Chapter 5
Bianca
The first night in four weeks that I’d slept in a proper bed had caused me to sleep so soundly that I forgot where I was.
I rolled over, trying to get comfortable again on a mattress that was far too soft for my liking but somehow gave me comfort like a warm hug.
My body ached as I pulled at the gray duvet that covered me, and that was when reality came crashing back in.
I was living with Evan Callahan, the right defenseman for the Colorado Dragons.
How the hell had I allowed my father to talk me into this?
I should have just dealt with the situation on my own and placed that ad on the team’s bulletin board.
At least that way, I wouldn’t have to put up with the hushed whispers once everyone found out.
Last night had been awkward as hell. In the three years I’d known Evan Callahan, I could count on one hand the times he’d spoken to me when I’d come home to watch the team play.
Last night he’d broken that record. He’d always looked at me like I was a problem he either couldn’t or didn’t want to solve.
At least now I knew which one it actually was.
Most women loved Evan Callahan. He was a little over six feet tall, with light-blue eyes and dark-black hair, and usually always had a splatter of the sexiest scruff on his face.
A full-sleeve tattoo of twisted vines covered his right arm.
I could see why they liked him. While he was attractive, it was a different story once you got to know him.
Grumpy and guarded was pretty much all it took to make those good looks fade.
It often annoyed me that whenever we were in the same proximity, the space between us would fill with nothing but tension.
I almost wondered if my father had been aware of that when he came up with this brilliant solution.
I glanced at my phone. It was just past five thirty in the morning; time to get up and start my day.
I kicked the covers off and slipped out from under them, my bare feet taking comfort in the plush carpet.
I made my way over to the bedroom door and poked my head out.
The apartment remained dark, and Evan’s door stayed shut tight.
I pulled my hair back into a high ponytail and then opened my closet door, pulling out one of my most professional-looking outfits.
I slipped into my dress pants and a burgundy blouse I buttoned to my throat.
A quick once-over in the full-length mirror that hung inside the closet made me shake my head, and I quickly traded the blouse for a Dragons polo shirt.
Now I didn’t look like I was heading to a job interview.
I made my way into the kitchen and found the switch that lit up the underside of the cupboards.
Then I searched, finally finding a canister of ground coffee.
I dumped enough grounds into the coffeemaker to make a pot.
Then, I filled the carafe with water and dumped that into the machine and flipped the switch.
While I waited, I opened each door until I found two mugs, placing them down on the counter. I was just about to look for some cream when the coffeemaker began making a horrific sputtering sound, followed by a hiss before shutting off.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, not wanting to start my first day here this way.
Panicking, I flipped the switch back and forth, praying it would start again when I heard the door down the hall open, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps plodding down the hall.
I turned around and glanced over at the entryway to the hallway to see Evan standing there. His hair was damp from the shower, and a gray T-shirt clung to his muscular chest. He stopped cold when he saw me, his entire body going rigid.
“What did you do?” he questioned, his voice rough and completely devoid of warmth.
My body went stiff as I swallowed hard.
“I…I thought I’d make us a coffee, and I pressed the button, but your machine…it died.”
“It worked fine yesterday morning.”
“Great, that was yesterday, but it doesn’t work now,” I said, crossing my arms.
Evan walked around the counter and into the galley kitchen, stopping inches from me, reclaiming his territory.
“Move.”
“Do you ever say please?” I said, glaring at him.
I should have known he wouldn’t back down. Instead, he locked his eyes with mine as he hip bumped me.
“Move over,” he demanded, jaw tight and eyes dark.
My body was on fire, and my heart pounded with a mix of annoyance and something warm as his arm brushed mine.
I stood there watching as Evan fiddled with the machine, flipping the power button on and off while muttering under his breath.
“I already did that,” I said, as I watched the muscles of his hands and forearms flex while he continued flipping the switch.
Finally, the coffeemaker sputtered back to life and began gurgling again for only a second before it sputtered and died again.
“I guess it is broken,” he finally admitted.
“No kidding. Didn’t I just tell you that?”
Evan glared at me, making me feel as if I were the biggest inconvenience ever, and backed away from me without saying a word, leaving me alone in the kitchen.
Later that morning, I stood rink-side with my tablet, tracking each player’s movements as they skated across the ice.
I loved assessing the players. It was something that not only was important for me but came naturally to me.
I knew some of them had complained to my father, but as I explained, doing this allowed me to have a benchmark of each players movements, so it was easier for me to spot movements that may need to be corrected or notice injuries before they became acute.
I sat back in my seat, making my notes as I focused on the players, and that was when I saw it.
Evan had taken a shot, and immediately I saw his right shoulder hitch.
It was only a fraction and would have been barely noticeable to most, but it was completely unmistakable to me, who had spent years learning to read the movement of bodies like some readers devour books.
Immediately after taking the shot, he rolled his shoulder, as if he was working out a kink.
Only I had a feeling it wasn’t a kink. He was compensating for something.
I made a note to check out some videos of last year’s games to see if perhaps Evan had injured himself during one of them. It wasn’t uncommon that a player played through things. It also wasn’t uncommon for a trainer to clear a player without a proper examination. I’d seen it.
Anger flared through me. If it was the latter, this was exactly the negligence that I’d wanted to change and why I’d gone into this profession, especially after watching poor Marcus Grant’s career get pulled out from under him.
There was no way I could let it slide, nor would I.
The moment he stepped off the ice, I caught him in the corridor.
“Evan, hey, listen, I need to check your shoulder,” I said, holding the clipboard I was carrying against my chest.
He continued on past me, not breaking stride.
“Evan, did you hear me?”
“No, you don’t. There’s nothing wrong with my shoulder.”
I frowned, then ran after him, finally catching up to him.
“It might be nothing, but I saw you favoring it during the shooting drill. Your range of motion doesn’t look normal, and after you took the shot, I watched you roll it.”
He stopped in the hall and turned around.
“You have been here exactly three weeks, and you have watched us play for what, a couple of hours. You think you know my body better than I do?”
“Evan, this is my job,” I said, sighing, not really wanting to start a confrontation with him.
“Your job?” he said, his voice dropping dangerously low, “is to do what your father tells you. Not diagnose problems that don’t exist.”
The tone of his voice was enough to make me cringe. He made me feel as if I were overstepping and incompetent. He’d hit every insecurity that others had carved into me my entire life.
“Understood,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “I will make a note in your file that you declined an examination.”
I whipped around and walked away.
“Bianca,” he called.
Only I didn’t turn back around. Instead, I kept walking. He’d made it clear to me exactly what he thought, and now I needed to do my best to avoid the fact that he’d struck a chord with my personal feelings and that they were trying to interfere with my work.
I walked through the halls of the Lair on Friday morning, coffee in hand as I made my way to the training room.
I was exhausted. Evan hadn’t made homelife easy after I’d confronted him about his shoulder.
He was grumpy as hell, so I spent most of the week avoiding him at all costs when we weren’t here.
I dropped my things off in my office, grabbed my clipboard, which I kept pressed to my chest like a shield as I walked into the training room.
After watching some practices and gathering my notes, I’d spent some time watching over some of the end-of-season games from last year to prepare for my one-on-one examinations with the players I’d made notes on. I wanted to be sure I missed nothing.
The moment I stepped into the room, I took in the familiar and comforting scent of eucalyptus. The steam therapy machines were already on, creating a warm and humid environment.
Immediately, my eyes fell on Evan, who was already sitting on the edge of the treatment table. He sat there with a permanent scowl on his face, which I was certain he reserved only for me. His jaw was tense, as were his broad shoulders.
“Morning. Let’s get started. I’m going to do a full assessment so I can get a baseline to go from. We are going to test range of motion, strength, and go over any areas of concern that you have.”
“I’m not doing this,” Evan said without looking at me as I approached him.