“—swear to God, she was like five-foot-nothing?—”
“You’re telling this story wrong,” Brody interrupts.
“She’s five-two,” I say, because there’s no point in denying that everyone knows I know exactly how tall she is.
Everyone turns to look at me.
“Cap would know,” Rodriguez says with a grin that means trouble. “He spends quality time with her almost every morning.”
“Medical treatment,” I correct.
“Right.” Dex turns back to his audience. “So there’s Cap, shoulder completely fucked, pointing the wrong direction, and this woman in interview clothes just kicks off her heels and steps onto the ice barefoot?—”
“In stockings,” Brody corrects. “She was wearing stockings. On the ice.”
“Whatever man,” Dex continues. “She walks up and goes ‘Anterior dislocation, needs immediate reduction.’ Winters starts stuttering about protocol, and she just ignores him?—”
“Gets right in Cap’s face,” Brody adds, “and says?—”
“’You’re an over-built, under-brained hockey stereotype,’” half the room choruses.
I should be annoyed, but the memory of Marnie’s fierce certainty that day makes me bite back a smile.
“Then she just pops it back in, smooth as butter.” Dex demonstrates poorly on Rodriguez. “One motion. Cap only shed one tear.”
“I didn’t cry.”
“You definitely grunted though,” Jake says from the doorway. “Doc wants you in treatment room two when you’re done here.”
I findher setting up resistance bands, wearing leggings and an athletic tank top. Her hair is in a messy bun with what looks like a pen stuck through it.
“Shirt off,” she says without looking up.
“No foreplay?”
That makes her pause. “You’d have to buy me dinner first.”
“What counts as dinner in your world?”
“More than a protein bar stolen from the team stash.”
“Those are strategically acquired, not stolen.”
“Sure they are.” But she’s fighting a smile. “Shirt. Off. Now.”
I pull off my shirt, and she turns with the resistance band, then stops. Studies me with that look that’s half clinical assessment, half something else.
“You’ve been doing extra core work.”
It’s not a question.
“How can you tell?”
“You’re more defined than two weeks ago. Here.” She gestures vaguely at my torso. “Everything’s sharper. You’re compensating for the shoulder by strengthening everything around it.”
“Is that bad?”
“It’s smart, actually. Annoying that you didn’t tell me, but smart.” She hands me the band. “I want to show you something. Mirror my movement exactly.”
