Page 27 of Arrogant Puck

By the time I step back into the training room, it’s buzzing with post-practice traffic. Half the players are sprawled across recovery stations. Music plays low. The smell of sweat and antiseptic hangs thick in the air.

Riley waves me over. “Back quad flush on number twenty-six. Then hot pack on the knee.”

Easy.

Routine.

Safe.

I get to work.

The player sprawled on the table—Jason Belinski, a right winger I vaguely recognize from practice—grins when I greet him.

“You’re the new PT, right?” he says.

“PTA. I’m Sage.”

“Right. You’ve got a good touch,” he adds with a wink. “Way better than Kyle. That guy massages like he’s kneading dough.”

I smile politely and keep my hands moving. The muscle tension is real, but manageable. Deep enough to need focus, but not complicated.

“So,” he says, voice easy, “where you from?”

“California.”

“Damn. Thought maybe you were local. You’ve got the vibe.”

“What vibe?”

He shrugs. “Chill. But you don’t take shit.”

I huff a breath—almost a laugh. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“It is if you’ve met this team.”

I glance around the room. No sign of Slater.

And for the first time since he walked away, my shoulders drop. My chest expands.

Belinski keeps talking—something about how he’s going pro, how the rookies are annoying this year—and I let myself sink into the normalcy of it. The rhythm of conversation. The ease of a man who isn’t trying to intimidate or control.

Just a guy. Just a patient.

Just my job.

I can do this.

I’ve done it before.

This guy seems nice. I reassure myself he doesn’t have an ulterior motive, not everyone is out to get me.

Chapter 10

Coach isn’t yelling.

Which somehow makes it worse.

“You’re not a goddamn doctor,” he says, arms folded tight across his chest. “Stop refusing the team PT’s. It’s what they’re fucking there for!”

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