Page 36 of Off Limits PUCK

I start putting away my go-bag of PT creams and bands and such. The team doesn’t have a basketball stadium of their own, so I bring my own tools of the trade with me before game day, on game day, and for their practice days.

I zip the top of the bag and glance at a few of the players. It is the last day of work for me for five days. Maybe I should relax.I’m heading to Kenzie’s place tonight anyway, so I might as well not even go home. In all the times I’ve been asked to join the women’s team, this would be the first time I say yes.

I shrug. “Sure. Why not?”

“It’s low key,” Caitlin says. “And no boyfriends allowed!”

“Or girlfriends,” another player shouts out. “It’s team night.”

I laugh and joke with the team as everyone gets cleaned up. Instead of mini dresses or high heels, everyone puts on joggers or something equally comfortable. I always find it funny when I would see the team go out for a night of drinking that where the Eagles’ guys would be dressed to the nines, the women’s basketball team were very casual. One might expect it to be the other way around.

I find an empty shower stall and take a quick shower, throwing on jeans and a cute top. It’s hard work being a PT with athletes—I always break a sweat and have to put my full effort into it. The more muscled a person is, the more effort it takes for me to dig into the stiff tissue.

I text Kenzie, confirming that I’ll see her tonight. Then we get into our cars and head out. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel as the radio plays in my car. I’m thinking ahead to spending a couple of days with my bestie before flying down to Florida to spend Christmas with my parents.

I only freeze up when I hear an announcement on the radio about the Eagles’ finishing out the year with a win over a conference semi final rival—the Pittsburgh Seals. I made a huge point to never look online at how the Eagles have been doing this season. I also don’t look at Jake’s performance or injury status. When Coach talked to me about it, that was it. I left the job and can’t look back.

I was so lucky. If Coach wanted to, he could have made my life a living hell. He could have reported me and then had me fired and then literally had me blacklisted from working for any other sports team.

I love my work with the Eagles and now the basketball team so much more than the work I did as a temp PT working with older people. I can’t go back to a regular PT job.

I reach out to flick the radio off when I hear a very familiar and deep voice talking about physical therapists! I listen, enraptured by that voice despite my best efforts to not care. Then my longing for the owner of the voice dies a quick, sudden death.

“Wait a minute—he’s talking about me!”

After last night’s game, apparently Jake was asked by a reporter about my work on his shoulder since I just helped Caitlin’s shoulder to heal. I didn’t expect a glowing review, but the flippant and dismissive response Jake gave cuts me deep.

“I’m that replaceable, huh?” I scoff out loud to my empty car. “I cannot believe that guy.”

Deep down, I’m hurt that he never once reached out to me. After I heard he was welcoming sexy sounding Italian women to his home that day, I hid in his room in the hospital. I vowed to not lower myself to the level of contacting him and asking for an explanation or demanding respect from him. So, I just disappeared. And he never reached out, so he clearly thinks he can have his cake and eat it too when it comes to me and other women!

I turn off the radio. That’s all in the past, now. I made the choice to focus on my career. That has to be enough for me, for my happiness.

The bar is a total dive place with bright, garish lights and loud music. It’s certainly not the higher end type the Eagles’ guys liked to go waste a night in and deal with the hangover from the next morning.

Since I drove, I just order a club soda and settle into a high bar stool. Caitlin and crew sit and stand all along the bar and for a moment, I forget about Jake. The girls are genuinely funny and have stories for days about their road trips, weird media questions they’ve been asked, and more. An hour in, I announce that it’s time for me to get going, but I’m grabbed by the arms and escorted to the back of the place where terrible karaoke is taking place.

“I literally do not sing! Oh my gosh,” I say with a laugh. I’m not a bad singer, but I prefer to keep my singing in the shower only, not in public.

I stand near the back while everyone forces their way through some cheap karaoke songs on stage. Then, a song about love lost is queued up. My mind goes to Jake and I belt out the lyrics along with the rest of the team. I barely notice when I am in the front row, essentially doing a solo, singing my heart out about losing a man, losing my love, and never getting over it.

It’s therapeutic in a way, so therapeutic that I don’t think twice about the number of phones that are out filming me. I lose myself in the music and feel buzzed with emotion, even though I didn’t drink.

Finally, the team is booted off stage when other people want their chance to sing. I grin at Caitlin as I give everyone a hug and make my leave.

“I should do this more often. Thanks for inviting me out—again! I know I always say no to stuff like this.”

She tips her drink up at me. “Always welcome to join us, Allie.”

I wish them all a great end of the year break and drive to Kenzie’s place. I feel lighter, as if I can finally put the troubles of the past—the troubles of Jake—behind me. I smile and sing along to music as I drive. When I pull up, the lights are on and so she must be home, though I hadn’t heard back from her yet.

I park my car, pull out my overnight bag and do a little dance up to the door. I feel so free. I’d been beaten down the past few months with the big feelings I thought I had for Jake, then the pressure to fix his shoulder, then the added pressure of Coachknowing what Jake and I had been doing, and the list goes on and on. Tonight, I left all of that on the little karaoke stage.

I use the spare key that I have to let myself in. The house smells like cookies, chocolate chip, if I’m not mistaken… very burnt chocolate chip cookies!

“Oh my God—Kenz! It smells like your cookies are on fire! Girl, where are you?” I shout out just before the fire alarms go off. Maybe she started the cookies and then walked away to take a shower or something. I clutch my bag to my shoulder and run into her kitchen.

A very tall, very muscled person is leaning over the open oven, grasping at the cookie pan and pulling it out.

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