I’ve replayed her words in my head more times than I cancount this past month. I should’ve shrugged it off. I wanted to. But they stuck. And now every time I take a step and feel that familiar bite of pain, I think about that sweet voice, those kind eyes, and the goddamn honesty that came with them.
I don’t need help.
Of course I’ve tried physio. Several times. Different places, different faces, all feeding me the same preconceived solutions like they know my body better than I do.
They stretched me out, handed me a resistance band, and made a bunch of lofty promises.
People don’t understand injury unless they’ve lived it. They talk about pain like it’s a temporary inconvenience. Not something I’ve lived with daily for the past ten years.
Every physio I ever met thought they were the exception. That they were going to be the one to fix me. They didn’t.
I don’t need anyone to fix me. I don’t need their pity or their concern. And I definitely don’t need a pretty face with a bleeding heart thinking my limp is a puzzle she can solve. I’ve got a schedule to keep, a team to lead, and a fuse that’s too damn short for the likes of most.
As I push to stand, I mask my grimace out of habit, even though no one is here to witness it. I slowly make my way out of my office and toward the ice where my guys are warming up for morning practice.
I make a mental note to swing by the pharmacy on my way home and grab some over-the-counter analgesic cream. It’s not as effective as the stuff Cal mixes for me, but it’ll save me from having to deal with the new physio.
I’ve got nothing against Elliot. Not personally, anyway. From what I hear, she knows what she’s doing. The players seem to like her, and so does the staff. Hell, even Cal speaks highly of her, and aside from her wife Nadine, she doesn’t like anyone.
But Elliot is a distraction.
A wide-eyed, quick-witted, distraction who is far too easy to look at, and there is no room in my life for that kind of complication. I’ve got a Stanley Cup to win.
CHAPTER THREE
ELLIOT
How can sucha good day turn disastrous in the blink of an eye?
Everything was coming up Elliot.
I woke up on time, actually rested for once, and ready to take on the day. The dinosaur cookies for a little boy’s third birthday were iced and packed before the sun even came up. I snuck an extra one into Sam’s lunch, knowing it would make my cantankerous twelve-year-old smile.
Every physio session ran like clockwork—no no-shows, no last-minute surprises. Just focused players ready to put in the work.
And the best part? Will Oliver’s been officially cleared to return to practice. He burst into my session with his teammate, Noah Watts, grinning like a madman, picked me up and spun me around like his arm hadn’t been in a sling just a few weeks ago.
Now, only a few short hours later, I’m freezing my ass off in the parking lot, pleading for all I’m worth.
“I’ve never begged for anything in my entire life. But I’m begging you now. Please.”
I grip the steering wheel with both hands, like that’s going to help somehow. Like maybe it’ll transfer some of my sheer willpower into the dying lump of metal under the hood.
I turn the key in the ignition again. Nothing but a pathetic click and the sound of my own desperation echoing in the tiny space.
“You’ve always come through before. Remember that time you got me home during that snowstorm when Sam’s school closed early? Or when I was running late for my aquafitness class and you got me there on time? You always do. So don’t quit on me now.”
I slump forward, resting my forehead against the top of the wheel feeling more hopeless by the second.
“I’ll take you to the good car wash with the colourful soap. I’ll put premium in your tank. I’ll even stop calling you a piece of shit behind your back. Just this once, please…”
I turn the key one more time.
A cough. A sputter. A death rattle. Then silence.
“Nooooooo.” I feel the hot tears run down my cheeks and frantically wipe my eyes in an attempt to cut them off at the source.
The watch on my wrist buzzes. I don’t need to check it to know what it’s about—my reminder to pick up Sam from chess club in twenty minutes. The community centre is fifteen minutes away on a good day, and I’m currently sitting in a car that won’t start. Unless I come up with a miracle in the next ninety seconds, I’m going to be late. Again.
