Chapter 3
Chapter Three
CHARLOTTE
Iwash my hands in the back sink and stare at the faucet for a second longer than I need to.
Declan’s chart is open on the screen in front of me. Everything’s entered: the range limits, his extension lag, the swelling, the signs of guarding. It’s all there—clean, correct, clinically sound.
So why does it feel like I just walked off a battlefield?
I twist the paper towel in my hands before tossing it. Deep breath. Shoulders back. Keep it moving.
This isn’t new. I’ve rehabbed hotshot rookies, aging bruisers clinging to one more season, and one ultra-marathoner who tried to train through a stress fracture. I’ve been snapped at, stared down, even puked on once after a guy insisted on doing push-ups with a strained hip flexor.
So yeah. I’m not new to pushback.
Rehab makes people defensive. They’re scared, frustrated, in pain. I get it.
Declan Tremayne is something else entirely.
He didn’t yell. Didn’t push back physically. He followed my instructions—begrudgingly—but every second with him felt like knocking on a door, only to be met with silence.
Except the door is six-foot-three, impossibly judgmental, and built like a refrigerator.
And still unfairly attractive.
Ugh. Nope. Not the point.
I re-center my focus on the screen, pulling up Patel’s MRI report. He’s listed the expected Phase 1 protocol: quad activation, soft tissue decompression, controlled passive range of motion. Nothing I haven’t run a hundred times.
And yet, knowing I have to do it all again tomorrow—with him—makes my jaw twitch.
Declan Tremayne doesn’t trust easily. That much is obvious. But if I let his attitude get under my skin, this whole recovery process gets harder. For both of us.
I won’t let that happen.
I adjust the Ice Foxes quarter-zip at my throat and click the chart closed. The wrap job was solid. His brace was set. The note’s in Patel’s folder.
I’ve done my job, even if he clearly hated every second of it.
Still, he showed up. He let me work. That counts for something.
And yeah, he was difficult. But no one’s at their best when they’re scared.
I’ll earn his trust. One rep at a time.
Tomorrow’s a fresh start.
And I’m good at those.
I pull the door closed behind me, tablet tucked under one arm and a fresh sense of resolve settling between my shoulders.
A voice calls from down the hall just as I step out.
“Was he horrible?”
David’s already grinning when he reaches me.
I glance over my shoulder and smile. “Define horrible.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
I roll my eyes and lean back against the cool metal door. “He glared through half of it, grunted through the rest, and nearly pulled a hamstring trying to prove he didn’t need me.”
David snorts. “So, a normal Tuesday for Declan.”
I smile, but it fades almost immediately. “I know he’s frustrated. I would be too. But it’s not just that. He’s held together with duct tape and discipline right now. Like if he lets himself show even one crack, the whole thing’s gonna come down.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That tracks.”
I glance up at him. “MRI came back just like you expected, right?”
“High-grade MCL tear. Patel briefed us before you got in. Ten-week return-to-play estimate, assuming everything goes clean. But no contact, no ice, nothing until he clears full progression.”
I nod. “He hates it. But I’ll get him there. One rep at a time.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it works,” I say, letting my tone brighten. “First sessions are the hardest. We’ve crossed that hurdle.”
David smirks. “You’re the only person I know who’d look at Declan Tremayne grumbling through a shin tap test and call that a hurdle crossed.”
David starts walking, and I fall in step beside him.
“Coach is shifting Tyler Reed to the top line for now,” he says. “He’s fast, he’s hungry, and we don’t have time to hesitate with the Wild Card this close.”
I nod. “I’ve got to learn the team dynamic, but I’ve watched enough tape to know he’s definitely eyeing that C.”
David shoots me a sideways glance. “You already know all this?”
I shrug, then elbow his side lightly. “You could’ve warned Declan, you know.”
David lifts a brow. “You told me not to.”
I sigh. “I said don’t make a big deal about it. Not don’t mention it.”
He runs a hand through his blonde hair, a shade darker than mine. “Well, you know Declan. If I’d said anything, he’d have made it weird before you even walked in the door.”
“I get it,” I say. “But he’s not just your captain, David. He’s your best friend. And I’m your sister. That puts you right in the middle whether you like it or not.”
David frowns. “Just… don’t take it personally, okay? He’s not exactly great at asking for help.”
I nod. “I know. Doesn’t mean he gets to treat me like a complete stranger.”
He blows out a breath. “I figured you’d win him over.”
“I will,” I say simply. “But it would’ve helped if he didn’t find out I’m his new PT while strapped to a treatment table with a torn ligament and zero warning.”
David winces. “Yeah. Not ideal.”
“It’s fine,” I say, and I mean it. “He’ll come around.”
“You’re too optimistic.”
I flash him a grin. “It’s my best quality. That and not quitting just because someone makes it hard.”
The rest of the day blurs into a steady stream of evaluations, treatment notes, and a few maintenance check-ins with guys managing the usual aches—taped ankles, sore hips, tight backs.
A couple of guys ask how Declan’s doing. I keep it straightforward—brace on, MRI finished, the doctor will walk him through it. Anything beyond that’s not mine to say.
By the time I finish notes, help clean up, and check in with Vic about the morning prep schedule, it’s nearly six.
My quads ache from standing, my brain’s spinning from new faces, and my badge keeps flipping the wrong way. But I’m still steady. Still proud.
Day two, done.
I text Kristy before heading out:
You still up for hanging tonight? I could really use a reset button and lemon bars.
Her response comes with three heart emojis and a GIF of someone bringing wine.
Always. Does 7 work?
I send a thumbs-up and toss my phone back in my tote.
I’ve only been back a few weeks, but being around Kristy makes it feel like I never left. Familiar. Like slipping into an old hoodie and remembering exactly why it’s your favorite.
The sun’s dipping low, but it’s still bright enough to catch in the rearview mirror. I forgot how long the light lingers here in Colorado. It’s still cold, but the sky’s so much clearer. In Minnesota, spring always felt like one long snowbank under a gray sky.
I pull into the driveway of my little brick duplex just as the porch light clicks on. The house is rented—one side for me, one for a quiet retired teacher on the other—but the bones are solid, the street feels safe, and it’s ten minutes from the arena.
My place still smells like cardboard and new paint, but it’s starting to feel like home.
I kick off my shoes, swap my work clothes for sweats, and throw my hair into a messy bun. The new couch still feels too clean, like it’s waiting for someone to spill wine on it and make it real.
At exactly seven, the doorbell rings.
I pull the door open to find Kristy standing there with two bottles of wine, a bakery bag, and the kind of grin that makes it impossible not to smile back.
“There she is,” she says, stepping inside like she’s done it a hundred times. “Tell me the new job hasn’t eaten you alive yet.”
“Not yet,” I say, shutting the door behind her. “But it’s trying.”
She laughs and heads straight for the kitchen counter, unloading the bottles and pulling a pair of mismatched mugs out of the bag.
“I forgot if you unpacked the wine glasses yet, so I brought reinforcements. Also, lemon bars. Because obviously.”
I smile, the tension I didn’t know I was still carrying finally starting to loosen. “You’re a saint.”
“I try,” she says lightly, but her eyes are already scanning my face like she’s checking for damage. “Long day?”
“You could say that.”
Kristy hands me a mug and flops onto the couch. “Tell me everything.”
I sink into the cushion beside her and tuck my feet up. “The facility’s gorgeous, the staff’s solid, and I’m slowly learning the team.”
“And Declan?”
I blink. “You’re not even going to pretend to ease into that?”
Kristy shrugs, unbothered. “You’re working with your brother’s best friend, who also happens to be the moody king of the entire organization.
The same guy who used to grunt instead of speak and only ever came around to hang out with David or shoot pucks in your driveway.
I feel like I’ve earned one nosy question. ”
I take a long sip before answering. “He’s… difficult.”
“Still hot?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
She snorts. “And?”
“And tense. Closed off. He did everything I asked, barely, but acted like each minute in that room was a personal betrayal.”
Kristy nods thoughtfully. “He probably didn’t expect it to be you.”
“Nope. Found out while strapped to the table. Zero warning. Thanks to David.”
Kristy winces. “Oof.”
“Yeah.”
I take another sip and rub the back of my neck. “And I forgot how the altitude hits you here. I’ve been back a few weeks, but I still lose my breath just climbing the arena stairs.”
Kristy leans back, watching me for a moment. “So… how’s it really feel, being back?”
I glance out the window. “Weird,” I admit. “This town still feels like Mom in a hundred small ways—the grocery store, the rink parking lot, even the radio station she liked.”
Her expression softens. “Yeah. I figured it might hit different this time.”
“It does,” I say. “But it’s… okay. I think I needed it. To come home and not feel like everything’s frozen in time.”
Kristy nods, quiet for a beat, then lifts her mug again. “That’s a lot all at once—being back, starting with a new team, and then Declan on day one. Is he making it harder than it has to be?”
I purse my lips, then shrug. “He’s not the first difficult patient I’ve handled.”
She grins and nudges my foot. “Well, it’s a good thing you don’t mind tough cases.”
I snort. “Even the six-foot-three kind with a bad knee and trust issues the size of Canada.”
We both laugh, and for a minute, it’s easy. Just the two of us, like old times. The familiarity of it steadies me in a way nothing else has since I got back.
Kristy lifts her mug. “To homecomings. Even the complicated kind.”
I clink mine against hers.
She grins. “He’s lucky you’re licensed now. When we were ten, you tried to ‘help’ by icing his knee with frozen peas and duct tape.”
I gasp-laugh. “He called me a ‘relentless shadow.’”
“And look at you now—still haunting him professionally.”
We both dissolve into laughter, the kind that settles in your chest after years of shared history. I didn’t even realize how much I missed this—missed her—until right now.
I lean my head back against the cushion and close my eyes for a beat.
This isn’t how I pictured my first week—walking into a storm I didn’t cause, facing someone who looks at me like I’m the enemy.
But I’m not rattled.
I’m rooted.
In the town I love.
In the work I’m good at.
With people who remind me why I came back.
Declan didn’t see me coming. But I’m here now.
And I don’t scare easy.