My jaw tightens. "Rehab session at seven."
"Right. Rehab." He holds the door open for me. "That why you showed up early? For rehab?"
I don't answer. Just head for the locker room, ignoring his laughter following me down the hall.
One more hour until I see her. Sixty minutes to get my shit together and act like a professional instead of someone who spent the entire weekend replaying a kiss and jerking off to might-have-beens.
This is goingto go great.
The PT roomsmells like Jake’s cologne instead of vanilla lotion.
He’s organizing equipment with his back to me, but I can immediately tell somethings wrong.
“She’s not coming. Her mom’s in the hospital.”
My stomach drops. “When?”
“Saturday afternoon. She took a bad turn. Marnie texted me at 4 AM to cover.”
Saturday. While I was lying in bed replaying our kiss, she was watching her mom dying.
I pull out my phone. Our last exchange stares back at me. Her “Night Captain” that I’ve analyzed like it’s fucking Shakespeare.
You okay?
Nothing.
I set up for exercises with fifteen-pound weights instead of tens. The burn in my shoulder matches the knot in my gut. Every rep, I’m thinking about her at the hospital alone. Every extension, I’m seeing her fumble with her keys, waiting for me to change my mind.
Jake said about your mom. If you need anything.
Still nothing.
By practice, I’ve checked my phone thirty-two times.
Dex calls me on it when I pass the puck directly to the referee instead of him.
“Take a lap,” Barrett says, and I can hear the confusion in his voice.
I don’t take laps. I don’t lose focus.
Except now I do.
Rodriguez is laughing at his phone in the locker room after practice.
“Doc’s destroying my insurance forms. Says my handwriting looks like I wrote with my feet.” He shows me the screen.
She’s sent him paragraphs. Actual paragraphs about documentation while I can’t get a single word.
“Reception must be good at the hospital,” I say, and Rodriguez gives me a weird look.
I head to the weight room and start loading up the barbell. My usual weight plus forty pounds because fuck it, the shoulder already hurts and at least this pain makes sense.
“You’re going to tear something,” Brody says, appearing like he was waiting for my stupid decision.
“It’s fine.”
“So you kissed her on Friday.”
