Chapter 4
Ice Princess
Sam crutched his way down the hall toward the PT office, grumbling to himself about how much his new normal sucked.
His mother’s voice inside his head told him to look on the bright side, but she was wrong this time.
There was no bright side, unless one counted him managing to walk with a little more grace this time.
The door was still fucking far from the elevator bank, and getting through it hadn’t gotten any easier since yesterday.
As he hobbled into the physical therapy department’s reception area, the question of who’d planned this layout danced on the tip of his tongue.
Had they consulted their ADA manuals to be sure they were compliant?
Doubtful. He was intent on firing this query off at Attila the Bun, but she was nowhere in sight.
Instead, he spied Angie beside a dark-haired guy who looked familiar, their profiles to him as they leaned against the counter by the bed where she’d examined Sam yesterday.
Sam’s snarky question dried up in his throat.
Angie’s face was turned up, her eyes glued to the dude’s.
Sam couldn’t read her expression from here, so he wasn’t sure if she was enjoying sharing her personal bubble or not.
The guy was taller than Angie by half a head, so not as tall as Sam, but he was broad-shouldered and in good shape.
He lifted his hand and rested it lightly at the small of her back. She moved away from the touch.
The dude darted a look over his shoulder, and when his eyes caught on Sam, he let his hand fall away from Angie’s back. Sam recognized him. Trevor, from the team’s training staff. Huh. Made sense the guy was down here, but nothing about his body language said it was a professional visit.
Angie’s shoulders jerked, and she whirled, her blue eyes widening when they landed on Sam.
She sent a glare toward Trevor and motioned Sam over.
Trevor shoved his hands in the front pockets of his joggers and strolled toward the door, giving Sam a curt nod as he passed by.
Sam turned and watched him walk out the door.
“Was he bothering you?” he asked when he reached Angie’s table.
She shook her head, and her ponytail swished.
“Nope,” she clipped. “How’s the ankle feeling this morning?
” She got down to business, firing one question after another at him about his icing schedule, his pain level, how much he’d elevated, recording notes in her tablet without looking at him.
Was that a hint of pink splashed across her cheeks?
Maybe her encounter with Trevor had put it there.
It was adorable—and so was the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
Some things about her had changed, but some had stayed the same.
He’d never forgotten those freckles. Or the ones at the base of her neck, now hidden by the collar of her polo shirt.
Or the ones that stretched across her shoulders like a delicate necklace.
She snapped her fingers. “Hello? Earth to Sam.”
“Uh, it’s all good. I iced just like you told me to.”
“Good boy,” she deadpanned.
She averted her gaze again, and no lie, her answer left him a little deflated. What had he expected, though? A sticker, like the ones he used to get at the dentist’s office when he was a kid? And come to think of it, seeing her was about as much fun as going to the dentist.
“Up on the table. Let’s have a look at what we’ve got today.
” She took his crutches, and he lay back while she removed the boot and the wrap she’d put on yesterday.
Her hands were cool, but her touch felt good against his skin.
Without warning, she rolled up his sweats to his knee.
The move was efficient, intimate, and infuriating at the same time. Why was that?
She gasped, and he raised his head in a panic. “What?”
“Oh, this is bad.” Shaking her head, she tsked.
Fear clawed at his insides. “Seriously? How is that even possible?” He stared down at the offending joint, but he couldn’t see it at this angle. He hoisted himself onto his elbows but still couldn’t see it because Angie’s hands were in the way. “Can I see?”
She shook her head again.
He bent his knee and slid his foot from her grasp. “Looks the same as it did yesterday.”
When he looked up, she had a wicked smile on her face. “April Fool’s!” She pointed at a wall calendar where today’s date was circled. April first.
Relief collided with anger inside him. It was nice to know a sense of humor existed under her icy veneer, but he didn’t appreciate that it was at his expense. “That’s downright mean! Is that how you treat all your patients?”
“Only the special ones.”
One corner of his mouth hitched. “Special, huh?”
Her smile slid away. “Special as in especially difficult.” She flapped her hand at him in a lie-down gesture, but he refused. She propped a fist on her hip. “Lie back so I can get through this evaluation.”
He pushed an exasperated sigh from his lungs and reclined. “You did that to get back at me, didn’t you?”
“Get back at you for what, Sam?” Her voice was all syrupy innocence.
“I’ve been using that same joke on all my patients today.
” Why this disappointed him, he wasn’t sure.
“And if I was trying to get back at you,” she continued, “believe me, I have much more effective ways of doing that.” She glanced up at him, an evil glint in her eyes.
“Keep that in mind if you decide to misbehave.”
What kind of misbehavior was she talking about? Several different scenarios streamed through his consciousness, and only one involved his ankle.
“This isn’t half bad, actually, and that’s no joke. It’s turning a lovely shade of bluish purple, which is normal, and the swelling’s about where it was yesterday, maybe even a smidge improved.”
“A smidge? What does that even mean?” he huffed, his frustration on a knife’s edge.
“It means ‘slight.’ I see slight improvement.”
“That’s bad, right? Shouldn’t it be going down more?”
“It will. Right now I call it a win because what we don’t want is for it to go the other way. Overall, it looks like you followed directions and took care of it last night. I’m going to try some range-of-motion exercises, so you tell me if you feel any pain, okay?”
Her touch was firm yet gentle. Only once did she manipulate his ankle in such a way that made him wince.
“That hurt, huh?”
He clenched his jaw. “No.”
“You’re not going to help me or yourself by holding back. Look, I get it. You’re a hockey player, and you think you’re a tough guy.”
“I am a tough guy,” he protested.
“Not right now, you’re not.” She upped the pressure on his ankle. “Do you need me to prove it?”
“No!”
“Good. I’d hate to have to hurt you.”
He let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Yeah, I bet.”
She released his foot and stood back. “You’re going to need to be honest with me so I can gauge what’s going on.” She unfolded her arms and motioned between them with two fingers. “We’re both on Team Sam here, and Team Sam’s only purpose is to get Sam back on the ice. Are you on board?”
“Yes,” he gritted out.
“Okay. Now we’re going to play a little game.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “What kind of game?”
“I want you to pretend your foot’s a pencil. You’re going to draw me the alphabet.”
“The whole thing?”
She nodded. “A to Z.” She paused and tapped her index finger against her cheek. “Oh, I see how this could be a problem. Do you know all the letters? I can get you a cheat sheet if you don’t.”
If he’d had a pillow handy, he’d have chucked it at her. Instead, he grumbled, “Smartass.”
“Let’s see if you’re smarter than a first grader.”
“Yes, teacher,” he snarked.
“If you cheat and skip letters, I’ll know. Don’t make me sing the song while you do it.” Her eyes were perfectly clear but completely unreadable. She was a regular ice princess when it came to giving away her emotions, but she hadn’t always been like that.
“The song? God forbid,” he muttered as he began manipulating his foot.
Meanwhile, she snatched a bright pink stress ball in the shape of an elephant from her desk and held it up. “Need one of these?”
“No,” he mocked, “I don’t need one of those.”
She kept it, squeezing it as she watched him. He hoped he was causing her as much stress as she was causing him because, damn! The exercise was harder than it looked. When he reached K, he gave up, skipped the L, and started on M.
“Wanna try that K again, hotshot?”
“How did you even see that?” he scoffed. “That was a wild guess.”
“Not a wild guess. I told you I would know when you cheat.” He could have sworn one corner of her mouth quirked. She was enjoying this. She must really hate him.
“Fine,” he groused and started outlining the edge of the letter with his foot. The exercise sucked, and he was pretty sure she was putting him through it simply because she enjoyed watching him suffer.
Beads of sweat popped along his hairline, and he needed a distraction. “That trainer,” he began. “Trevor? Was he down here checking on my progress or something?”
Her uneasiness returned, showing itself in the way her grip tightened on the stress ball. “Keep that heel parked. I said alphabet, not aerobics.”
“So about Trevor …” he prodded. He was still sore about the stupid April Fool’s joke that hadn’t been funny at all.
“What about him?” she snapped. “He’s not involved in your care.”
Then what is he involved in? he refrained from asking.
She jammed her thumb against her chest. “I’m managing your rehab for now.
I upload my observations and reports into the portal, where the doc and the trainers who are part of your care team can access the information when they need to.
Unless your ankle takes a turn for the worse, that’s how it’s going to stay for the rest of your rehab.
” Her tone was as frosty as the gel packs in her freezer.