10. Jaymie
Jaymie
By the fourth week of physical therapy, I’d stopped trying to flirt with Mallory Quince. Not because I didn’t want to. I still did—desperately. But because somewhere between hamstring stretches and resistance band squats, I realized I liked her too much to make it about me.
She was different this week. Not cold, just…
a little further away. Her voice quieter, her movements more clipped.
She still did her job with total professionalism, no corners cut, no coddling…
but the spark, the banter, the little smirks she used to throw my way when I whined about massage gun settings? Gone.
And I noticed.
Every.
Damn.
Second.
“You’re early,” she said when I stepped into Training Room Three, my hoodie sticking to the back of my neck from the walk over.
“Early bird gets the ice pack,” I said, offering her a weak grin.
Mallory didn’t roll her eyes like she used to. She just motioned toward the treatment table. “Let’s start with the quad today. We’ll move to the hamstring after.”
I climbed up without protest, trying not to wince when my leg stretched under her careful hands.
For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was the quiet whir of the vent overhead and the faint creak of her sneakers as she shifted her stance.
“I can shut up if you want,” I said softly. “If you’re having a day.”
Mallory blinked, her hands stilling just for a second before she resumed. “I’m fine.”
“I didn’t ask if you were fine. I said if you’re having a day . ”
That earned me a small flicker of something in her eyes. Not amusement. Not warmth. But... awareness.
“It’s been a long week,” she admitted finally. “But I’m good.”
I nodded. “Okay. Just—if you want silence, I’ll zip it.”
She paused. “You don’t have to change how you are.”
“Maybe I want to.”
Mallory glanced up at that, and I held her gaze. For once, I didn’t try to lighten the mood with a joke. I just let the air settle around the honesty.
“I’m trying to be a better friend,” I said quietly.
Her brows lifted slightly. “Friend?”
“Yeah. You know. Someone who listens and checks in frequently. Doesn’t make everything about his leg or his mom’s lasagna or how adorable your eye rolls are.”
That almost got a smile.
Almost.
“I didn’t mean to make things weird,” I added, because we hadn’t talked about the elevator since it happened. And clearly, she didn’t want to. “If I crossed a line before—”
“You didn’t,” she said quickly. Then softer: “You didn’t.”
That silence fell again, but this time it was a little less heavy. A little more comfortable.
“Did Dakota call you again last night?” I asked.
That surprised her. “How’d you—?”
“You mentioned she always calls on Thursdays. Said she gets out of lab late?”
Mallory stared at me like I’d just recited the Declaration of Independence.
“You listen way too well,” she murmured.
“I told you. I’m trying.”
She shook her head, a tiny huff of disbelief slipping from her mouth. “Yeah. She called. She’s stressed, but good.”
“That girl’s gonna run the world one day.”
“She’s planning to be a trauma surgeon. So… probably.”
“Damn. Our very own April Kepner, I always loved Grey's Anatomy…accuracy asside,” I chuckled trying to change the momentum of the conversation to something lighter.
Mallory’s hands softened just a little as she worked my leg. The pressure still stung, but I didn’t care. I’d take it over silence any day.
“You ever get tired of carrying everyone?” I asked before I could stop myself.
She stilled.
“I’m not—”
“You don’t have to explain,” I said gently. “I just meant… you’re always so on top of things. With me. With your job. With her. It seems like a lot.”
Mallory stepped back then, folding her arms loosely across her chest.
“I like being useful. ”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She met my eyes for a long beat. “It’s easier than thinking about myself.”
That hit harder than I expected. I sat up slowly, careful not to push my leg too far.
“Well,” I said, “just in case you ever need someone to think about you for a bit, I’m around.”
Mallory didn’t answer. But she didn’t look away either.
“You’re a lot nicer than you let on,” she said after a minute.
I shrugged. “Only for special people.”
Her lips parted, maybe to respond, maybe to shut it down—but the timer on her watch beeped, and she turned quickly toward the next station.
“Ready for resistance bands and hamstrings??”
“Lead the way, boss.”
The rest of the session was a little lighter. Not bubbly. Not banter-filled. But warmer. Less edge. And I took that as a win.
At the end, when I grabbed my water bottle and headed for the door, Mallory called after me.
“Jaymie?”
I turned.
“Thanks. For today.”
I nodded. “Anytime.”
And I hope she knew I meant it.
** *
The sting of cold air against my face was the best kind of pain. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it—the bite of the chill, the sound of my blades cutting into fresh ice, the sharp echo of sticks tapping in anticipation. The rink was my church, and today? I was back in the pews.
“Think you can keep up, grandpa?” Logan skated past me backward, grinning like he’d already won.
“Keep talking, Bennett. We’ll see who’s panting first.”
He shot me a wink and pivoted clean into a warm-up lap. I fell in beside him, our strides syncing like they always did, like some muscle memory that existed beyond injury or time off the ice.
Coach blew the whistle. “Lines! Let’s go—edge drills! Prescott take it EASY!!”
We broke into pairs, skating tight around the cones laid across the neutral zone.
My hamstring twinged, but nothing like it had before.
This wasn’t pain. This was strength reawakening.
I could feel it—my legs remembering how to push, how to carve.
The sweat was already forming at my temple, and I loved it.
When Coach Tucker had texted about being cleared for light practice, the weight of a million boulders was lifted off my shoulders .
“Looking good out there, Prescott,” Coach shouted as I came out of a tight turn, breathing heavy.
“Thanks, Coach,” I called back, pushing off for another rep.
Next up: puck possession drills. Logan and I lined up for a two-on-one against a defenseman, and the moment that puck hit the ice, everything else faded. I feinted left, baited the d-man, then snapped a saucer pass across the crease where Logan buried it top shelf.
“Oh, we’re so back,” he grinned, skating over to bump my shoulder.
“Never left,” I panted, sweat dripping from my chin.
Coach watched us closely. His clipboard was out, but his eyes were narrowed in that way that said he wasn’t just looking.
He was assessing.
Measuring.
By the time practice wound down, I was gassed in the best way possible. We finished with battle drills—hard scrums in the corners, loose puck races, backchecking—and I gave it everything I had. Logan and I left it all out there.
As the final whistle blew, Coach cupped his hands. “Prescott, change quick then meet me in my office.”
Logan raised a brow as I peeled off my helmet. “Uh oh. Somebody’s in trouble. ”
I flicked my towel at him and made my way toward the locker rooms.
Coach’s office was tucked in the back of the complex, past the team lounge and weight room. I’d been in there plenty of times before—mostly for strategy talk or chewing outs—but as I stepped through the door, I paused.
Mallory was already there.
She stood by the window, arms crossed loosely over her chest, clipboard clutched in one hand. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and her Hellblades polo looked unfairly good on her. She glanced over when I walked in but didn’t smile.
“Sit,” Coach said, motioning to the chair across from his desk.
I dropped into it, still breathing hard from drills, trying not to look as surprised as I felt. What was Mallory doing here?
Coach leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against the desk. “Hell of a skate today, Prescott.”
“Appreciate that, sir.”
“You feel ready?”
I hesitated, but only for a second. “I do. It felt good out there.”
He nodded, then turned to Mallory. “He looked sharp. Strong on his edges. No hesitation going into contact situations. You agree? ”
Mallory looked at me—really looked at me—and for a beat, I forgot to breathe.
Then she nodded. “He’s ahead of where we projected. The hamstring’s responding well. He’s cleared for light contact and controlled scrimmage. That’s what we agreed on.”
“But?” Coach pressed.
“But I’d like to keep the timeline conservative for full game contact,” she said, glancing down at her notes. “Another week or two of monitored scrimmage. If he stays clean, we reassess for game readiness.”
Coach grunted. “That’d get him back just before the road trip.”
“That’s the plan,” she confirmed.
Coach turned back to me. “Thoughts?”
I met Mallory’s eyes. “I trust her. If she says a week or two more, I’ll do it.”
She blinked, surprised.
Coach Tucker gave a satisfied nod. “Good. That's the attitude we like to have around here! Keep skating like you did today and I’ll slot you back in with Logan by next Saturday.”
A small thrill shot through me, but I tamped it down. Focus. One day at a time.
“Understood.”
Coach waved us off. “Alright. Go hydrate. Ice that leg and stretch. You’re done for the day. ”
I stood and turned toward the door, Mallory a few steps ahead of me. As we stepped into the hallway, I slowed my pace to match hers.
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
She glanced at me. “For what?”
“For sticking to your gut in there. And for not saying yes just because Coach wanted it.”
Her lips quirked, not quite a smile. “I’m not here to make Coach happy.”
“No. You’re here to keep me from doing something stupid.”
She paused at the turn toward the training room. “Exactly.”
I wanted to say more. To tell her how much it meant that she was looking out for me, not just as a player, but as a person. But I didn’t. I let the silence stand.
Just before she disappeared down the hall, she looked over her shoulder.
“You really did look good out there.”
I grinned. “So you do watch me skate.”
Mallory rolled her eyes and walked away.
And yeah—maybe I’d just earned back a little more than ice time today.