Page 14 of Playing for Possession
With a deep breath, I hoisted the heavy weight upward off the rack and onto my chest. Adrenaline buzzed through my veins. I lifted and lowered once, twice, three times, until I found a rhythm. The familiar scent of metal and sweat filled my nose, and with it came a bright, focused calm. I completed two sets of reps and returned the barbell to the rack. Chest heaving, I sat up and dusted my hands.
The physio’s words played in my head.A little more.The most wretched three words ever spoken in this gym. Every week they gave me a new program to follow. Every week they demandeda little more.If I wanted to get back on that pitch this season, Ihad to stick to it, no matter that I hated it. It wasn’t like I had a choice. Football was my life. I’d been lost these past nine months without it.
I loaded an extra five kilograms and lay back down. The metal sang when I heaved the barbell upward and lowered it to my chest. Arms shaking, I struggled to push it back up. Too heavy. My spine arched off the bench. A sharp twinge in my knee made me cry out. The shock hurtled me back to the pitch.
Rain plastered my hair to my neck. I launched into the air for a scissor kick as if gravity was some made-up concept that didn’t concern me. The arrogance! I heard my knee pop before I even felt the pain.
I took deep breaths, fighting to ground myself. I had to get this weight up before it crushed me. A shot of fear made my body jerk. My arms screamed in protest as I put every scrap of might into pushing the bar up. Tears pressed behind my eyes. I can’t.Sweat trickled down my forehead over my ears. I sucked in enough air to cry out.
“Derek!”
He’d have to be quick.Please. Someone.My eyes filled with panicked tears. How could he hear me over that radio? My whole body shook with the effort.
“Derek!”
A swiftly approaching figure appeared in the mirror, then a pair of hands cradled the bar, taking the strain. Relief washed over me like warm water. My eyes froze on the tall, athletic form of a man, and my brain could only form one thought:definitely not Derek.Kieran Earnshaw.
With Kieran lightening the load, I pushed up with everything I had and replaced the bar overhead on the rack. I lay still, sweating and panting, not daring the slightest flex of my leg in case it set something off. The radio punctuated my harsh gasps.
It was hard to calm down when I was all too aware of the way Kieran’s muscles rippled and his broad shoulders strained against his blue Calverdale T-shirt. I hadn’t been this close to him since the PR meeting. No doubt his fearsome silence was because in his head he was running through all the ways that I was an idiot for lifting without a spotter.
I finally caught my breath to speak. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
That voice.Despite myself, Kieran’s flinty, down-to-earth, northern accent made me tingle in places I had no business tingling in on a Thursday night at the gym. I expected him to walk away, but he positioned himself at the head of the bench and held his hands, poised to help.
He raised a dark brow. “More?”
Not a chance. The knee twinge had been small but enough to freak me out. I couldn’t go back to square one. Besides, Kieran Earnshaw probably earned more in an hour than I did in a year. Surely he had better things to do.
“Thanks, but you don’t have to spot for me. I’m done.”
Kieran’s expression was level. Not a hint of a smile. His gaze traveled down my faded Nirvana T-shirt and cycling shorts to the hinged support brace I wore on my knee. If he was expecting to share his workout space with some hot gym bunnies, then he’d be sorely disappointed. Orthopedic aids didn’t exactly scream sexy. There was nothing glamorous about my life.
He probably saw me the way everyone here saw me. The way Gerard had seen me. Mortimer Fox’s entitled, over-privileged daughter. The horrible memory of my last encounter with Gerard, when I’d heard him talking about me outside his office, flashed through my mind.
“How’s it going with Morty Fox’s daughter?”
The words held me frozen outside the door.
Gerard laughed, and it was a cold, flippant sound—nothing like I’d ever heard from him before. “She’s really into me.”
“She likes you? She needs a new prescription for her glasses. She must be as bonkers as her dad,” the other voice said.
Gerard laughed in that weird dismissive way again. “Way too clingy. She can’t keep her hands off me. She’s nothing like you’d expect. She’s very... quiet. But I like it when these vanilla types get wild.”
A grim humiliation made my throat close up. He’d said he was willing to wait until I was ready, but instead he’d been spreading lies about me like a high schooler. He was also terrible at Scrabble. Dating Gerard was the romantic equivalent of the disastrous scissor kick that had ruined my knee. A crazy, impulsive moment. Both things had taught me the same lesson. Sometimes when you seize the day, you end up shredding parts of yourself—your knee ligaments, your self-respect, your faith in the male species.
“You shouldn’t be here alone at night. Derek can’t help you if you get in trouble lifting,” Kieran said.
I dared to stretch my leg out in front of me and flex my knee the slightest amount. No pain. No twinge.Thank goodness. “I like the gym when it’s quiet.”
His curious gaze fell back to the knee brace.
“ACL tear. It’s fine. I just need to stay positive.” I tried to inject some enthusiasm into my voice.
He raised a dark brow. “Why?”
