8. Natalie
Natalie
“So you're the one who got stuck with Ethan Ward.”
Ivory Brock is leaning against the doorframe of my office with a sympathetic smile. She's the team therapist, blonde and willowy and really pretty. I met her briefly during my first week but we haven't had a chance to really talk until now.
“Stuck isn't the word I'd use,” I say with a laugh.
“How's that going? I heard he's been difficult.”
“He has his moments. But we're making progress.”
Ivory nods and steps into my office, settling into the chair across from my desk. “If you ever need to consult on anything, don't hesitate to reach out. I've been working with the team for three years now so I know all the quirks. Each player is different.”
“I appreciate that. Same goes for you. If you ever have overflow or need a second opinion, my door is open.”
“I might take you up on that once the season starts. Things get crazy around here when the games begin.” She crosses her legs and tilts her head. “It must be hard, being new to the city.”
“My cousin actually works for the Renegades. She's in the PR department. And I've met a few people through her. Olivia, Harper, some of the other wives and girlfriends.”
Ivory makes a face. “The WAGs? I don't know them very well. They seem a bit...” She waves her hand vaguely. “You know. Exclusive. I always assumed they were kind of snobbish.”
“They're super nice,” I say. “Very down to earth. They're nothing like what you'd expect.”
“Really?” Ivory looks surprised.
“You should come out with us sometime. We're doing drinks again soon. I'll invite you.”
Her face brightens. “I'd like that. It would be nice to actually get to know people around here. We kind of keep to ourselves here in the medical wing.”
We exchange numbers and chat for a few more minutes about the facility and the team. She’s easy to talk to and I have a feeling we’ll be good friends.
After she leaves, I turn back to my computer and try to focus on my work. I update my notes on Ethan's progress and draft my weekly report for Ken and answer a few emails about scheduling.
Then I check the time. It’s almost eleven.
The last week of sessions with Ethan have been easier. After the dinner with Olivia and Theo, the awkwardness between us disappeared. I’m even starting to forget the boundaries we crossed.
Ethan and I make small talk during stretches and he answers my questions with more than one word. It's not comfortable exactly, but it's not the torture it was before.
My skin tingles every time my hands touch his and heat pools low in my belly when I stand too close. When he locks eyes with me, my heart skips and I lose my train of thought completely. The attraction hasn't faded. If anything, it's gotten worse now that I know him better.
But I'm handling it. I'm professional and appropriate and I keep my hands where they belong.
Today is a big day. Ken and I agreed that Ethan is ready to transition from crutches to a cane. It's a significant milestone and I want it to go well.
I gather my things and head to treatment room three.
Ethan is already there, sitting on the table with his crutches propped against the wall. He's wearing his usual workout clothes and his hair is still damp from the shower. He looks up when I enter and gives me a small nod.
“Morning,” he says.
“Good morning. How are you today?”
“Fine. Knee's a little stiff but nothing unusual.”
“We'll work on that. Let's start with some stretches.”
We move through the warm-up routine that has become familiar over the last couple of weeks.
I guide his leg through the exercises and he cooperates without complaint.
The silence between us is companionable now, punctuated by occasional comments about his progress or questions about his pain levels.
I'm adjusting his position for a quad stretch when the door opens and Ken walks in. He's carrying a beautiful black cane with a silver handle and his face is split in a wide grin.
“Special delivery,” he announces.
Ethan's eyes lock onto the cane and his eyes widen.
“Natalie tells me you're ready for an upgrade,” Ken says. He crosses to where the crutches lean against the wall and picks them up with exaggerated ceremony. “These have served you well, but their time has come.”
“You're being dramatic,” Ethan mutters.
“I'm celebrating a milestone.” Ken holds out the cane. “Congratulations, Ethan. You've earned this.”
Ethan takes the cane and turns it over in his hands. He runs his thumb along the handle and tests the weight of it. Then he stands, planting the cane firmly on the floor and taking a few experimental steps.
The difference is immediate. He stands taller without the crutches.
“How does it feel?” I ask.
“Good.” He takes another step, then another. “Better.”
Ken beams like a proud father. “Keep up the good work. Both of you.” He tucks the crutches under his arm and heads for the door, then pauses and turns back to me. “Natalie, did you get the memo about the Summer Skills Showcase?”
“I did.”
“Good. I want you there. Full medical staff on site. It's in two weeks.”
“I'll be there.”
Ken nods and disappears, taking the crutches with him.
The door clicks shut, and I'm alone with Ethan again.
Except this time, it’s different.
Ethan. The air. Me.
He's standing with the cane, testing his balance and adjusting to the new reality of having one hand free. There's a lightness to him that wasn't there before. He’s taller. More open. He's trying to maintain his usual grumpy exterior, but I can see through it now. He's pleased.
“I'm proud of you,” I say. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s true. And besides, I’d say that to any other patient, so it’s not crossing a boundary.
Even if I meant it a little extra this time.
He looks at me. “It's just a cane.”
“It's progress and significant progress at that. You should be proud of yourself.”
“Thank you,” Ethan says gruffly.
I clear my throat. “How's your dad doing? Any updates?”
“He's fine. He’s back home now. The doctors are happy with how he's responding to the new medication.”
My face splits with a grin. “That’s amazing! I’m so happy to hear that, Ethan.”
Those steely blue eyes dart all over my face, settling on my smile. “Yeah, it is amazing,” he replies, his voice lower. My smile fades, and our eyes meet. “Thank you for asking about him. Means a lot.”
I realize then just how close we are. Close enough that I can smell his shampoo. Enough to feel the heat of his body and remember the way it felt when he touched me.
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. “Of course.”
Someone passes the door, breaking whatever was happening between us, and I start gathering my things, suddenly desperate to escape the small room and the intensity of his gaze. “I'll see you tomorrow for your next session.”
Ethan clears his throat. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”
I leave without looking back.
The hallway is cool and quiet, and I lean against the wall for just a moment, pressing my palm to my chest where my heart is racing.
This is ridiculous. I'm a grown woman and a medical professional. I should not be getting flustered by a patient just because he looked at me for a few seconds too long.
But my body is betraying me. I can't stop thinking about how it felt to be held in those large hands. How his mouth felt on my nipples. How I ground against him like I had no shame and no self-control.
It gets worse at night when I'm alone in my bed with nothing to distract me. I'm ashamed to admit that I've made myself come more times than I can count to thoughts of Ethan. My fingers become his fingers. My fantasies become more elaborate with each passing night.
Him taking me against the wall, on his treatment table, in the pool with the water lapping around us. I always come with his name on my lips and shame burning in my chest.
I push off the wall and walk toward my office.
The attraction will fade. It has to. These things always burn out eventually, smothered by routine and the simple passage of time.
But how long will that take?
And what am I supposed to do with myself until then?