Page 58 of Cheap Shot
“Did you complete the training circuit I showed you yesterday?”
“That’s what you want to talk about right now?” His eyes search mine. There is something playful on the surface, but with something sharper beneath. A mixture of stronger emotions—frustration and maybe disappointment.
“What else is there for us to talk about that can make this situation any less awkward?” I say, arching a brow.
Cole steps closer. “Is that why you blew off our session this morning? You were afraid things were going to be awkward?”
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out because itisawkward as fuck, or rather, it should be. I’m his physiotherapist. He’s a player on the team. Not just any team, but the team my overprotective father coaches. I should want to stay as far away from him as possible. And yet I can’t stop thinking about how close we’d been last night, how easy it would have been to stop fighting this pull between us and give in.
“How am I supposed to act like nothing happened?” he asks as he leans closer. His voice is low, barely above a whisper. “Because I can’t. And judging by how fast your pulse is going right now, neither can you.”
“Cole.”
He hasn’t even touched me, at least not in any way that should have my pulse skyrocketing, but it doesn’t matter. His being in my general proximity is enough to unravel me.
“Is there a rule about us seeing where this goes?”
I sigh, resting my head against his chest. The sound of his heart beating as rapidly as mine sets me at ease. “That’s not the point. Rule or not, this can’t happen.”
“Can you give me one good reason this can’t happen when every part of my being is telling me to never let you go?”
I inhale deeply, committing his woodsy scent to memory before taking a step away from him—not because I want to, but because I have to. “You’re healing, and it’s my job to get you back on the ice as soon as possible. And I can’t do that if you’re always looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to be with me more than you want to win the Stanley Cup.”
“What if that is the truth?”
What in the actual fuck did this man just say? Did he just imply that he wants to be with me more than he wants to win the Stanley Cup? Nope, that’s not what I heard. I must need to get my ears cleaned because that’s not even humanly possible. Unless, at some point over the course of the night, he was snatched by aliens, and this is a Cole clone. But if this were a Cole clone, wouldn’t he be feeling the same things Cole should be feeling? Which means… shit, I need a distraction before I give myself a migraine.
“I need to finish cleaning up. The resistance bands won’t untangle themselves,” I squeak before spinning around and scurrying toward the bands in the corner.
I focus on the resistance band rack, meticulously organizing the tangled mess like it matters more than the heat crawling up my neck. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t turn around. I can’t, not with my mind spiralling as I try to make sense of what’s happening. Not to mention, my anxiety is through the roof. The need to clean and disinfect every surface in this room is overwhelming.
A strong hand grasps my wrist, halting my movements. “Okay, we’ll play it your way,” Cole mumbles before planting a kiss on the back of my head.
I spin around, opening and closing my mouth, trying to put into words what I’m feeling, but nothing comes out. Instead, I watch his retreating back. The heaviness in my chest doesn’t ease in the slightest because that tension still lingers—unsaid, unresolved, and very much unfinished.
* * *
I don’t see much of Cole for the rest of the day, mostly because I’m avoiding him, but also because he’s decided it is a good idea to sneak into practice. I didn’t catch him. Sammy ratted him out to me. I could've easily told Dad, but I played it off, recommending he make him run speed drills with no stick to be on the safe side.
I understand how badly he wants to get back on the ice and his need to prove himself to his brothers and my dad, but I can’t let it impede his recovery. I made a deal with him to get him as close to playing shape as possible by the end of rookie camp, and I plan to do it. I hate losing, and I really don’t want to have to quit my job, although I have a feeling Cole would have a fit if I did.
“I didn’t know you were still here.” My head snaps up to find Cole standing in the doorway, hair damp from a shower, a pair of black wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Jesus H. Christ, have I died and gone to heaven? I know Stacey warned me about the glasses, but I wasn’t prepared. “You wear glasses?”
He absent-mindedly reaches up and pushes them up his nose. “Not usually, but my contacts were bothering me. I have a long drive back to Redwood Falls tonight.”
“Redwood Falls?” I ask, my voice slightly hoarse from disuse.
“Yeah, it’s where I’m from. It’s a small town, a little over an hour south of the city. Don’t laugh, but I’ve been staying with my mom since coming back. Wanted to make sure the move was permanent before buying a place.”
“Makes sense for sure,” I respond, my eyes scanning over his body, looking for any signs that something serious might be wrong. “I’m sure your mom loves having you around.”
He has on a Timberwolves hoodie over his broad frame and a pair of grey sweatpants hanging loosely around his waist. Since his shoulder is covered, I can’t see anything out of the ordinary wrong, but there’s a tiredness in his face that doesn’t quite match his posture. He looks exhausted, like someone who’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. A part of me wonders if he has anything to help him carry the burden.
“Yeah. I didn’t come home as much as I should’ve when I joined the Wolverines about ten years ago.” He reaches up and runs his hand along the back of his neck, his eyes looking everywhere but at me.
