Page 6 of Offside for Christmas
"I'm not judgmental. I'm realistic." The lights were wrapped evenly now—Ellie had a gift for making things look perfect, even when she felt anything but. "I read his file, Soph. Anger issues, multiple team conflicts, that bar fight video that went viral. The guy's a walking red flag."
"The video was edited," Sophie pointed out. "I heard he was actually defending someone."
"Maybe. Or maybe that's just good PR." Ellie plugged in the tree and stepped back to admire her work. The warm white lights cast a soft glow over the otherwise clinical space. Better. "Either way, he's my patient as of eight AM tomorrow, which means I need to be professional, not curious about his jawline."
"So youdidnotice the jawline."
"I noticed that he has a face, yes. I'm not blind." Ellie busied herself arranging the candy canes in a ceramic bowl shaped like a sleigh. "But I've worked with entitled athletes before. They're all the same—they think their talent makes them special, they don't follow PT protocols, and they treat support staff like we're invisible. I'm not falling for charm or good looks or whatever game he thinks he's going to play."
"What if he's not like that?"
"Then he'd still be in the NHL."
Sophie was quiet for a moment, studying her over the rim of her coffee mug. "You know what I think?"
"I have a feeling you're going to tell me."
"I think you're projecting."
Ellie's spine stiffened. "I'm not projecting."
"Marcus was four years ago—"
"Three and a half."
"—and you're still using him as an excuse to avoid any guy who shows interest in you."
"No one's showing interest in me," Ellie said, more sharply than she intended. "And even if they were, I'm perfectly happy being single. I have my job, my family, my friends, this team. I don't need a relationship to be fulfilled."
"I didn't say you needed one. I said you're avoiding one. There's a difference."
Before Ellie could formulate a response that didn't sound defensive, the training room door opened again. This time it was Ryan "Mac" MacKenzie, the Eagles' captain and the closest thing Ellie had to a brother.
Mac burst in like he was being chased—all six-foot-two of him, shaggy brown hair sticking up in three directions, hazel eyes bright with whatever caffeinated chaos was currently fueling him. He was already gesturing before he'd fully entered the room, his travel mug sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
"Ladies." The greeting came at a volume that suggested he'd forgotten indoor voices existed. "Tell me you're making your famous hot chocolate for practice today."
Ellie felt herself relax, grateful for the interruption. "Already in the thermos."
"Marry me."
"You say that every December."
"One year you'll say yes." Mac grabbed a candy cane from the sleigh bowl, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth. "So. New guy tomorrow. You ready for him?"
"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Ellie returned to the supply closet, pulling out resistance bands, foam rollers, and the rest of her PT equipment. She had thirty minutes before theteam's morning practice, and she liked everything set up and organized before the chaos started. "He's just another player."
"He's a former NHL first-rounder with a chip on his shoulder the size of Vermont." Mac crunched through his candy cane thoughtfully. "Coach says you're the miracle worker who's gonna fix his attitude."
"I fix bodies, not personalities."
"Same thing, kind of." Mac shrugged. "Guy's shoulder is apparently a mess. You heal that, maybe he stops being such an asshole."
"Or maybe he's just an asshole." Ellie arranged the resistance bands by color—she had a system for everything. "Personality disorders aren't covered under my PT certification."
"But you'll try, right? For the team?"
And there it was. The thing Ellie could never say no to: someone asking her to help. To fix something. To make it better. She was the person everyone came to when they needed something handled.
