Page 19 of The New Guy
If only. “Thank you. See you over there.”
* * *
Five hours later—after a lot of stretching and Advil—I take the ice for Brooklyn for the first time in ten days.
And it goes fine. Not amazing, but fine.
Then, while everyone else goes out to the Tavern to celebrate with beer and nachos, I go home and ice my hip and snack on carrot sticks, hummus and spring water.
My father calls, and I listen to him prattle on for a while about the angle of my shots from the top of the circle.
When I finally get away from him, I go to bed, wondering if Gavin watched the game tonight. Wondering if he’s in bed on the other side of the wall.
And wondering why I care.
* * *
The next morning I go to the rink early. Morning skate doesn’t start until ten, but I make sure to get there at eight thirty.
I park myself on the stretching mats. And ten minutes later, I hear Gavin’s voice in the corridor, greeting the equipment manager, who’s pulling a load of clean laundry down the hallway.
This is my chance to catch him alone, while the place is quiet.
I man up and head down to the training room. When I put my head inside the door, there’s nobody else around. It’s just Gavin, humming to himself while he wipes down a treatment table. He doesn’t notice me at first, so I spend a second admiring his strong back muscles, flexing as he works.
Henry is right—there’s something dynamic about his energy. He’s the kind of guy who radiates competence and good intentions. No wonder everyone loves him.
But then he turns suddenly, catching me in the doorway like a creeper. He stops humming, and his expression shutters. “Morning,” he says crisply. “Come on in.”
I enter, and then close the door behind me. Nobody does that—the training room is always open. But we have things to discuss.
“Please have a seat,” Gavin says in a crisp tone that suggests we’ve never met before. “Glad you’re back on the ice. Let’s see how that hip held up after last night’s game.” He’s all business as he disinfects his hands.
I sit down on the edge of the table, but I don’t lie back. “Hey. I’m sorry. We need to talk.”
“About your hip,” he says firmly. “I’m only here to do my job, Hudson. I’m not here to ruin your life. I know your time is valued at approximately a hundred times more than mine, but I have work to do. So if you’re ready to stop treating me like a contagious disease, please lie back and bend your right knee.”
“Can we just talk for a second? Please?” I beg.
He crosses his arms on his well-defined pecs and glares at me. “Fine. Talk. You have sixty seconds.”
Yup, he’s angry. This is why I was avoiding this conversation. “Look, I just wanted to say it’s not you, it’s me.”
He actually rolls his eyes. “I know that, buddy. You didn’t seem to have any issues with me when I was still an anonymous stranger. If that’s your thing, great. We can pretend we never met. Just don’t make me look like an asshole to my new boss.”
Well damn. Fiery Gavin is just as hot and distracting as laid-back Gavin.
Not helpful.
“Look, I apologize, okay? I just don’t know what to do with you.”
“Oh please. Were you not listening? Lie down on the damn table. With my help, your only job here is to rehab that hip. So that is what we’re going to do.”
I hesitate for another second. Maybe it’s questionable logic to put your body under the hands of a riled up, muscular man who’s angry at you.
But he gives me another glare. So I do it. I roll onto my back and prop my right foot onto the table. Then I brace myself for the awkwardness of being close enough to Gavin that I can smell the clean scent of his deodorant.
When his hands land on my bare knee, they’re warm and kind. “Please tell me if I hurt you.”
