Page 61

"You can leave the boxes wherever you need them."

She nods, glancing at the hallway before looking back at me. She’s looking at me like she wants to ask something but is thinking better of it.

"Does your offer still stand?" she asks. "The… uh, soaking tub in your bathroom? I thought I might use it while you’re gone, if you didn’t care. I wouldn't be in your way."

"You’re welcome to use it anytime. Clean towels are in the tall cabinet beside the shower."

"Okay." She reaches for her notebook, then pauses. "Thank you."

I nod and get my bag before I start suggesting times she could use it while I’m home, preferably while I’m also in it. Though she specifically didn't ask for company, and I’m trying to behave like a man who’s just recently got her to put up with his presence and can answer a question without taking his clothes off in the middle of the kitchen.

At the rink, practice gives me plenty of other things to think about. Breakouts, coverage, a drill we repeat until nobody can claim they misunderstood it. I do the work, get off the ice, and report to Kendall before she has to come find me.

She’s sitting on a rolling stool with my notes open when I come in, her navy Hawkeyes jogger suit that all of the healthcare staff wear around the arena, her blonde hair in a messy bun, a breast pump tucked in the back corner. Little baby Makelin is adorable, and seeing Aleksei as a dad has me wondering what that would look like for me.

Maybe this will be my last season on professional ice. Then what will I do?

Coach? Sports reporting?

I don't have to work. I have enough to retire if I wanted to, but I need to work. Maybe I get that from my father, but idle hands only get me in trouble.

Settling down and starting a family. That’s starting to not feel as far away as it used to.

I take a seat, and she rolls over on the stool. Her hands instantly go to my shoulder for a moment. I wince when her finger presses into a tender ligament.

"That hurt?" she asks.

"Nope," I say back.

She chuckles. "Okay, tough guy. Let’s look at the scans they took last week."

"Any change since the last check?" I ask.

"Depends. Did it hurt more or less last game?"

I don’t respond because we both know.

"Mmhmm, that’s what I thought. You got caught against those boards. Your shoulder doesn’t like that."

"Tell the asshole who put me there."

She just smiles. Her husband spent his own time against the boards with the same asshole from last game as well.

"Shirt off. Let’s look."

I do, and she takes me through the movements, asking where it hurts and stopping me when I start compensating for the range I don’t want to test. This isn’t the first appointment. She knows what I can do when I’m trying to make something look better than it feels.

"You’re tighter," she says when she’s finished. "And you’re working harder to get the same movement."

"I got hit."

"You play defense. That’s going to happen again." She looks at me. "I need honest answers, Wolf. If something changes, you tell me. That includes during the trip."

"I’m telling you now."

"You are. Keep doing it. I also want you to work with Theo every day on stretches and strengthening. You should be taped up twenty-four seven to keep everything where it should be, and it will help with blood flow to your shoulder. I’m also referring you to an advanced trauma physical therapist. Your surgeon in Boston agrees with me. We need to keep everything in as good a shape as we can before you end up on his surgery table this summer. The less damage to your ligaments, the better chance you have for recovery."

We talk through the plan. There’s no fix before tomorrow’s flight. She wants it checked during the trip, and if I lose more movement or take another hit that changes it, I need another examination. I agree, and she writes down the checks before I can make the agreement sound less definite.