Hat Trick

Chapter 1

June

I stared out at the hockey rink splayed out before me, and the players who were fighting for the puck in the near corner. Someone got control of it and passed it to an open man at center ice, who pulled back his stick and made a slap shot that echoed through the empty arena.

The puck missed wide, hitting the wall with another loud crash. Players shouted as they raced to fight for possession again.

I can’t believe I landed this job.

“I know how you feel right now,” Andy told me. He was the physical trainer I was replacing. “Just wait until this place is packed for a real game, and not a scrimmage!”

“I’ve been to a few games, but never as an employee.”

There was another shout down on the ice, followed by the shrill pierce of a whistle. Two players were locked together, grabbing each other’s pads and jostling to throw a punch while teammates circled around them.

“Freaking Rhett,” Andy muttered. “Guess he didn’t mature in the off-season. Come on, let me show you the facilities.”

I watched the fight down on the ice for a few more seconds before turning and following Andy back into the bowels of the arena.

“You said you’re retiring?” I asked.

“Sure am! Twenty-seven years doing this. Not for the Atlanta Reapers, of course. Team’s only a few years old. I worked for the Braves for about a decade, and the Falcons before that. The Hawks are the only Atlanta team I’ve never worked for. Too bad, huh?”

“Too bad,” I agreed.

He led me into a room that smelled faintly of sweat, body odor, and cleaning supplies. Black and red lockers covered the walls, with rows of benches in the middle space.

“This is the locker room. Coach’s office is through that door… but through this door is my room.” He stepped into a medical office that had three massage tables, a desk in the corner, and cabinets full of equipment. “Well. I suppose it’s your room, now.”

I grinned while taking it all in. This was mine, now?

I realized he was staring at me. “Nervous?”

“No,” I replied automatically. But when he raised a bushy white eyebrow, I said, “Okay, that’s a lie. I’m so nervous I’m afraid I’m going to throw up.”

“Bathroom’s that way if you do,” he said, pointing. “And on the other side of that wall is the training room. Free weights, treadmills, exercise bikes. It should all be familiar.”

The wall was all glass, giving me a view inside from my office. It was empty right now. Everything was far more peaceful than it felt like it should be.

“You’re about the same age I was when I started for the Falcons,” he said, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You’ll do fine, June. This is a great job. Take care of the players, and the team will take care of you.”

It still didn’t feel real. Like this was all an elaborate hoax, and the walls would fall down revealing a studio audience that would point and laugh and tease me for believing I could ever be the head trainer for a professional hockey team.

But then there was a commotion down the hall, and it quickly became real. The players came stomping into the locker room, stripping pads and skates while shouting at each other like teenagers.

“Showtime,” Andy muttered. “Don’t let them intimidate you. And don’t let them push you around. You’re new, so they’ll test your limits. And…”

“And I’m a woman,” I finished for him.

Andy gave me a wry grin. “The boys aren’t sexist or misogynist. Nothing like that. But there’s an awful lot of testosterone in that room, and sometimes it boils over. Don’t take it personally.”

“Got it,” I said while watching the players through the window.

Jay Collander, the coach for the Atlanta Reapers, made a beeline for the trainer’s office. “Rhett tweaked something in his shoulder. Can you take a look? Don’t let him pretend it’s nothing.”

“Send him in,” Andy replied before turning to me. “Why don’t you take this one?”

I froze. “I thought I was just getting a tour of the facilities today…”

“Might as well get the boys used to you now. Here he comes. Rhett’s stubborn, but he’s a hell of a hockey player.”

The man who walked into the trainer’s office had already stripped down to his undershirt and shorts. His dark curls were matted to his head with sweat, and he looked annoyed.

“I’m fine, Andy,” he said without preamble. He had a slight twang of a southern accent. “Coach is exaggerating.”

“Tell it to June. She’s the new physical trainer.”

Rhett blinked, eyes flicking back and forth between me and Andy. Then a roguish smile spread across his face, instantly transforming him from annoyed teenager to dashing heartthrob.

“No offense, Andy, but she’s an improvement. I’m Rhett Lawson.”

He extended his hand, but I ignored it. “On the table, please.”

Rhett raised an eyebrow but did as he was told. Andy gave me an approving nod, then went into the locker room to chat with the coach.

“Which shoulder is it?” I asked while pulling on a pair of latex gloves. It wasn’t explicitly necessary, but since this was my first day, I wanted to do everything by the book.

“I’m honestly fine,” Rhett said, favoring me with that smile again. Up close, his eyes were the color of sapphires. “Coach always overreacts.”

“Did you hurt it during the fight?” I asked.

Rhett stiffened. “Their defenseman body-checked our left wing. I had to square up.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” I replied. “Especially if it gets you injured.”

He stared up at me, those blue eyes sparkling. “You don’t know much about hockey, do you?”

“I know that it’s a bad idea to get yourself injured in a preseason scrimmage.”

He reached up to touch the I.D. badge pinned to my shirt, the one I’d been issued by security fifteen minutes ago. “June Wilder. Sounds kind of like Gene Wilder. You know, the movie dude?”

“Nobody has ever told me that,” I said sarcastically. “Take off your shirt.”

“Buy me a drink first, darlin’,” he replied smoothly.

Andy’s words echoed in my mind: don’t let them push you around. They’ll test your limits.

So I stared at Rhett, hoping that I looked calmer than I felt. My heart felt like it was trying to pound its way through my ribcage. I’d never been this close to any professional hockey player before, let alone one who was…

I gave myself a shake. I didn’t need to follow that thought to its inevitable conclusion, not while he was smiling up at me.

The silent stare I gave him worked, because a moment later, he stripped his shirt over his head, revealing an upper body that was absolutely shredded with muscle.

“I’m telling you, I’m fine,” he insisted like a stubborn child. “I think Coach is just trying to set me up with you. Is there a ring on your finger underneath those gloves?”

“Tell you what,” I said, grabbing a binder off the desk. “If you can hold this in your hand and raise your arm up without wincing, I’ll let you go.”

He stared at the binder in my hand, then glanced down at the floor.

“I guess my shoulder is a little sore,” he said sullenly.

“Which shoulder?”

“Right.”

I took his bicep in one hand—ignoring how hard the muscle was—and raised his arm up to the side. When it was almost parallel to the floor, he grimaced.

“Yeah. Right there.”

“Rotate it in a circle for me, like a windmill. If you can.”

He made the motion, swinging his arm in a full circle. “Only hurts at the top of the rotation.”

“Thought so,” I replied, walking over to the cabinets. After opening a few, I found what I needed. “I don’t think it’s torn. Some ice should be all you need. But if it’s still bothering you tomorrow, come back and we can get a scan.”

Rhett was silent as I placed an icepack on his shoulder and then spent a few minutes wrapping it in tape. “Leave that on for twenty minutes,” I instructed. “And try not to get into any more fights.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, leaning into his southern drawl. He favored me with that sexy smile again, the kind that probably made women melt. It wasn’t working on me, though.

But just barely.

After he left, Andy came back into the office. “You handled that well.”

“Rhett’s a piece of work,” I said, taking off my latex gloves.

“Truer words were never spoken.” Andy chuckled. “Come on. Let’s head back to HR and finish your paperwork.”

As I followed him through the locker room, I felt the players glancing in my direction. Nothing that made me feel uncomfortable—just sizing me up. Wondering who I was.

Rhett was one of them, sitting on the ground with his back against a locker, looking like a kid who had been put in timeout.

I held my head up high, but couldn’t help but wonder: what had I gotten myself into?