Chapter Seven
Finn
The next few days became a loop. I was a force on the ice at practice. I wanted everyone on the Stallions Team to know that I was there to play hockey. I wasn’t going to give in to the drama.
I flexed my hand, feeling the cold stab into the tendons.
Brody’s mouth twitched, like he didn’t want to smile but couldn’t help it. “Hey, it was good to see you back on the ice.”
He set the timer, then leaned against the counter, arms folded. His forearms were all tendons and wiry strength, the kind that didn’t come from bench presses. He studied me for a second, then said, “Are you always this bad at sitting still?”
I shrugged, jiggling my knee for effect. “Movement is my coping mechanism. If I don’t move, I overthink.”
He eyed the leg. “What do you overthink?”
I didn’t answer right away, but he waited me out. “Mostly, whether I’m fucking up. Or if I should just stop pretending this is normal.”
Brody nodded. “I get that.” He picked up the clipboard and started doodling on the back. “You know I used to be an athlete, too?”
I shook my head. “What sport?”
“Swimming, two-hundred-meter breaststroke. Wasn’t good enough for D1, so I switched to sports medicine.” He said it as though it didn’t matter, but something in his jaw said otherwise.
I pictured him in a pool, all long limbs and determination. “Why not good enough?”
“Didn’t have the killer instinct,” he said. “Or maybe I just didn’t want it badly enough to starve myself. It’s brutal at that level.”
I watched the clock, counting the seconds until the ice burned my hand numb. “You miss it?”
He thought for a minute. “Sometimes. But I like fixing things more than breaking them. Even if the things are people.”
That got a laugh out of me. “If you could fix one thing about me, what would it be?”
He looked up, eyes sharp. “Do you really want an answer?”
“Yeah.”
He set down the clipboard, came over, and peeled the wrap off my wrist with quick, practiced hands. “You don’t trust anybody. Even when you want to.”
I stared at the wall behind his head. “Is that a problem?”
He shrugged. “Not for me. But it makes my job harder.”
He flexed my wrist, testing my range of motion. I winced, more from the truth than the pain.
“Any better?” he asked.
“Some.” I rotated the hand, letting the joint crack. “You want to know what I’d fix about you?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Not really, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
I tried for a smirk. “You act like you don’t care what people think, but you memorize every look, every word. It’s like you’re waiting for someone to call you out for caring.”
His smile faded, just a tick. “Who says they haven’t?”
We were close enough that I could see the hint of a surgical scar under his jaw. He saw me looking, but didn’t flinch.
“Story?” I asked, nodding at the scar.
“Diving accident. Pool deck, age sixteen.” He tapped the spot. “Took twelve stitches. Looked badass for about a week.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded. For a few seconds, it was quiet, just the hum of the ice maker and the tick of the timer. Then Brody cleared his throat and went back to charting my progress. “You’re at sixty percent. Give it three more days, you’ll be back to slashing at full power.”
I grinned. “That’s all I ever wanted.”
He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling when he said, “The next appointment is 8 a.m. Don’t be late.”
I made a show of checking my phone. “I’ll try not to get concussed between now and then.”
He tossed a towel at my face. “Go home, Koskinen.”
***
The third day, he was in a worse mood. The whole team was on edge—Dylan’s suspension had become a running joke, and there were rumors the league wanted to make an example out of the Stallions for “fostering a hostile environment.” I overheard two rookies calling it the “soap opera season,” and I couldn’t disagree.
Brody didn’t mention it until the door was shut and the cold pack was in place.
“Do you think they’ll really kick him?” I asked, half hoping he’d say yes.
He shrugged. “They might. He’s not exactly a PR darling.”
“He’s a dick,” I said, voice low. “You can say it.”
Brody checked the swelling, gently rolling my wrist between his palms. “I’ve worked with worse. But I get why you hate him.”
When the timer beeped, I grabbed my jacket and started for the door. But then I stopped, turned. He watched me go, shaking his head, but he was still smiling when the door closed.
***
Thursday morning, my wrist was almost normal, but I showed up early to PT, anyway. Brody was hunched over his laptop, squinting at a screen full of tiny text. When he saw me, he waved me in, but didn’t look up.
“Coffee?” he said, motioning to a steaming mug on the counter.
“Don’t mind if I do.” I poured a cup, then sat on the edge of the examination table. Finally, he shut the laptop.
“I’m excited to try out that new coffee shop tomorrow,” Brody said, moving closer to the table.
I sipped my coffee, feeling the caffeine dig in. “Yeah, I haven’t really tried out many places around here. Do you know any good steak restaurants?”
I was hinting for another chance to take him out. Maybe the next time it could be a date.
Brody nodded. “Jamie loves this place by the river walk. They have an amazing sirloin.”
My heart dropped, and angry jealousy seared through me. Who the hell was Jamie?
“Is Jamie a friend?” I asked.
“We’ve been close since high school,” Brody said, a light smile on his face.
“Does he play any sports?” I wanted to find this Jamie and kick his ass.
Brody let out a chuckle. “No, she doesn’t. She does love to watch sports for the guys, of course.”
He grinned, then reached over and peeled the tape off my wrist, slowly and carefully. His fingers lingered on my skin, just a second longer than before.
“Cool. You should invite her to our first game.” That angry jealousy disappeared, and relief washed over me.
“Sure. She loves to come to the games.” He checked my wrist again. “All clear,” he said, voice quiet.
I flexed the hand, testing it. “Guess I’m officially off the injury list.”
He nodded. “Guess so.”
I slid off the table, heart suddenly in my throat. I thought about saying something else, but I wasn’t sure what to do. Instead, I grabbed my bag and headed out. At the door, I paused. “Hey, Brody?”
He looked up.
“I’m excited about tomorrow.”
He just nodded. “See you tomorrow, Koskinen.”
I left, grinning like an idiot, the kind of grin that didn’t fit my face but felt right anyway.
Tomorrow, 9 a.m. I couldn’t wait.
***
The sun was barely up when I parked outside the coffee shop. My assistant had texted me the address and said it was her favorite new spot. It was called the Vanilla Grind and had a nice patio outside with a few iron tables under a red awning.
Brody was already there, sitting at an outside table. He wore his light-blue scrubs.
I slid into the seat across from him. “Morning.”
He glanced up, and I caught the twitch of a smile. “You made it.”
“Have you ordered yet?” I asked. There were menus on the table, and I glanced at one.
He shook his head. “Nope, I wanted to wait for you.”
He was so kind and thoughtful. “Thanks.”
A waitress greeted us and broke up our small moment. “Welcome to the Vanilla Grind. What can I get for y’all?” She must have been twenty. She was young and still had a happy vibrancy about her.
Brody ordered an iced caramel coffee, and I selected a hazelnut cappuccino. I grew up loving coffee and always enjoyed a good caffeine high.
Once we received our orders, we began to chat. At first, it felt a little awkward, but thankfully, the conversation began to flow. We talked about the Stallions team and how crazy things were going to become once the season started.
“So, what do you think about Kentucky so far?” Brody asked.
“It’s okay. I haven’t gotten the chance to explore outside of the arena and my apartment. I would like to go hiking and explore some of the national forests and caves,” I explained.
When I got traded from New York, I did some research and learned that while Kentucky didn’t offer as much in the way of glamour like New York, Boston, and Los Angeles, it did offer a slower-paced lifestyle.
Brody’s eyes seemed to light up. “You wouldn’t believe it, but there really is a lot to do around here.
The riverwalk offers lots of shops and restaurants.
During basketball season, fans go wild, and you can always find a festival or party.
We have a great nightlife if you are into clubs and bars.
If not, there are lots of upscale shops and museums.”
With each word he spoke, all I did was create an image in my mind of Brody and me visiting each place he described.
“I need to check all those places out. Maybe you could show me sometime,” I offered. A breeze picked up, so Brody scooted his chair closer. He let his knee bump mine and didn’t move it away.
I felt it in my chest, warm and good.
Brody nodded. “Maybe. We could invite Jamie, too,” he explained.
My heart sank. I wanted to spend time alone with Brody.
“Sure. Or maybe we could make it just the two of us?” I watched his face closely. For a moment, he looked excited; then I saw a hint of worry cross his features.
“I could think about that,” he said.
“I really wish you would, because nothing would make me happier than hanging out with you more,” I told him. Maybe I was reckless to be so forward and brave. Brody wasn’t out, and I didn’t know if he was gay or bi, but I had to make a move.
“I want to, but it’s complicated,” Brody began.
“I can respect that. All I ask is that you consider it.” I forced a smile.
“I will. I mean, friends hang out all the time, and it is completely innocent,” he said, trying to convince himself.
“See, we could make it work,” I said.
When we finished our drinks, I paid the bill, even though Brody tried to fight me on it. When we got up to leave, I suddenly felt sad. I didn’t want our time together to be over. Talking to Brody was easy.
“I really enjoyed this,” I said. His hand brushed against mine as we walked side by side. I took it and squeezed. He let go fast, but the electricity stayed.
We started walking. A guy in a beanie passed closely to us, eyes lingering a little too long. At first, I thought he was a fan. This happened all the time. Fans would rush up on me and want a picture or for me to sign something. He held up his phone and snapped a quick, sneaky photo.
Brody went stiff. “Shit.”
I turned. “What?”
He shook his head, forcing a smile. “That guy just took a picture of us.”
“He’s probably a fan and just wanted a shot of me,” I stated.
But I could see the worry growing in the way his shoulders hunched, as though he was bracing for a hit. I wanted to say something to make it better, but I didn’t know what.
Brody looked at me, voice low. “I’m just not used to this. I don’t like to be on display.”
“I respect that, but I’m always on display. But it doesn’t have to be all bad. I’ve been photographed with lots of friends, both male and female. I have learned how to control the narrative.”
Brody thought about that for a moment. I didn’t want one stupid fan to scare him away from being around me.
“I enjoyed hanging out with you today. I guess it wouldn’t hurt for us to hang out again as long as you can control the story,” he added.
I smiled, wanting to reach out and pull him to me, but I didn’t. I needed to take baby steps with Brody because he was worth the wait.