Chapter 6 - June
June
It’s good to see you there when I skate back to the bench. You’re a comforting presence.
Cole’s comment stuck with me for the rest of the day, even after I went home. As a woman, I received compliments all the time. At the coffee shop, or the gym, or at work. Over time, like most women, I developed a callus. I learned to let them roll off my back without affecting me.
But his comment instantly brightened my mood. Maybe it was because it felt so genuine coming from him, rather than someone like Rhett who seemed like he was a natural flirt. Cole was the kind of man who didn’t offer compliments flippantly. If he said something, he meant it.
He was quickly becoming my favorite player on the team.
I liked everyone on the Reapers—except for the backup goalie with the torn quad who complained throughout rehab—but Cole was definitely at the top of the list. I liked how calm and confident he was.
Many of the players, like Rhett, acted like boys.
They were boys on the ice, in the locker room, and at the bar after a game.
Cole, however, was a man.
I still really liked Rhett, though. He was charming and easy to be around, like a golden retriever puppy. His flirting was the friendly, harmless kind, rather than the kind that would eventually become a problem.
It made me laugh thinking about him calling Andy his muscle daddy. But, strangely enough, it kind of made me feel jealous. Or, more accurately, it made me feel less special to know he acted that way around everyone. Which made no sense since I didn’t want to date him, and only wanted to do my job.
I guess, deep down, everyone liked a little attention sometimes. Romantic or otherwise.
As I laid in bed that night, I thought about my love life.
I’d had one serious boyfriend since graduating college, and a handful of flings that never went anywhere.
I’d had plenty of opportunities while working as the trainer at Georgia, but obviously I didn’t want to get a reputation.
Besides, I was in my mid-twenties when I worked there, and college boys all seemed way too immature for me at the time.
It was probably time for me to reinstall one of the many dating apps I’d used over the years.
But this new job for the Reapers meant I had an inconsistent schedule.
That wasn’t conducive to dating, and honestly, I didn’t want the distraction in my life.
I really did feel like I was one of the team, and I was invested in their success.
I’ll date in the off-season, I told myself as I pulled my vibrator out of the bedside table drawer.
We had a home game against the Calgary Flames the next night, but I drove to the arena early to supervise the players who were rehabbing while on the injured reserve list.
One of whom was Rhett Lawson.
“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” he said when I walked into the conditioning room.
“I could not, considering this is my place of employment,” I replied. “How far into the routine are you?”
“Second superset,” he replied. “These cable pulls are boring, though.”
“They’re also necessary to strengthen the muscles around your rotator cuff.”
“When can I resume normal workouts? I’m not talking about being put back on the roster. I just want to lace up my skates and stretch these muscles.”
“At least another week,” I replied. “In the meantime, stretch them on the treadmill when you’re done. But make sure you’re not swinging your arm too much. Wear a sling.”
He grumbled something, but resumed his cable rows.
I made the rounds among the other players, then returned to Rhett. I stood next to him, watching him go through the next exercise with a light dumbbell.
“Sorry I’m so grumpy,” he said after a few minutes of silence. “I’m just sick of riding the bench. I want to be out on the ice, helping the team.”
“I know. I don’t blame you. But the best way to help the team is to be patient and let your shoulder heal.”
He put down the dumbbell and smirked at me. “I kinda hate you right now, June. Deep down I know you’re right, but I still hate it.”
“As long as you do what I say, you can feel however you want.”
“Thanks for not taking it personally.” He held up his left hand. I gave him a high five, and our fingers laced together at the end for a moment.
“June?” one of the other players asked.
I let go of Rhett and turned toward them. “What’s up?”
“Can you check my bench form? It doesn’t feel right.”
“Damn, Shawn,” Rhett said. “You’re tryin’ to steal my girl.”
I rolled my eyes, then helped Shawn with his bench workout.
But I couldn’t help but glance over at what Rhett was doing every few seconds. I told myself it was because I was his trainer, and not because of any deeper reason.
*
The game against the Flames was a tough one, both teams battling back-and-forth for all three periods.
They were tied with only a minute remaining in the game.
There was a scramble at our goal, which pulled Elias Nystrom, our goalie, out of position.
He was slow getting back in front of the net, and the Flames scored the game-winner.
I wondered if anyone else noticed that he was always a little slower while twisting to his left. It was getting to the point that I was tempted to bring it up to Coach Jay.
Like everyone else, I was in a bad mood after that game while setting up the ice baths with my two interns. I was developing a codependent relationship with the Reapers; I rode the same high as the players when they won and was down in the dumps when they lost.
Maybe Cole was right about me being a member of the team. That was a nice feeling, although it made me wish I could help them win.
Rhett was still in the locker room when I packed up to go home. “Gonna spend half an hour on the treadmill,” he told me when I walked by. “It’ll make me feel like I’m doing something.”
“As long as you—”
“Wear my sling?” He held it up for me to see. “Way ahead of you!”
“Atta boy,” I said, which made him grin even wider.
It was the first week of November, and the nights were starting to feel chilly here in Georgia. I was halfway across the parking lot when I realized I’d left my sweatshirt in my office. But I didn’t feel like turning back. I could get it tomorrow.
Most of the lot was empty, but there was one car that caught my attention. It was a new Ford Bronco, black with red trim, the Reapers colors. Whoever was inside was blasting music so loud I could feel the bass in my feet.
As I passed, I realized that the guy sitting behind the wheel was the goalie. Elias Nystrom.
I’d had a long day, and I just wanted to go home and relax on the couch. But I couldn’t stop myself from turning away from my car and toward the Bronco. Being a member of the team—or, at the very least, an employee—meant trying to help them win any way I could.
I tapped on the driver-side window. Elias turned to me and frowned, so I tapped again.
Angry metal music bombarded me as soon as he rolled the window down. He didn’t say anything; he just stared at me.
“Can you turn it down?” I asked.
Slowly, he reached for the dial and turned the music down. But only a little.
“Tough loss tonight. I know you don’t want anyone harassing you, but I can tell you’re hiding an injury. I think it’s one of your ribs, but I’m not sure. But what I am sure about is that it’s affecting your performance on the ice.”
Elias was an intimidating man, but he became truly frightening as his face twisted into an angry scowl. “Fuck off,” he growled in a thick Swedish accent. “If you tell Coach, I will have you fired.”
Then he quickly drove away.