Chapter Eight
Dani
" D o not throw up," I mumble to myself two days after Christmas, standing outside the PT suite. On the other side of the doors, it looks a little like Santa's elves went on a cocaine bender, then forgot to clean up.
The air is thick with the scent of Febreze, bleach, and half-melted Hershey's Kisses.
There are three empty candy bowls. One, still half-full, glimmers with the orphan candies no one ever eats because they taste like sadness and regret.
Tinsel still drapes the door in a way that's less festive and more crime scene, and a battered ornament blinks sporadically from under the fake tree in the corner.
Trent's confession still echoes in my head. The first time he said he fell in love with me, I panicked, certain he didn't mean it the same way I did. But then he said it again, like it was the simplest truth in the world.
Every fear and worry I had just sort of…vanished.
If being with him costs me this job, so be it. There will be other jobs, but there won't be another Trent.
We've spent the last two days wrapped up in each other. I felt like death for most of Christmas, but yesterday I was functioning again. I was too much of a coward to come to work, though. Instead, I called out and stayed in bed with Trent.
I have no regrets.
I am nervous as hell, though. I am not, and never have been, subtle. The whole world is going to know about us sooner rather than later, probably because of something I say or do. And then things will get crazy.
I'll no longer be Trent Kirk's socially-awkward, anxiety-ridden physical therapist. I'll be the socially-awkward, anxiety-ridden physical therapist sleeping in his bed. I mean, I'm already that, but the rest of the world doesn't know it yet. They will soon.
My fantasies never covered that part of the equation. Things like reality didn't exist when he was only fucking me in my dreams. But it exists now.
I'm sure it'll be okay somehow, but my anxiety is loud.
Liz spots me from the far end of the PT suite and comes rushing in my direction. She has two band-aids on her knuckles and a lipstick shade so dark it's almost black, but her eyes are as bright as her smile. She's also double-fisting candy canes, because Liz is a goddamn champion.
"Merry Christmas, you little genius," she drawls, circling me like a cat. "I'm surprised you're walking straight today."
I want to crawl into the nearest supply closet and die, but I try for a neutral expression. "Merry Christmas. Why do you look like you mugged the Ghost of Christmas Future?"
She flicks a candy cane at me, making me giggle. "Worry about yourself, lady. I have questions."
"Why am I not surprised?"
She beams at me. "Did you actually take Trent to the ER, or did you just try mouth-to-cock resuscitation while playing nurse?"
"Both," I say, and then instantly want to bite off my own tongue. She's never going to let me live that down. Ever.
Liz cackles, then throws an arm around my shoulder and hauls me deeper into the suite.
"After you rushed him out of here, the entire team was convinced you'd quit.
And then one of the rookies started taking bets on how long it'd take for you two to end up in bed together.
Then someone sent pictures of the two of you at Colt's party to the staff group chat on Christmas Eve.
When you called out yesterday, the other therapists started taking bets on how long it'll be before you turn up pregnant. "
If there's a prize for most traumatic workplace romance, Trent and I just might win it at this rate.
"We need to destroy that group chat," I groan, letting her drag me past the break room, which smells like someone tried and failed to cook bacon in a Keurig.
She ignores me and pulls out her phone, scrolling with one thumb. "It's everywhere, Dani. The locker room. The staff lounge. Even the Zamboni guy placed a bet."
I roll my eyes, but my stomach is in knots. "So, what you're saying is that I'm basically screwed and should immediately start packing my stuff."
"No," Liz says, her voice softening. "No one's mad. Honestly, everyone thinks the whole thing is kind of hilarious. The only person who's even mildly pissed is Coach, and that's just because I think he's only just figuring out that Trent has been faking his back pain for weeks just to see you."
She opens the door to my office and practically tosses me inside, then parks herself on a little rolling stool, arms crossed, waiting for me to spill all the details.
I drop my bag on the floor and sink into my chair, hugging myself because if I don't, I might shake apart. "It doesn't even feel real, Liz. I mean, it is. It's definitely real. But I don't even know if I'm allowed to have a real thing."
She snorts. "You're allowed to have whatever you want, unless it's a positive attitude before 10 a.m. In which case, you're dead to me. "
I laugh, then look down at my hands, nails chewed to shit and cuticles a disaster. "I'm in love with him," I admit, my voice so low I barely hear it myself.
Liz is silent for a second, which in Liz-time is basically an eternity.
She leans in, her eyes wide. "Did you just say love?"
I nod.
"Holy shit," she whispers, and for once, there's nothing but awe on her face. "You're really in love with Trent Kirk."
"Yes," I say, a little louder this time. "I just… I never thought it would happen this way. Or ever, honestly." I blink wide eyes at her. "He wasn't supposed to love me back."
She's quiet for another beat, then reaches over and squeezes my forearm.
"Of course he loves you back. Are you nuts?
That man is wild about you. And, honestly, if they try to fire you over this, I'll set the place on fire.
We'll open a bootleg PT clinic in the back of a donut shop or something. I'm serious."
The knot in my stomach loosens just a tiny bit. "Thanks. You're slightly unhinged but totally on my team, and I love you for that."
She grins at me. "Don't mention it. Now, go do damage control before Coach has a coronary. He's been pacing like a caged animal for an hour."
My blood goes cold, but Liz slaps me on the back so hard I nearly choke.
"Go, woman. Fortune favors the brave."
I try to steel myself, but my legs are so wobbly I nearly fall on my face three times on the way to Coach's office.
With every step, I rehearse how I'm going to explain this, how I'm going to beg him to keep administration from firing me, how I'll apologize for nearly killing Trent and then sleeping with him.
By the time I reach his door, I'm sweating through my scrubs.
What if he fires me? What if I get banned from every team in the league?
What if Trent loses his shit and tries to fight Coach in the parking lot?
I almost turn and run, but Liz is lurking at the end of the hall, her arms crossed and her brow raised, as if she's silently willing me to go fight for my man.
So, I swallow my fear, square my shoulders, and reach for the doorknob.
It swings open before I can touch it, nearly smacking me in the forehead.
I'm shocked to see Trent standing in the middle of Coach's wood-paneled office, wearing his serious face—jaw set, lips pursed, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There's a line between his brows you could use for a goal.
Coach is seated behind his desk, hunched over a spreadsheet, but the second I enter, his eyes flick up, his stare sharp and cold .
"What the hell are you doing here?" I blurt to Trent, which is rude, but he's supposed to be at practice, not…not…whatever this is.
Trent doesn't look at me. He's focused solely on Coach. "She shouldn't be here, Coach," he says, his voice pitched low. "This conversation should be between the two of us."
I want to punch him and hug him at the same time. Instead, I just stare, mouth open, waiting for someone to explain what's going on.
Coach leans back, crossing his arms, as if he has all the time in the world to watch two idiots duel to the death with their feelings. "I take it both of you are here about the news I heard from half the staff and at least three of the wives?"
Trent stands a little taller, like he's about to take a puck to the face and plans to do it with dignity.
"I'm the one who started it by stalking her all over the training suite, Coach.
Trade me, suspend me, I don't care. But don't ruin her career because I couldn't leave her alone. She loves this job."
My entire body seizes. "Trent–" I try, but he cuts me off.
"No," he says, finally looking at me. There's a wild, protective light in his eyes that's equal parts infuriating and sexy as hell. "You're not getting the axe for being with me, Sunshine. I'm not letting you. You've already lost enough in your life. I won't let you lose your job, too. Not for me."
Coach drums his fingers on the desk, the only sound in the room for a good five seconds. Then he sighs, loud and theatrical.
"You two are exhausting," he says. "You know that?"
Trent flinches but doesn't back down.
Coach points at me. "You love your job?"
"Yes." I hesitate. "But I love him more."
He points at Trent. "You love her?"
Trent doesn't even blink. "Yes," he says, like it's a declaration of war.
Coach exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ." He turns his glare on me. "You'd choose him over your career?"
The possibility has never been this heavy or this real before. I look at Trent, at the way he's vibrating with rage and fear and loyalty, and the truth spills out.
"Without hesitation," I whisper.
Coach sighs again, louder. "Fine. No one is getting fired, traded, or suspended. But I swear to Christ, if I hear about you fucking in the rehab room, I'll light you both up so bad you'll wish you were dead. Is that clear?"
Trent looks like he wants to argue, but I step forward, seizing the chance Coach is offering with both hands. "Absolutely, Coach. Crystal clear. Thank you."