Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
WADE
I grunt as the physical therapist works on the muscles in my thigh, hip, and glutes. It’s less sore today, which is a good sign, but even that does little to ease my frustration over missing the game last night.
The team played well, and we won, so that’s a relief.
Pay-man got a break from dealing with his nemesis because Jennings wound up injured during a previous game.
Holt, our backup goalie, held his own and blocked one shot that had the fans jumping to their feet.
I’m glad Mason got some playtime, but I don’t like this unmoored feeling sitting on my chest like a boulder. I need to get back on the ice.
Hannah hits a spot that makes me grunt. “Still tender?”
“What do you think?” I growl.
She raises a brow at me. Hannah is as tough as she is caring, but she’ll let us know when we cross the line.
Still cracks me up that she married a lifeguard with the surname Lawless because it totally fits her attitude sometimes.
I can’t speak to what she’s like outside of the arena, but the woman is formidable when it comes to the recovery of the players she treats.
I drop my head. “Sorry.”
She grabs an ice pack from the cooling unit, wraps it in a towel, and then lays it across my leg. “You can’t rush this one, Wade.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing the ache to slide away into oblivion so I can get back to the crease.
Her blonde curls tickle my shoulder when she leans over me and gets right in my face. “I mean it. Push this, and you’ll be benched for the season.”
I blow out a breath. “Yes, ma’am.”
Coach Markelson greets her as he walks in. “How’s he doing?”
“I told him not to rush this one. And I mean it.” She shoots him a razor-edged look as if to say he had better pay attention, too.
“Yes, ma’am.” He holds his hands up as if to fend off an attack.
I snort. “That’s what I said, Coach.”
Hannah blows out a noisy breath, making the curl in front of her face dance to the side. “Don’t make my job harder. That’s all I’m saying.”
She throws me a wink as she leaves, letting me know she’s kidding. Hannah would go above and beyond for any of us, and she often has.
Coach strolls over and pats my shoulder. “I know it’s hard to be benched, but do what she says. Take it slow so we know you’re a hundred percent when you return.”
“Sure thing, Coach.” I put on my best agreeable face even though I’m seething inside.
He walks out, leaving me alone in the silence of the therapy room. I drape my arm over my eyes as the lack of sleep due to a restless night settles into me. A sleepy doze relaxes my limbs, and I give in to it.
That is, until the sound of a knock jars me. “Yeah?”
Bree’s soft voice filters through the closed door. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
She peeks in as if she’s checking for something. “Just want to make sure you’re decent.”
I blurt out a chuckle. Feels good to laugh. Bree and her bubbly take on life may be the exact thing I need at the moment. “I’m dressed but don’t know about the decent part.”
Her giggle affirms my suspicion as it seems to lift some of the heaviness harboring in my chest.
“You’re the most decent man I know, Wade.” She’s smiling as she says this, but her blue eyes are razor sharp as if her life depended on every word.
I swallow down the knot in my throat. Moments like this make it twice as hard to hide my feelings for her. Bree’s always been my biggest cheerleader, believing in me even when I doubted myself. And right now, this injury is making me feel especially vulnerable.
She sits on the wheeled stool Hannah vacated and lets her laptop bag puddle on the floor by her foot. “Since you’re not busy,” she spots the ice pack on my leg and groin area, then quickly glances away, “and you’re a captive audience, I thought I’d start with you on the ‘Date a Player’ fundraiser.”
I fold an arm under my head to see her better. “Rebecca went for it?”
“Yeah, as long as we don’t objectify the players, so I’m doing preliminary interviews with each player who wants to participate, so we can control the narrative.”
“Sounds good. Shoot.”
Bree tugs her laptop out and attempts to balance it on her lap, which doesn’t work well. I shift on the table so she can use the corner by my foot like a desk.
After she taps on her keyboard, she lifts her face toward me. “Basics first. I assume your favorite color is still green?”
“Yes.”
“Favorite movie or TV show.” She readies her fingers to type.
“Ted Lasso.”
She snorts. “Of course it is.”
I push up on my elbows to stare her down. “Have you even watched it? The show is brilliant.”
Her smile turns mischievous. “Oh, I agree. I just wanted you to prove yourself worthy of the biscuits.”
A deep laugh rumbles up as I realize her double entendres—how she connected ‘biscuits with the boss’ from Ted Lasso to how hockey players refer to the puck as ‘the biscuit.’
“Very clever.” I’ve missed laughing with her more than I can say.
She giggles, but it hits in my chest like a magnet drawn to its opposite. “Okay, next question, but I’m afraid of your answer. Favorite food.”
The cringe on her face is priceless. She probably thinks I’m going to say salad or roasted vegetables.
My turn to blow her mind. “Nachos.”
Her brows dart up, and her eyes widen, emphasizing every detail of her gorgeous blue irises. I could drown in those depths like a man lost at sea.
“Seriously? What, are they loaded with vegetables, which is totally gross, you know?”
I agree, but I’m going to let her think the worst. “Not the way I do them.”
She makes a barfing sound. “There is no way vegetables work on nachos.”
“You’d be surprised. I’ll make them sometime so you can see for yourself.”
“Hard pass, bro.” She waves her hand in a no-go motion between us.
I know it’s just a colloquialism, but I’ve had enough of her thinking of me like a brother. “Is that how you treat your best friend after a grueling therapy sesh?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Let’s move on.”
At first, I wasn’t thrilled about doing this date with a hockey player idea, but I’m enjoying spending time with her and the comfortable banter between us—like things used to be.
But then she hits me with an unexpected question. “What’s your favorite childhood memory?”
My thoughts flip through a plethora of scenes from the past like the old-fashioned Rolodexes Nana uses to organize her recipes. She also keeps it in a safe, if that tells you anything about how seriously she takes her cooking.
This journey down memory lane lands on a particular one I’ve held close for years. “That day you got caught on the barbed wire.”
Her eyes go wide with surprise. “Seriously? I still have a scar.” She leans to the left, pointing to the spot on the back of her leg, right below her rear.
Even though her pants more than cover the area, heat crawls up the back of my neck. Should I tell her that catching a glimpse of her pink panties was the highlight of my sixteenth summer?
Or the real reason that recollection stuck with me?
Bree had to trust me to lift her up, bride-style, in order to unhook her ripped jeans from the barb.
I could have put her down after that, but instead, I insisted she let me carry her back to the house with the excuse that walking would make it hurt more.
The image of her clinging to me, of holding her close against me, has taken permanent residence in my head ever since.
I scoff. “You were barely scratched. Didn’t even need stitches.”
“I had to get a tetanus shot!” Her exaggerated expression is plain adorable.
Biting my bottom lip does little to suppress my grin. I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You were so pissed.”
“Those were my favorite jeans, and you ruined them.” She sounds breathy, flustered.
And I’m enjoying this way too much. I press my hand against my chest. “Me? You’re the one who tried to do rodeo tricks off the side of your horse.”
She leans in closer, giving me a hint of sweet floral, reminding me again of the honeysuckle bushes that grow wild on our property. “In case you’ve forgotten, Wade Pierce, you dared me.”
For a moment, I get lost in her eyes as she stares me down. A dark blue circle rims the lighter blue of her irises, making them appear backlit as if she’s filled with pure goodness and light.
I glance away for fear I’ll reveal something I shouldn’t. “Yeah, I suppose I did.”
The silence in the room shifts, feeling awkward.
Bree pokes my bicep as she whispers, “I almost nailed it, though.”
My gaze lifts, then gets snagged again with hers, much the same as that barbed wire did on her jeans. “I knew you could.”
Her lips part slightly, drawing my attention there for a moment and making me wonder what it would be like to kiss their softness and that freckle. Not that I haven’t thought about it a thousand times before, but this time feels more…real. Attainable. Although I’ve no idea why.
She jerks her gaze away and stares at her laptop screen. “Since I can’t very well share that memory for obvious reasons, how about I just put the aroma of your Nana’s baked bread filling the kitchen?”
My mouth fills with saliva and longing. I really should go home soon for a visit. There’s not enough time at Thanksgiving since we play the day before and after, but I could make a quick trip for Christmas.
Maybe Bree would want to come, too.
“And her chocolate chip cookies.”
She tilts her head back with a moan, which floods my head with inappropriate thoughts. “Those are the best.”
“Okay, one more. What’s your idea of romance?” Her fingers hover over the keyboard.
Her question confuses me at first because it’s so broad. So, I venture into dangerous territory and pull upon the things I’ve imagined if Bree were mine.
I lean my head back on my arm again and stare at the ceiling tiles.
“Let’s see—a sunset walk on the beach, followed by her favorite ice cream.
Cooking a special dinner and fussing over her for the rest of the evening and surprising her at work with her favorite treats.
Having a hot bath ready for her when she gets home after a rough day. Buying her fuzzy socks for Christmas.”
When I glance at Bree, she appears stunned.
My shoulders tense. Did I overshare? Sound like a dork?
She blinks, then lets out a nervous chuckle. “I meant a date, not a relationship.”
“Then just the sunset and ice cream part.”
She swallows and nods. “Adorably cliché, but I like it.”
This is the first time I’ve ever seen Bree flustered, and I like that—a lot.
I give her a slow, deliberate smile, the kind that usually gets me in trouble. “Good to know.”
Her eyes flash with something I can’t read. Or maybe wishful thinking?
She shuts her laptop, then leans over, trying to shove it into the saggy bag that doesn’t want to cooperate.
“I should go. More interviews to do.” With a huff at her failed attempts, she grabs both, clutches them to her chest, and launches off the stool so fast that it slams against the wall.
She freezes in place, staring at the damaged paint, eyes wide like a possum caught in headlights.
“Sorry. Really gotta go.” After giving me a horrified grimace, she rushes out the door, her cheeks flaming red.
This is more than my flustering her.
She’s acting more like the clumsy, unsure girl she used to be in middle school. But then she bloomed in high school, becoming this amazing, confident young woman who didn’t let anyone hold her back. That’s when I truly fell for her—and hard.
A simmering rage courses through me at the thought of something or someone making her doubt herself, which makes me more determined to find out what happened to her in Texas.
When she got snagged on the barbed wire, Bree trusted me to handle her with care. Somehow, I’ll convince her that she can do it again.
This time with her heart.