Page 7 of Cheap Shot
“This will not keep you out for the season, Cole. We both know you’ll be back in the gym the moment you get the go-ahead. I went through rehab for my knee in six months and was ready to get back on the ice at the start of the season.”
“But I’m not you, Cooper. Never have been and never will be. Much to everyone’s dismay.”
“Why do you have to turn everything into an argument?”
“I’m not arguing with you. It’s a statement of fact. You’re the reason I’m even in this situation to begin with.”
“Let me get this straight. Is it my fault Leon is an asshole and sucker punched you because he can’t make a shot to save his life? Is it my fault that the two teams piled so hard on top of you that your arm got pinned under your body? Is it my fault that when you tried to get yourself free, you tore your rotator cuff and most of the surrounding ligaments?”
Cooper counts each infraction off on his fingers as he gives me a rundown of everything that happened after I was knocked unconscious. Apparently, they carted me out of the arena on a stretcher and rushed me to the nearest hospital, where I’ve remained. I’ve been out for almost three days, according to Cooper, which I vaguely remember him telling me earlier, but it’s just now hitting home. Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy, or CTE, is more than just a mild concern now. Unfortunately, there’s no way to examine my brain for CTE until after my death, but any brain injury with prolonged unconsciousness is a tremendous concern.
“Is it my fault the cops led Leon out of the arena in handcuffs?” Cooper chuckles darkly, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, that one was definitely my fault, but there was no way I was going to let him get away with what he did to you.”
“If you are looking for me to thank you for defending my honor or something, you’re not going to get it.” I sigh, my eyes drifting shut as bone-deep exhaustion takes over me. My eyes blink closed for a few moments before I force them open. “I can kiss any chance that the Wolverines would keep me on until I’m healed goodbye. Leon is one of the team's leading scorers. If he goes to jail, we can kiss any chance of having a successful season out the window.”
“You’re not going back to the Wolverines, Cole.”
“You say that as if you have any say in what I do. You’re my older brother—a fact that I would love to forget—not my father. You have zero say in what I do with my life.”
“Whether you like it or not, I’m still your big brother. I care about you. When are you going to get that fact through your thick skull?”
Is there a part of me that believes Cooper wants what is best for me? Yes, a tiny one. But the voice in the back of my head will never let me forget what he did, what he took away from all of us because of his selfishness.
“If you cared about anyone else's feelings and well-being besides your own, you never would’ve killed our father.”
Cooper physically recoils at my words, but I don’t budge. Cooper took my father away from me. Away from all of us. No kind words or fake concern can change the fact that our father is dead, and it is all Cooper’s fault.
ChapterThree
Cole
Eight weeks later
“All right, Mr. Grumpy pants. Are you ready for your next exercise?” the physical therapist chirps, a fake smile plastered on her face.
I’m surprised she hasn’t smacked the shit out of me yet, to be honest. I’m being more of an asshole than usual, and I know it. But I have a good reason—at least to me it's a good reason. Not only does this shit hurt like a motherfucker, but my dick has been hard since the moment I laid eyes on her. The usual bottle blonde therapist they stuck me with isn’t here today, and this beauty is filling in for her.
“No.” She raises her eyebrow in my direction, causing me to chuckle softly. “Hey, you’re the one who asked.”
“Fair enough.” She giggles, rolling her eyes at me before turning away.
My eyes focus on her generous hips as she moves around the table, bending at the hip to reach down and grab something. My mouth salivates as her black leggings stretch over her ample hips and thick thighs, accentuating her beautiful curves. Her shirt rises, a tiny sliver of warm sepia tone skin on her back coming into view. What I wouldn’t?—
“Are you listening to me?” The sound of her voice brings me back to the present.
“Yeah. Yeah. New exercise time,” I grumble before sliding off the bench and adjusting my junk as discreetly as possible.
I don’t know what it is about this minx, but I’ve reverted to my thirteen-year-old self. A boy who literally pops a boner at the thought of being near a pretty girl. Everything about this woman is calling to me, pulling me toward her in a way I’ve never thought about another human being. Nope, this isn’t happening. I just need to figure out a way to get this goddess out of my system, and then I can focus on what’s most important. Getting my shoulder back into shape and getting my ass back on the ice where I belong.
“Don’t think I could persuade you to hold off until the next session for the new exercises?” I smirk in her direction, throwing in a wink just for good measure, but she doesn’t budge.
“Nope.” She pops the P, a bright smile on her face as she hands me the stick we usually use for my workouts. “Now that you’re over six weeks post-op, Stacey thinks you’re ready to progress to the next stage of therapy.”
“Stacey?” I search my mind for anyone I know by that name, but come up empty. “Should I know who that is?”
“She’s your usual therapist.” She eyes me skeptically before crossing her arms under her ample breasts and pushing them higher. “Didn’t you even bother to learn her name?”
“No,” I respond, my eyes remaining focused on her face.
