Page 18 of Offside for Christmas
But Ellie was on a roll now, months of frustration with difficult patients and years of being the accommodating one and three days of Cole Hansen's attitude pouring out in a flood she couldn't stop.
"Your boxes are packed. Your apartment looks like a hotel room. You clearly have no intention of actually being here, so why should I waste my time trying to help someone who's already mentally checked out?"
"You don't know anything about me," Cole said, his voice going quiet.
"I know you're a twenty-eight-year-old former first-round draft pick who pissed away his NHL career because he couldn't control his temper." Ellie knew she should stop, knew she was crossing lines that should never be crossed between therapistand patient, but she couldn't seem to make herself care. "I know you got traded here as a last resort. I know you think you're better than this town, this team, and definitely better than me."
"I never said—"
"You don't have to say it." Ellie gestured around the bare apartment. "It's written all over your face every time you look around like you're trapped in purgatory. It's in every sarcastic comment about small towns and Christmas and people who actually care about something other than themselves."
Cole stepped closer, and Ellie's heart rate kicked up for reasons that had nothing to do with anger.
"Are you done?"
"No." She lifted her chin, refusing to back down even though he had at least eight inches on her. "Because the worst part? You actually have talent. Your shoulder is salvageable. You could come back from this—really come back, not just limp through the motions until you hurt yourself permanently. But you won't. Because you're too busy feeling sorry for yourself to do the actual work."
"You want to know why I haven't unpacked?" Cole's voice was low, controlled, but Ellie could hear the anger underneath. The hurt. "Because Iusedto unpack. I used to hang pictures. Buy furniture that wasn't from IKEA. I made it home. And then I got traded. Every. Single. Time. So I learned to stop trying. So forgive me if I don't hang fucking pictures on the wall in a place I'll be gone from in six weeks."
The words landed like a punch to the sternum.
Ellie's anger deflated, replaced by something uncomfortably close to understanding. To empathy. To the realization that she'd just unloaded all her own issues onto someone who was clearly carrying enough of his own.
"Cole," she said, softer now. "I didn't—"
"And you're right." He wasn't done, wasn't letting her off the hook. "I don't want to be here. I don't want to be in a town where everyone knows everyone's business and the biggest excitement is what flavor syrup the diner is featuring. I don't want to play for a minor league team that barely fills half the stands. But I'm here. Because I have no other choice. So don't lecture me about effort when you have no idea what it's like to lose everything in one night."
"The bar fight," Ellie said carefully, watching his face.
Cole's jaw tightened. "I'm not talking about that."
"Maybe you should."
"Maybe you should mind your own business."
They stood there in his barely-furnished apartment, the morning light streaming through the window highlighting the dust motes between them, and Ellie felt the full weight of how badly she'd handled this.
She took a breath. Started over.
"The guys on this team," she said quietly, "Mac, Jamie, Luke—they're not your enemy. They actually want you to succeed. They were asking about you yesterday, wondering if you were okay, if you needed anything." She paused. "And me? I'm not trying to make your life harder. I'm trying to save your career. But I can't do that if you don't show up."
Cole was quiet for a while, his expression unreadable.
"Fine," he said finally. "I'll show up."
"Tomorrow. Six AM."
His head snapped up. "I thought it was eight—"
"You missed today." Ellie allowed herself the tiniest smile. "Now you owe me two hours tomorrow. And Cole? Set an alarm."
She turned to leave, then paused at the door and looked back. "Put a shirt on. It's December."
Cole looked down at himself, clearly registering that he was, in fact, not wearing a shirt.
Ellie walked out and closed the door before he could respond.
But through the door, she heard him say, almost too quiet to catch: "Pain in my ass."
