Chapter 21 - Theo
Theo
Her foot was already warm in my hands, skin loose with trust, toes twitching every time my thumbs found a tender spot. My shoulder complained if I leaned the wrong way, so I stayed propped on my good side and let my hands do the talking.
“This is so unnecessary,” Reese murmured from the far end of the couch. Her voice dragged, words sticking together with exhaustion. “It’s after midnight. You’re ridiculous.”
I worked oil into the arch anyway. She’d called it unnecessary twice so far, and was yet to pull away.
“This mask is amazing; I’ll give you that.” The candle on the coffee table had burned low, wax folding in on itself. The dim light flickered across her face as her head lolled back.
The sheet mask I’d pulled from Josie’s bag of tricks made her look like a low-budget ghost, edges puckering where it didn’t quite fit her jaw. Only her mouth and eyes were visible, lashes heavy, lips parted in that way that meant she was losing the fight to stay awake.
“I’m almost done,” I said.
“You said that already.”
Her toes curled.
I smiled to myself and kept going. Her skin gave under my thumbs, pliant, grateful. She made a small sound she’d never admit to later, and it went straight through me.
Hunter would say I had it down bad—a phrase he’d used to describe Mason when he was deep in the throes of falling for Cass.
“What’s wrong?”
The boulder in my gut twisted as Reese looked up. My fingers had stopped on their own, jarred by a runaway thought.
Because was this me falling?
“Nothing… uh…” I rummaged through the bag and came upright with a tube of cream. “Just moving onto the next part.”
The mask ruffled with what I imagined was a frown. “Next part?”
“Josie made me swear not to skip this step.” I squinted at the label on the tube. “With wild mint and horse chestnut to rejuvenate tired calves.”
“That’s absurd,” Reese muttered. “Everybody knows chestnuts don’t grow on horses.”
I laughed softly, already nudging her pants leg above her knee to gain access. My fingers followed the long pull of muscle, feeling where the day had settled into pockets of stress. Her knee tipped inward, heel nudging my ribs as if she were trying to get closer without admitting it.
Somewhere in the middle of it, with her leg stretched across my lap and my hands warm from the friction, a thought slipped in without announcing itself.
“You’re beautiful.”
Her head lifted a few inches, and she aimed a dubious gaze at me through the narrow eye slits of her mask. “Funny how the first time you tell me that, I have this thing obscuring my entire face.”
“That’s what makes all the difference.”
Then she laughed, a tired huff that ended in a yawn. I laughed too, because it felt good to meet her there, because the room was small and warm and all ours for the night. No outside world barging in, waving its expectations in our faces.
She reached for her wine and missed the glass the first time. I pushed it closer. She took a sip and grimaced.
“This wine is going straight to my head.”
“Lightweight.”
She made a face at me, mask crinkling. “Maybe so, but I’m pretty sure this is more about the fact that I haven’t eaten since lunch. Yesterday.”
My hands stilled.
“What?”
She waved it off, already sinking back into the cushions. “Don’t start. I was busy. Felt like the whole team either had a strain or needed ice or in Tucker’s case, a few rolls of k-tape.”
“You haven’t eaten,” I repeated, skating over her lame excuse.
“I’m fine. It’s almost time for breakfast.”
I was off the couch before she finished the sentence, my shoulder barking as I pushed up. I ignored it.
“Theo,” she called after me. “Have you lost it? It’s late.”
“It’s dinner time somewhere in the world.” I was already in the kitchen.
Her cupboards told on her immediately. Cereal. A can of tuna that had given up years ago. I shut the door on that situation and opened the fridge. The light blinded me after the smooth candles from the living room, but I’d found my bounty.
“This’ll do,” I muttered under my breath, and got to work.
As the pan heated, my mind kept circling back to the couch. To that whole falling thing... I wanted to tell myself it was way too soon to be thinking like this. That Reese and I had barely scraped the surface of what it meant to be together. Technically, we were still just fooling around in secret.
But also technically… She’d become the closest person to me these past few months. The trust we’d built to keep me on the ice, to get her promotion—it meant something more.
When I came back with my rushed grilled cheese, the living room had gone quiet. Reese had slid sideways, mask off and dangling from her hand where it had dropped over the side of the couch. A soft snore lifted over the muted pop of the dying tealight candles.
And there it was. The truth I’d been circling. Not coming down with fireworks or the hype of a marching band. Just a steady yes. A simple “Of course you’re in love with her, you fool.”
I set the plates on the coffee table and eased myself down beside her, careful of my right side. The couch dipped. She shifted without waking, instinct guiding her closer. Her leg draped over my thigh. Her arm tucked around my middle. Her head found my chest.
“You’re here.” Her words took the form of a mumbled sigh.
I rested my hand against her back and stayed still. Contentment settled in, deep and uncomplicated. “I’m here.”
When my eyes finally closed, the candle was nearly gone.
*
“I still can’t believe you pulled this off,” I whispered, although I could’ve said it out loud and nobody would’ve heard. Not with the whole team shoved into the hospital waiting room.
Leading Round 3 by three games to two would do that. They were amped up and geared for the final push. A bitter taste rose in the back of my throat. I should’ve been part of it. Should’ve been fine by now.
Reese shrugged, looking all too proud of herself.
“My plan hinged on several moving parts. First I had to convince Holly that CT scans are run-of-the-mill for an overall fitness look, and great for PR. Then I needed her to back me in that reason, and take it to McAvoy. I used me being the sole trainer as leverage. The more I know about the team, the better I can serve them on the road to the Cup.”
“Callahan.”
Hunter shot out of his seat when the tech called his name. “I hope you’re ready to see the most beautiful films of your career.”
“You’re a genius,” I said, leaning in close, and a slight flush rose in her cheeks.
She elbowed me in the ribs, laughing softly. “Glad you finally came around.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’ve earned it,” I said. “How did you manage to land me an MRI though?”
“Management knows you’re injured,” she replied, pretending to pick some fluff from her pants to uphold the image of not speaking to me while she was totally speaking to me. “I told them an MRI would be more conclusive, and help me get you back on the ice sooner rather than later.”
I sat back in my chair, mildly astounded by the lengths she’d gone to get the scan without making it seem like anything out of the ordinary. Or… how far she’d gone to get her way. She’d been on my case about this scan from the start.
“You’re something else, you know that?”
She allowed herself a furtive glance, a slight smirk. “I’ve been told.”
“We have a Bouchard for the MRI?”
Everyone went quiet, and all eyes landed on me. Reese tensed, and I gave her a reassuring smile as I got up.
"How come he gets a different test?” Shawn asked.
I turned to answer, but saw that Reese was actually following right behind me.
“Just covering the bases,” she said, and motioned for me to keep going.
“You don’t have to come with me,” I said out the corner of my mouth. “It’ll look weird.”
But her stride never slowed.
“I’m the one who’s been working with you, doing your rehab, following your fitness.” We’d cleared the waiting area, out of sight of the rest of the guys, and she took this moment to give my hand a small squeeze. “Of course I’m coming with you.”
After a quick prep and explanation that went totally over my head, they got me on the table of the MRI machine and left the room. I caught a glimpse of Reese’s hair, a quick brush of her hand on mine. “I’ll be in the booth. Watching.”
I nodded, and a few seconds later, the table slid me into the tunnel inch by inch, my bad shoulder pinned in place by molded plastic and straps that didn’t feel all that helpful.
The coil hovered close, a hard shell framing the joint like a warning.
I stared at the inside curve of the machine, white and too near, while the tech’s voice crackled instructions through the headset.
Stay still. Breathe normal. As if my shoulder hadn’t already decided it was the only thing worth thinking about.
The first sequence started and the machine answered with a relentless knocking that shook through my bones, each pulse landing right where it hurt.
I kept my eyes open, fixed on the small window of glass at the end of the tube.
Reese stood in the control booth beside the tech, arms folded, attention locked on the screens.
She caught my eye and lifted two fingers in a quiet sign I recognized from the bench.
You’ve got this. I swallowed and held still, counting the sounds until they blurred together, telling myself that whatever showed up on those images was already there whether I looked away or not.
Afterwards, we all went back to wait for the bus. The guys had thinned into clusters, some playing cards, some on their phones… I paced the length of the breadth of one corner and tried to ignore the look on Reese’s face when I’d come off that table.
Or how she’d been avoiding talking to me since.
I could’ve been imagining it, but it all felt a little too convenient. Checking on the guys, talking to Coach, and now she was caught in an urgent battle with the vending machine down the hall.
She looked different. Not rattled, exactly, but like she’d withdrawn into her head. Which was way worse.
I’d gone into this feeling decent. Confident enough. I came out lighter, even. The scan was done. The noise was over. Whatever it was, it was out of my body now, living in images and reports and words other people would argue over.
But she’d been in that booth, and I couldn’t help thinking what she saw had something to do with this change in her mood.
I watched her slide a can free and punch the button again when it stuck. Muttered something under her breath, and punched it again.
The thought wormed its way into my brain and stayed there: What if I wasn’t fine?
I’d used that word all season. Tape. Ice. A pill here and there. Fine enough to take a hit. Fine enough to keep my spot. Fine enough to pretend I wasn’t waking up stiff and sore and pissed off at my own body.
Weeks out of the lineup had a way of changing the math.
She got the can on the second drop and popped the tab, eyes flicking up when she sensed me watching. I crossed the distance before I could talk myself out of it.
“Hey,” she said, guarded.
I took her by the arm, and kept walking.
“What are you doing?” Her voice dropped right away, eyes darting past me toward the waiting room. The guys were still around. Still close enough.
I didn’t answer. I steered her toward the stairwell, pushed the door open with my shoulder, and pulled her inside before she could protest again.
The door swung shut behind us.
The space was empty. Concrete walls. A metal railing. Harsh fluorescent light. She shook her arm free but didn’t step away. She stood there with the can in her hand, fingers fidgeting the tab.
“What did you see in there?” It was nothing more than a whisper, but somehow my words echoed in the space around us.
“I’m not a doctor,” she said, avoiding my gaze. “We have to wait for the results.”
I let out a dry, cutting laugh. “Bullshit. You’re practically a doctor. Tell me.”
She looked up at me then, her mouth curved. And where I expected her to back off, she stepped closer. “You’re kinda hot when you get all demanding, Bouchard.”
Before I could answer, she kissed me.
It was a decisive move, her mouth fitting on mine like it knew exactly what it was doing, like this was a solution she’d reached and committed to. The stairwell amplified everything. Our breathing. The scrape of my palm against the concrete as I braced myself.
My hand slid to her waist, then lower, pulling her in. I knew what she was doing. I let her do it anyway. I kissed her back like I’d been holding my breath since the scan started.
Her fingers found the back of my neck, careful of my shoulder, familiar with the limits even now. That made something in my chest twist. She knew me too well to lie badly.
My mind kept flicking back to the tunnel. The machine swallowing me whole. The way the tech’s voice had sounded distant through the headphones. The way I’d counted my breaths and thought about nothing and everything at once.
Her mouth moved to my jaw, and my pulse kicked. I wanted to stay right there. Wanted to let the answer wait.
But I broke the kiss, holding her at bay with one hand. “You’ll tell me if it’s bad, right?”
I tipped her chin up so she had to meet my eyes.
She smiled.
It was small. Tight at the edges. Not an answer, and definitely not the one I was hoping for.
My stomach sank.
“Reese,” I pressed. “Will I be ready for finals? Can you tell me that at least?”
Her gaze dropped. Straight to the floor between us. The answer lived there even if she didn’t give it voice.
The stairwell light flickered once and steadied.
I opened my mouth to speak, but her phone went off in her pocket. A sharp interruption. She pulled it free and glanced at the screen.
“They’re heading for the bus,” she said. Already stepping back. Already putting space between me and the inevitable. “We have to go.”
Then she slipped past me and pushed the door open without looking back. The door closed again, the echo of her sigh following her out.
I stayed where I was, staring at the scuffed concrete, that knot setting up shop in my gut like it planned to stay awhile.
She sat apart from me on the bus, and ducked out as soon as we got back to the arena. It was all too obvious. My hopes of making things right were slipping away, and fast.
“This is all very dramatic, even for you,” Hunter said, freshly showered after practice.
I’d texted him to meet me in the room next to Bob’s office. It was cluttered to the ceiling with old gear and accessories, and smelled like wet dog.
“I need to ask you something, and I need you to say yes without questioning me about it.”
His smile faltered, thrown off balance by the distinct crease of a frown. “Is this about the scan?”
I ignored the way he immediately broke the ‘no questions’ rule, and said, “I need you to throw the game tomorrow night.”