Chapter 14
ROMAN
I find her in the training room the next morning, her back to me, doing some kind of stretch with her leg up on the table.
She’s wearing tight leggings and a loose tank top. Not her usual scrubs or the professional polo shirts she wears for games. Just workout gear that leaves absolutely nothing to my imagination, which has been working overtime for the past three days anyway.
Her leg is extended on the treatment table, upper body folded forward in what’s probably a hamstring stretch but from this angle looks like something else entirely. The curve of her ass. The line of her spine. The way her hair falls forward when she leans into it.
I’m painfully hard almost immediately.
This is a problem. A significant one. Because I’m cleared to play now, which means I’m back to being captain, and she’s back to being staff, and I absolutely should not be standing in the doorway of the training room at six in the morning getting hard watching my physical therapist stretch.
“Morning,” I say from the doorway, and my voice comes out as more of a growl than I intended.
She jumps and nearly falls off the table trying to stand upright. “Jesus, Roman. Announce yourself.”
Her face is flushed—from the stretch or from getting caught, I’m not sure. Her tank top has ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of skin at her waist.
I’m staring. I need to stop staring.
“Didn’t want to interrupt,” I say, which is a lie.
I definitely interrupted. On purpose. Because I’ve been up since four thinking about yesterday—about her hands on my shoulder during that final assessment, about her voice as she said “you’re cleared,” about the careful distance she’s been maintaining since Calgary.
About whether clearing me means I’ve lost my excuse to see her every day.
“I was just—” She gestures vaguely at the table, pulling her tank top down. “Warming up. Before the team gets here.”
“At six AM?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Same. For completely different reasons that are probably the same reason.
The room feels too small suddenly. Too quiet. Just us and the treatment table and everything we haven’t talked about since that night in the hallway.
She turns to face me, arms crossing defensively. “Shouldn’t you be at practice?”
“Optional skate. I’m skipping.” I step inside and close the door behind me. “We need to talk.”
“We’re talking right now.”
“Marnie.”
She sighs and leans against the counter. “Fine. Talk.”
This is harder than I expected. On the ice, I know exactly what to say to my team. I can read a defense in seconds and adjust our strategy. But standing here looking at her—hair in that messy bun, team polo, eyes guarded—I don’t know where to start.
“Yesterday,” I say finally. “After the game.”
“What about it?”
“We said we’d talk. Today. Tomorrow. Which is now today.”
“I’m aware of how time works.”
“Stop deflecting.”
She looks away and her shoulders drop slightly. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”
“What this is. What we’re doing.” I move closer, not crowding her but close enough to see the pulse jumping in her throat.
“Because I don’t do casual. I don’t sneak around and pretend nothing’s happening.
And I sure as hell don’t make out with people in medical rooms and then act like colleagues the next day. ”
“So what do you want this to be? A public relationship?”
“I want to take you to dinner. An actual date. Not delivery to my apartment or sneaking around facilities or hotel rooms on road trips.” I watch her face carefully. “I want to see where this goes without hiding it.”
Panic flashes across her features. “Roman, that’s—we can’t just—”
“Why not?”
“Because Winters is watching everything I do. Because I’m staff and you’re a player and there are optics to consider. Because if this goes wrong, I still have to work here and—”
“What if it doesn’t go wrong?”
That stops her. She stares at me, and I can see her brain working through scenarios, looking for angles, trying to find the safe play.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she says quietly.
“Do what?”
“This. Whatever this is. I don’t know if I should date someone I work with. Someone I see every day. Someone who—” She stops, shakes her head. “It’s complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“Yes it does. Everything about this is complicated. Your career, my career, Winters actively looking for reasons to fire me, your shoulder that I just cleared, the team—”
“The team already knows.”
“What?”
“They’ve known for weeks. Probably longer. They’re not subtle about the chirping.” I step closer. “And they don’t care, Marnie. If anything, they’re invested. Rodriguez sent me a gif yesterday of a guy doing a victory dance.”
“Rodriguez knows?”
“Everyone knows. Except apparently Winters, and honestly I don’t give a shit what he thinks.”
She laughs, short and sharp. “You don’t give a shit because he can’t fire you. I’m expendable. You’re the franchise.”
“You’re not expendable—”
“Roman, I’ve been here three months. You’ve been here seven years. If it comes down to him or me, I lose. We both know that.”
The fear in her voice makes me pause. She’s not wrong about the power dynamics, but the idea of Winters using our relationship to hurt her makes me want to make him suffer, slowly.
“Then we’re careful,” I say. “But I’m not pretending this isn’t happening. I’m not going back to acting like I don’t want you.”
“I’m not asking you to—”
The door opens.
We both turn.
Brody stands there, tape roll in hand, grinning like he just won the lottery.
“Oh. Hey. Sorry, am I interrupting something?”
“Yes,” I say.
“No,” Marnie says at the same time.
His grin widens. “Cool. So Doc, I need my ankle taped. It’s feeling a little unstable.”
“Your ankle is fine,” Marnie says flatly.
“How do you know? You haven’t even looked at it.”
“Because you were running suicide drills yesterday without any issues whatsoever.”
“Maybe it got worse overnight. Sports injuries are unpredictable.” He limps dramatically into the room and hops up on the treatment table. “Very unpredictable. Could look at it any time though. No rush. Take your time finishing your conversation.”
I glare at him. He ignores it completely.
Marnie’s trying not to smile. “Which ankle?”
“Right here.” He points. “Very injured. Might need extensive treatment. Could take a while.”
“Get out,” I say.
“Can’t. Medical emergency. Right, Doc?”
“Your ankle is fine,” Marnie repeats, but she’s already moving toward him, checking out of habit. “Full range of motion, no swelling, no bruising—”
“But it feels weird.”
“Everything about you is weird,” I mutter.
Brody beams. “Thanks, Cap. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Marnie presses her fingers against his ankle in a way that makes him yelp. “Feels fine to me. You’re cleared. Goodbye.”
“But—”
“I can add ankle strengthening exercises to your PT routine if you’d like.”
He slides off the table. “You’re mean when you’re sexually frustrated. Cap, you should do something about that.”
“Brody,” I warn.
“Just saying. Team morale and all that.” He turns back at the door. “Oh, and Cap? Coach wants you in his office. Something about the power play setup. You should probably go now. Immediately.”
He leaves. The door clicks shut.
Marnie and I stare at each other.
“We should—” she starts.
“Yeah.” I don’t move toward the door. “But we’re not done with this conversation.”
“I know.”
“I’m taking you to dinner. We’re figuring this out.”
“Roman, I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Not negotiating on this, Marnie.”
I head for the door, then turn back.
“And for the record? I don’t care about careful. I care about you. The rest we’ll figure out.”
I leave before she can argue, before I can see the fear in her eyes that makes me want to promise things I’m not sure I can deliver.
But I meant what I said.
I’m not pretending this isn’t happening.
Barrett’s office is exactly what I expected—game footage on multiple screens, whiteboards covered in X’s and O’s, coffee cups from three different days.
“Cap.” He gestures to a chair. “Shut the door.”
I do, already running through possible reasons for this meeting. The power play excuse was obviously Brody’s invention.
“Your shoulder held up well last night,” Barrett says, leaning back in his chair.
“Feels good. No issues.”
“Good. Because we need you. But that’s not why you’re here.”
I wait.
“Dr. Walker,” he says simply.
I clench my fists. “What about her?”
“Winters came to me this morning. Says there’s been ‘unprofessional conduct’ between you two.” He makes air quotes, and I can hear the skepticism in his voice. “Wanted me to reprimand her. Possibly suspend.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“I know.” He clicks through more footage. “Which is why I’m talking to you instead of her. Because if Winters is making this an issue, we need to handle it before it becomes a problem.”
“There’s nothing to handle.”
“Roman.” He looks at me directly. “I don’t care who you’re seeing. Your personal life is your business. But if it affects the team, it becomes mine.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Doesn’t it?” He pulls up footage from last night’s game. “You looked at that booth seven times during the second period. Three times during the third. Every time you came off the ice, you checked to see if she was watching.”
“So?”
“So you’re distracted. And distracted captains make mistakes.”
“I scored two goals.”
“You also took a penalty in the third because you weren’t paying attention to your positioning.
” He leans forward. “Look, I’m not telling you to stop seeing her.
I’m telling you to figure out how to compartmentalize.
On the ice, you’re the captain. Off the ice, do whatever you want.
But those seven times you looked at the booth? That’s when you’re neither.”
The assessment lands harder than I want to admit.
“Understood,” I say.
“Good.” He closes the footage. “For what it’s worth, she’s good at her job.
Your shoulder’s proof of that. And Winters is an ass who’s had it out for her since day one because she threatened his authority.
” He pauses. “But if this becomes a circus, I’ll have to make a call. Don’t let it become a circus.”
“It won’t.”
“Then we’re done here.”
I stand, then turn back at the door. “Barrett?”
“Yeah?”
“If Winters comes at her again, I want to know.”
“She can handle Winters.”
“I know she can. I still want to know.”
He studies me for a moment, then nods. “Fair enough.”
I head back toward the training room, Barrett’s words echoing. Seven times. I looked at the bench seven times.
She’s in my head in a way no one’s ever been.
Not just want, though there’s plenty of that.
But need. The kind that makes me check the medical booth during a game.
The kind that makes me show up at her hotel room at 2 AM because I can’t sleep.
The kind that made me stand in that hallway during opening night thinking about how she was the one who got me back on the ice.
Matty would’ve told me to stop overthinking it. Would’ve said if you like her, be with her, and fuck everyone else’s opinion.
But Matty’s not here. And I’m standing in a hallway trying to figure out how to want someone without letting it cost them everything they’ve worked for.
My phone buzzes.
Marnie
Your coach didn’t really want to see you about the power play, did he?
No
Marnie
What did he actually want?
To tell me I looked at the bench too many times during the game
Marnie
How many times?
Seven
Marnie
That’s a lot
Yeah
Marnie
Were you checking on me or your team?
You
There’s a long pause.
Marnie
Roman
What?
Marnie
We really need to talk about this
I know. Dinner. Friday night.
Marnie
That’s a bad idea
Probably. Still happening.
Marnie
You’re impossible
And you’re avoiding the question
Marnie
What question?
Whether you want this as much as I do
Another long pause.
Marnie
That’s not the right question
Then what is?
Marnie
Whether wanting it is enough
Friday. 7pm. We’ll figure out the rest.
She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t say no either.
I’ll take it.