta roller. How he’d taken his time, showing me patience. I thought about the look on his face this morning when he’d asked meabout my goals and dreams, wanting to know the real reason I’d gone into this profession.
I stared at the blank page in front of me, my mind racing over thoughts I really should just get out. I needed to get them out of my mind. I couldn’t allow myself to have feelings for him, so I closed the journal and placed it off to the side of the bed.
I got up from where I sat, dropped the towel I still had wrapped around me from my shower, and slipped into my sleep shorts and tank top, then I climbed under the covers, determined to get some sleep and not think about things he’d said, like“our apartment”as if that had meant something.
I couldn’t believehow fast the week had gone by. The Dragons had their first set of away games this week, and I’d put in a lot of long days and late nights trying to get caught up.
It was late Friday, and I sat behind my desk; a half-eaten container of beef, rice, and broccoli that had gone cold over an hour ago sat beside me as I worked away.
I let out a sigh as I hit pause on the video I was watching, backed it up and started moving it frame by frame so I could analyze Wednesday’s game footage.
I was sure I’d seem something off with Evan when I was watching the game at home, but now, upon closer review, I knew I wasn’t wrong. I went back to the previous video footage I’d been watching and compared the two. Sure enough, Evan was favoring his right side, even more so now than he was last week. There was also something off about him when he’d raise his stick up above shoulder height.
I made some notes about his compensation patterns in a private notebook I’d kept in a locked drawer in my office that no one had access to and then replayed them over again to make sure I hadn’t missed anything.
I sat back in my chair, thinking back to how defensive he’d been when I’d brought up the idea of an injury before, trying to decide how to make my next move. I let out a sigh and hit play, watching the game again. Then I went back to the game last year against the Dominators.
When I was sure something had indeed happened during that game, I opened my email and began typing out an email to my father, but then stopped. If I emailed him, he would bench Evan until I provided an exam on the books. That would force him to see the team doctor. I then thought back to the other day and all the fun we’d had together, finally clearing the air and the pair of us getting to a place where hopefully we could trust one another.
I rubbed my eyes, feeling both tired and frustrated, not only with the situation but with myself. I knew exactly what would happen if he didn’t get the care he needed. I was the one who’d wanted to change that, especially after watching it with my own eyes.
I leaned back against my chair and let out the breath I was holding. I’d never allowed my feelings to become entangled with my professional duties.
I sat there thinking, then grabbed my bag beside my desk, shoving my laptop and notebook inside. I’d deal with this in the morning. Right now, I just wanted to go home, take a long hot bath with Epsom salts and bath oil, and then crawl into bed in my sweats with a cup of tea and forget about the world for a while.
I was sure I was the only one still in the building when I stepped out into the hallway. I turned toward the exit andstopped when I heard a faint rhythmic thumping drifting from the rink. I listened to the unmistakable sound of a puck hitting the boards.Thud, thud, thud. I frowned. Practice had ended hours ago. There was no way a player should still be out on the ice at this time of night.
The repetitive sound tugged at me, so I turned toward the rink and followed it, my footsteps soft against the rubber flooring. The moment I reached the doorway and looked down at the ice, I froze.
Evan was alone in the center of the rink, stick in hand.
His helmet was off, his hair was dripping with sweat, and his shoulders were heaving. He stood there for a second and then took off, skating drills with punishing intensity. He skated the same sequence over and over. Quick cuts, hard stops, raising his stick to take the shot. I didn’t need to get closer; I could see it from where I was standing, the way his shoulder hitched, the micro-hesitation before each shot. I could see the pain on his face after each shot, even though he’d never admit it.
He lined himself up for another shot, a one-timer that required full shoulder rotation, and missed. The puck sailed wide, and Evan slammed his stick against the boards so hard it broke, the crack echoing through the empty rink.
“FUUUUUCK!”
The raw, guttural sound of his voice echoed throughout the rink and made something tighten in my chest.
“Hey,” I called out, the word slipping out before I could stop it.
