Page 8 of Power Play
Jonesy opens one eye and peers at me with curiosity.
"Already?"
"What do you mean?"
"Panic attack to back to work in..." he pretends to check a watch that's not there. "Sixty seconds?"
I shake my head. "I don't get the luxury of freaking out longer than that. I have a new team I have to impress, in a male-dominated field. I can't show weakness. I would appreciate it if we kept this to ourselves?"
He smiles then, standing and brushing off his ass, before sticking a hand out to me. "Our little secret."
We shake on it, and I follow him back inside. We part ways in one of the hallways. He doesn't say a word, but does wink at me before turning towards the locker room.
Lauren was kind enough to keep my workload pretty easy this week, since I'm sick and still adjusting.
The afternoon passes with just a history overview with Johnny, whose first name is Chris, but whose last name is Johnson, which naturally becomes Johnny. He's a young kid, a few years younger than me, and tries to flirt a little, but I shut him down politely. The company may not have a no-fraternization clause, but I don't date. And I don't need a reputation of messing around with the players. They need to respect me to trust me. And they need to trust me if they're going to listen to my advice.
After that I check Gabe's range of motion in his hip flexor. He's getting up there in age, and goalie is the hardest position on your hip joints. He's good, but we make an appointment for me to watch his warm-up and stretching routine, just to be safe.
One of the unspoken rules in physical therapy is the athlete is supposed to stretch twice as long as they work. If they play for an hour, they're supposed to stretch for an hour before and an hour after. In reality, everyone knows that never happens.
As I'm ready to clock out, I'm tired. Emotionally drained, sick, and fucking ready for bed. I grab an armful of patient folders to take home with me and study. If I feel up for it.
Just as I'm leaving I run into Ben.
Fuck!
"You're avoiding me," he says, his lips tilted up on the side in a cocky grin. Ben the Boy was never cocky. But he's not wrong.
I try to suppress the sigh, and the eye roll I want to give him.
I struggle around my bag and folders to shut and lock the door to my exam room behind me. "Here, let me take those," he offers, grabbing the folders from me.
"Thank you."
"What are you doing with all these anyway?"
"I'm thinking if I sleep with them under my pillow, maybe I'll absorb the information through osmosis? Worked for my anatomy exam in college."
Ben chuckles, and the familiarity of it sends a shot of warmth up my back. He's going to walk me to my car. I guess it's better now than never we have this conversation.
"I really didn't know you played for the Titans when I applied. I figured the statistics were in my favor."
"How could you not? You love hockey."
I swallow. The confession I'm about to give shows just how miserable I've been about our break up. "I... actually don't watch hockey anymore," I admit, before adding a little quieter: "I couldn't risk seeing you."
Thankfully, we're having this conversation walking, so I don't have to look him in the eye. I don't know what I will see there. And I don't know what I want to see there. Until I figure out what those two things are, I am avoiding him.
He tugs on my elbow gently, turning me towards him. I close my eyes and sigh. I don't want to do this right now.
"Are you seeing anyone?" he asks, and I risk looking at him. His whiskey-brown eyes are so familiar that my heart hurts. I've mapped every fleck of gold in them. We spent hours staring into each other'seyes, baring our souls and making promises we ended up not keeping. I can't go there again.
"No. I don't date."
"Not even me?"
Fuck, the earnestness in his voice squeezes a vice against my heart. I turn and keep walking. "Not even you," I whisper. I hate myself in this moment, but it's better for both of us if we don't go down that road again.
