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My blazer was gray. It shouted professional in a voice that didn’t waver. I’d paired it with black pants and a white blouse, and pulled my long hair back in a low bun.

Boston traffic was its usual disaster. The GPS kept rerouting me through side streets that all looked the same, with brick buildings and narrow lanes, and pedestrians who crossed whenever they felt like it. I didn’t mind. It gave me time to think.

Or to not think.

To remind myself why I was doing this.

The fellowship at the sports clinic had been good. Better than good, actually. For ten months, I’d worked with athletes from three different hockey leagues, learning techniques I wouldn’t have touched in a standard practice. My recommendation used words like “exceptional” and “natural instinct.”

And now I was here, ready to start my first day at the Purple Punishers’ arena, my dream since I’d decided sports medicine was my path.

The fact that he was on the roster didn’t matter. I’d decided it didn’t. Because I wasn’t returning to the team’s orbit for Brashe Kedish. Even if I’d checked the roster four times last night. Even if I knew his number (8), his position (starting goalie). I’d convinced myself that knowing these things was normal preparation and not evidence of anything else.

This was my career. I wouldn’t let one humiliating incident at a picnic dictate where I worked.

Besides, he probably didn’t even remember who I was.

I pulled my vehicle into the staff lot and parked, staring out the windshield.

The facility was newer than I’d expected. Glass and steel. The team’s logo, a snarling purple bear, hung above the entrance. I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror, pleased to see I looked composed.

I looked like someone who had her shit together.

My new boss, Patty, met me in the lobby. She was exactly what I’d expected from our phone calls. Thirty-something, with blonde hair and laugh lines around her eyes. She wore scrubs with cartoon orc hockey players on them and a lanyard that said Head Physical Therapist in block letters.

“Ellie.” She pulled me into a hug before I could offer a handshake. “It’s good to finally meet you in person. Have you settled into your condo?”

“I’m almost unpacked. My cat’s thrilled with the sunlight she gets in the windows.”

“Awesome.” She stepped back, her gaze taking in my bag slung over my shoulder. “Let’s put your things in the office, and I’ll take you on a tour.”

“Sounds great.”

We stopped by our shared office, where she pointed out my desk, and I locked my purse in the drawer. Then she took me from the bottom of the building to the top, chattering the entire way through. She pointed out the locker rooms, the weight room, a therapy pool in the basement, stopping at the ice rink itself, which I could see through big windows, pristine and empty. The boards had been painted purple, and the team logo glared from the scoreboard hung over center ice.

“And back here,” Patty pushed through a set of double doors, “is where we’ll spend most of our time.”

The training room was decent-sized. Treatment tables lined one area, each with its own set of resistance bands and foam rollers. Cabinets had been stocked with tape and wraps, plus equipment that cost more than my first car. A whirlpool had been placed in an adjacent room, and I spied a cold plunge next to it.

“This is home,” Patty said. “Or it will be once you’re here long enough. We do most of our therapy here. The guys are intense, but most of them are just overgrown puppies. You’ll see.”

I nodded. I’d seen. One of them was not a puppy. He was a full-grown wolf who didn’t hesitate to bite.

“To reorient you, our office is this way.” Patty led me down a hallway, past more locked rooms and a door labeled Assistant Coaches. “Don’t worry if you get lost. Someone will point you in the right direction. You’ll be sharing with me for now, but if the budget gets approved, you’ll have your own space next season.”

I’d already seen how small the office was. Two desks had been placed on opposite sides, and whiteboards covered in player schedules and injury notes took up the wall in between. Patty had covered part of her desk with framed pictures of her kids and husband. From what I could tell, she had three of them, all with gap-toothed smiles.

“I know it’s not much,” Patty said. “But it’s got a door, and that’s something.”

“It’s great,” I said.

We sat, and Patty walked me through the schedule. Morning skates, afternoon lifts, with treatment windows in between.

“One other thing that might interest you,” she said when she’d finished. “I’ve applied for a grant to develop a new rehabilitation protocol, and it looks like I’m going to get it.”

“Tell me about it.”

She explained, nodding slowly after. “It’s a new idea, of course. If approved, I’ll study the techniques with the Punishers. And if it goes well, we may roll it out league-wide.” Her gaze met mine. “I’d like you to co-author with me if you’re open to that.”