Chapter 8
Bianca
I’d had my shower, and now I sat in my room with an open journal in front of me.
I should have been reading up on therapy protocols and making some notes for my training sessions tomorrow.
Instead, I sat here, pen in hand, unable to concentrate on anything but how it had felt to be held in his arms.
I kept replaying the moment where his arms had come around me, his hands resting on my hips as every professional boundary we’d both carefully constructed instantly dissolved.
This was bad.
Getting involved, or wanting to get involved with him would be career suicide.
While I knew this, I still sat here, thinking of his touch, of his smile, and how amazing he smelled.
I could still feel his hand over mine as he helped me to crank the dough through the pasta roller.
How he’d taken his time, showing me patience.
I thought about the look on his face this morning when he’d asked me about my goals and dreams, wanting to know the real reason I’d gone into this profession.
I stared at the blank page in front of me, my mind racing over thoughts I really should just get out. I needed to get them out of my mind. I couldn’t allow myself to have feelings for him, so I closed the journal and placed it off to the side of the bed.
I got up from where I sat, dropped the towel I still had wrapped around me from my shower, and slipped into my sleep shorts and tank top, then I climbed under the covers, determined to get some sleep and not think about things he’d said, like “our apartment” as if that had meant something.
I couldn’t believe how fast the week had gone by. The Dragons had their first set of away games this week, and I’d put in a lot of long days and late nights trying to get caught up.
It was late Friday, and I sat behind my desk; a half-eaten container of beef, rice, and broccoli that had gone cold over an hour ago sat beside me as I worked away.
I let out a sigh as I hit pause on the video I was watching, backed it up and started moving it frame by frame so I could analyze Wednesday’s game footage.
I was sure I’d seem something off with Evan when I was watching the game at home, but now, upon closer review, I knew I wasn’t wrong.
I went back to the previous video footage I’d been watching and compared the two.
Sure enough, Evan was favoring his right side, even more so now than he was last week.
There was also something off about him when he’d raise his stick up above shoulder height.
I made some notes about his compensation patterns in a private notebook I’d kept in a locked drawer in my office that no one had access to and then replayed them over again to make sure I hadn’t missed anything.
I sat back in my chair, thinking back to how defensive he’d been when I’d brought up the idea of an injury before, trying to decide how to make my next move. I let out a sigh and hit play, watching the game again. Then I went back to the game last year against the Dominators.
When I was sure something had indeed happened during that game, I opened my email and began typing out an email to my father, but then stopped.
If I emailed him, he would bench Evan until I provided an exam on the books.
That would force him to see the team doctor.
I then thought back to the other day and all the fun we’d had together, finally clearing the air and the pair of us getting to a place where hopefully we could trust one another.
I rubbed my eyes, feeling both tired and frustrated, not only with the situation but with myself. I knew exactly what would happen if he didn’t get the care he needed. I was the one who’d wanted to change that, especially after watching it with my own eyes.
I leaned back against my chair and let out the breath I was holding. I’d never allowed my feelings to become entangled with my professional duties.
I sat there thinking, then grabbed my bag beside my desk, shoving my laptop and notebook inside.
I’d deal with this in the morning. Right now, I just wanted to go home, take a long hot bath with Epsom salts and bath oil, and then crawl into bed in my sweats with a cup of tea and forget about the world for a while.
I was sure I was the only one still in the building when I stepped out into the hallway.
I turned toward the exit and stopped when I heard a faint rhythmic thumping drifting from the rink.
I listened to the unmistakable sound of a puck hitting the boards.
Thud, thud, thud. I frowned. Practice had ended hours ago.
There was no way a player should still be out on the ice at this time of night.
The repetitive sound tugged at me, so I turned toward the rink and followed it, my footsteps soft against the rubber flooring. The moment I reached the doorway and looked down at the ice, I froze.
Evan was alone in the center of the rink, stick in hand.
His helmet was off, his hair was dripping with sweat, and his shoulders were heaving.
He stood there for a second and then took off, skating drills with punishing intensity.
He skated the same sequence over and over.
Quick cuts, hard stops, raising his stick to take the shot.
I didn’t need to get closer; I could see it from where I was standing, the way his shoulder hitched, the micro-hesitation before each shot.
I could see the pain on his face after each shot, even though he’d never admit it.
He lined himself up for another shot, a one-timer that required full shoulder rotation, and missed. The puck sailed wide, and Evan slammed his stick against the boards so hard it broke, the crack echoing through the empty rink.
“FUUUUUCK!”
The raw, guttural sound of his voice echoed throughout the rink and made something tighten in my chest.
“Hey,” I called out, the word slipping out before I could stop it.
Evan spun around, his eyes widening when they landed on me. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Watching you hurt yourself,” I said, making my way down to the edge of the rink. “You are pushing yourself too hard.”
He chuckled. “You don’t know what happens when I don’t.”
I looked at him, meeting his eyes. This was a different man than the one I’d spent Sunday with. This man was unapproachable and guarded.
“Then why don’t you explain it to me?”
I froze. I hadn’t meant to pry, and for a moment I thought he might answer me, that he might let me in, but he shook his head.
“Don’t worry about it,” he answered, retreating into himself again. “It’s nothing.”
“Evan, I watched you. You’re compensating for something.”
I took a step closer to the boards, my instincts telling me to approach him with something gentle and less in your face. “You’re protecting your right side.”
“I told you, I’m fine,” He barked.
“Is it your shoulder?”
The moment the words slipped from my lips, the annoyed look on his face changed, and I saw terror and panic wash over him.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m a sports medicine specialist, Evan. I know exactly what I’m talking about. You said it yourself. I am good at what I do, otherwise the team wouldn’t have hired me.”
I kept my voice gentle and non-threatening. I didn’t want him to feel attacked or afraid. I wanted him to know it was okay to come to me.
“I’ve been watching you. At first, I thought maybe it was fatigue, but it’s not. It’s pain, and you are making it worse. I saw the game from last season.”
Immediately, he turned away from me and grabbed another stick from the pile he’d placed on the ice, and skated out to the center of the rink.
“Just…go home, Bianca. It’s late.”
“Cut the shit,” I demanded, making my way out to the center of the ice. “How long has it been hurting?” I wasn’t backing down. Not until he admitted it to me.
“I said…I’m fine,” he said, getting in my face.
“You’re not. I saw you miss that shot, the same shot that you’ve barely ever missed. Whatever you’re hiding—”
“I can’t!” he screamed, taking off across the ice.
When he turned around and looked at me, I could see the look in his eyes. He was exhausted and terrified, and it hit me like a punch to my chest.
“I can’t admit…if I stop, if I go on the injured list, if anyone knows I’m not…” He broke away, his jaw tense as he shoved away on the ice, moving away from me. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t see me this way.”
“Like what? Struggling? Human?” I whispered.
“Failing.” The word hung in the air, brutal and honest. “Losing the only thing that makes me worth a damn.”
The moment those words fell from his lips, something broke inside me. I knew the fear he was feeling. I’d seen it. Hell, I think I’d even felt it.
“Hockey isn’t the only thing that makes you worthy. Maybe, Evan, I want to see you like this. Maybe I am tired of only seeing the strong you,” I breathed.
Evan inhaled sharply. The sound echoed in the empty rink.
For a moment, we both stood there, two people who weren’t supposed to look at one another or care about each other, and definitely weren’t supposed to feel anything at all because we’d both built walls so high that we forgot what it was like to allow people to see us.
I could feel myself slowly moving toward him, wanting to feel his lips and hands on me. I wanted to make things better for him. I wanted to take his pain away, but as soon as I got close enough, Evan tore his gaze from mine, his stance changing, his shoulders sloped as if he’d been defeated.
“Let’s go home.”
I nodded as he went over and picked up the pile of sticks on the ice, and then once he’d grabbed his things from the locker room, I followed him to the parking lot, my heart pounding.
My car was only three spaces from his truck, yet he climbed into the driver’s seat and then leaned over and unlocked his door.
I was up and out of the condo early the next morning. I’d taken a cab over to the Lair, got my car, and went to meet my father for breakfast.
“How are things with Evan?” he asked, as I took a bite of the croissant I’d ordered.
“Fine.”
“Is he treating you all right?” he questioned.
I knew my father was fishing, probably looking for anything he could to approach Evan on. Besides, I’d rather hoped he’d have asked me about the job instead.
“Yes, we had a wonderful day last weekend. We went for coffee, then we spent the day making fresh pasta and cookies.” I smiled.
“I see. What about at work? I’ve heard some rumblings that he hasn’t been exactly co-operative.”
I shook my head. “No, he has been fine. No different from any of the others,” I lied. “What was the other athletic trainer like? The one I replaced.”
My father shrugged, looking at his phone, probably checking an email that had just come in. “Like any other trainer, why?”
“Oh, I was just curious about the kind of response the guys on the team gave him. Did they co-operate when they were approached? Did he take signs of an injury seriously?”
“Of course he did.”
My father focused on his phone instead of on me, which didn’t surprise me. He began typing furiously, with that serious but annoyed look on his face.
“Do you know much about Evan’s background?” I asked.
“Lil bit, why?”
“Just curious.”
My father finally lifted his head and looked at me with a questioning glance. “What’s going on?” he barked.
“Why does something have to be going on? I just wanted to try to get to know him better.” I shrugged.
“Then ask him,” he said, going back to his phone while I took the final bites of my croissant.
“Alright, Dad, I got to get to work.”
My father looked at me and then put his phone down. “I thought we were having breakfast together? I canceled my morning meetings to meet you.”
I looked at my father. I had hoped things would have changed by my returning, but I could see our relationship was just as messed up as it had been when my mother had left.
He was focused on his job, and that left little time for anything else.
I didn’t want to hurt him, so I bent down and placed a kiss on his cheek.
“It’s okay, Dad, maybe we can have dinner sometime next week. I really have to get to work. I have some meetings to attend.” I smiled.