Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ELLIOT
“Oh my god! That thing is huge.” I take a step back and resist the urge to shield my eyes with my hand.
“If you think that’s huge, you should see my—”
“Austin!” My voice comes out sharp, but honestly, the man leaves me no choice.
Austin Crawford flashes a grin so wide it could split his face into two handsome halves.
“My other one. Gosh, Elliot. Get your mind out of the gutter.” With dramatic flair, he pivots, tugging at the hem of his shirt to reveal another bruise sprawled across his ribs.
This one is even worse—angry purple, edged with sickly yellow, clearly a couple of days older than the first.
I exhale through my nose, half exasperated, half concerned. “You are the most injury-prone of all my patients.”
He winks, settling back onto the treatment table like it’s his throne. “I’m also your favourite, right?”
“I don’t have favourites.” My tone is firm and professional. Mostly. In truth, Will Oliver wins the spot for being the most impossibly lovable person on the planet—but that’s information I’ll take to my grave. “How did these happen?”
“If you can believe it, our young Austin was running his mouth on the ice. Again,” Ben’s dry baritone cuts across the room. He doesn’t look up from where Cal is guiding him through resistance band work, but the smirk in his voice is unmistakable.
Austin grabs the nearest towel and flings it in Ben’s direction. It flops pathetically to the floor halfway across the room. He groans and clutches his side, his bravado cracking under the flare of pain.
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Elliot.” He tilts his head toward me with exaggerated innocence, his lower lip pushed out to mimic a sad puppy. It would work, too, if I didn’t know exactly how much of a scamp he is.
“What I believe is that you love trouble.”
“I don’t,” he says, smiling that crooked smile his female fan base loves. “But trouble’s obsessed with me and has been for years. I can’t help if I’m the most popular player on the team.”
Every player in the room scoffs in perfect harmony.
“You mispronounced ‘delusional,’ bud,” Ben calls back.
“Just stating the facts. Let’s do a poll. Cal—who do you like better? Michaels or me?”
“I think you’re both morons,” Cal replies without looking away from Ben’s progress.
“I respect your honesty.” Ben grins. “Austin, as your captain, I’m telling you to stop distracting everyone and do your damn exercises.”
Austin rolls his eyes and gives him a mock salute.
I decide to keep Austin’s session light, considering what his body has already endured.
His bruises are bad enough without me adding to them.
I guide him gently through a series of stretches, watching the way his muscles respond and making sure not to push him beyond what he can handle.
His flexibility is decent, but his winces tell me exactly where the limits are.
I finish with a massage, working my thumbs slowly into the knots in his shoulders.
He’s been carrying his tension there, the kind that sits deep in the muscle and refuses to let go.
Austin talks through nearly the entire session.
His mouth moves as fast as his legs do on the ice.
He tosses playful insults across the room at his teammates, waiting for their groans or laughter to come back to him.
It is easy to picture him as the class clown who just can’t help himself even though he knows the act will land him in detention or standing in front of the principal.
The type who thrives on any attention. Requires it. Negative or positive.
I don’t mind. If anything, the noise is a relief.
Austin is a flirt, and a bold one, but there is nothing threatening about it.
He flirts with everyone in equal measure.
The other physios, the trainers, even the team doctor.
It never crosses a line, never comes with a leer.
His charm is exaggerated and ridiculous enough that it feels like part of his persona rather than anything serious.
And for me, it is a welcome distraction.
A few minutes of reprieve from the heavier things sitting on my own shoulders.
Like the knot in my stomach every time I think of Glen.
After that humiliating scene in front of Arthur, I had forced myself to call him, braced for the blow.
I was ready for him to tell me then and there that my rent was going up.
Instead, his voice had been maddeningly calm.
He said he needed to look at the numbers and that he would get back to me.
That was eight days ago. Eight long days of waiting for the axe to drop.
Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten the same silent treatment from Shawn.
My ex-husband has texted me twice in the past week, and while his words were not overtly threatening, there was an edge to them.
The kind of tone that makes the hair at the back of my neck prickle and leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
Shawn: Nice catching up with you the other day.
Shawn: Hope we can discuss things further. Soon.
I haven’t answered. I’ve ignored his calls, too.
My finger hovers every time over the Block button, but I cannot make myself press it.
I’m too afraid that silence will provoke him.
What if ignoring him makes him push harder?
What if he decides to follow through on his threat to go after custody of Sam?
The thought twists my stomach. The rational part of me whispers that Shawn is all talk.
He always has been. He is a man who likes the sound of his own voice, the power of a veiled threat without the spine to carry it out.
If I ignore him long enough, he will slink back into whatever hole he crawled out of.
But the worries remain.
I press my thumbs deep into Austin’s deltoids, rolling the knots from his muscles with more force than necessary. In my mind, I’m digging them into Shawn’s eye sockets. The image is gross, but it makes me feel better.
“Run away with me, Elliot.” Austin tugs his grey T-shirt back over his head.
It’s not the first time he’s said something like this. Last week he proposed marriage. The week before that, too. He’s clearly committed to the joke.
“I would, Austin,” I reply in the flattest, most bored tone I can muster, scrubbing my hands at the sink and keeping my eyes fixed on the soap suds instead of his grin. “But you’re forgetting something very important. I already have a man in my life. Sam.”
“We’ll bring him. I’m great with kids.”
“Because you are one,” Ben drawls as he crosses the room, done with Cal’s session. He tosses his towel over his shoulder.
Austin shoots him a wounded look. “You’re just afraid Sam will like me more than he likes you.”
“Please.” Ben rolls his eyes skyward. “Sam would never. The kid has taste. Right, Elliot?”
I tilt my head side to side, pretending to weigh the options.
“In people? Definitely. He’s an excellent judge of character.
In movies? Absolutely. His favourite is Jurassic Park, and we watch it at least three times a year.
In food, though…” I wrinkle my nose. “He’s started dipping his french fries in sweet-with-heat mustard. ”
Ben grimaces but Austin perks up, eyes bright with curiosity.
“That actually sounds good.”
“Of course you would think that.” Ben shakes his head.
“I’m going to try it,” Austin declares, like he is announcing his candidacy for mayor.
“I will not stand in your way.”
Austin grins. “Which one? Me trying the fry and mustard combo, or me running away with Elliot?”
Before I can answer, a shadow lengthens across me. A very large shadow. The room stills around me and Austin’s cocky grin falters, just slightly. My skin prickles with awareness even before I hear the voice.
“I want to see you in my office, Crawford.” Arthur’s tone is as hard as granite, each syllable clipped with command. “Now.”