You were so happy.
I was. Soccer was everything to me—the team, the competition, the feeling of my body doing exactly what I asked it to do. Then one bad tackle, one torn ligament, and it was over. Four surgeries. Eighteen months of rehab. I pursued a career in sports therapy because if I couldn’t play, at least I could help those who still could.
I’m good at my job. I know I’m good at my job. But Mom’s right—I haven’t been happy in a long time.
Not until recently.
Not until a grumpy French-Canadian hockey player burst into my life. I shove the thought away and turn up the volume on my renovation show.
• • •
By Thursday, I want to scream.
He shows up exactly on time, does exactly what I tell him, and leaves exactly when we’re done. No lingering, no banter, no heat simmering beneath the surface. He treats me like I’m furniture—necessary but unremarkable. A tool to fix his shoulder and nothing more.
It’s exactly what I asked for.
I hate it.
The only crack in his armor comes a few hours after our session, when he appears in the doorway of my office and sets a takeout bag on the edge of my desk.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Tacos. From Tito’s.” He still won’t meet my eyes. “You mentioned once that you skip lunch when you’re stressed.”
Then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him. I’m left with a bag of tacos from the place he mentioned liking weeks ago, trying not to cry in the middle of my office.
He’s giving me space. He’s respecting my boundaries. And he’s still showing up for me in the only way I’m letting him.
I eat the tacos alone at my desk, hating myself a little more with every bite. And he wasn’t wrong, it’s delicious.
After I finish the tacos, I do something stupid.
I pull up the employee handbook on my laptop—the same PDF I downloaded during orientation, the same one I’ve specifically avoided looking at again. Like maybe if I don’t acknowledge the rules, they don’t exist. Idiotic, I know.
I scroll to Section 7.3: Employee Conduct and Professional Relationships.
Romantic or sexual relationships between players and staff members are prohibited due to potential conflicts of interest, favoritism concerns, and the maintenance of professional standards. Violations may result in reassignment, termination, or other disciplinary action at the organization’s discretion.
I read it three times, letting the words sink in like stones.
Conflicts of interest.Like wanting his recovery to succeed, not because it’s my job, but because watching him hurt makes me physically ache.
Favoritism concerns.Like the way I rearranged my entire schedule last week just to ensure that I was the one treating him instead of James.
Maintenance of professional standards.Like professionalism means anything when I can still feel the ghost of his mouth on mine every time I close my eyes.
I shut the laptop harder than necessary and push it away from me like the policy itself is contagious.
I worked too hard to get here. One man is not worth blowing up my entire career. I don’t care how unfairly attractive he is or how great that kiss was.
On Friday afternoon, I’m in my office pretending to review patient files when Dana appears in my doorway.
“You okay?”
I look up, schooling my expression into something neutral. “Fine. Why?”
“You seem... off this week. Distracted.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Everything good with Bishop?”
