9. Brashe
CHAPTER NINE
brASHE
Iarrived at the arena early and sat in my truck.
The parking lot was almost empty, and the sky still clung to that pale gray that came before real daylight. My hands were locked on the steering wheel, my hip throbbing with a dull ache I’d been ignoring since I woke up.
Her car was already here, a silver sedan. I’d noticed it yesterday. And the day before. I was keeping track of when she arrived now, which was fucked up, but I couldn’t stop myself from doing it.
Seven-fifteen. Every morning.
I should go home, ice my hip, and do the stretches she’d given me. Instead, I sat in my truck and stared at her car like it would give me answers.
This was bad.
I was supposed to be keeping my distance. Show up for treatment, follow her instructions, and stay professional. That was the plan.
Except the plan was failing because I couldn’t stop noticing things.
She tucked her hair behind her ear when she was concentrating. She chewed on the cap of her pen when she was reviewing a chart. And she arrived at seven fifteen every morning and carried a coffee cup that said World’s Okayest Doctor in bold letters.
I checked the clock on my dash. Seven forty.
Twenty minutes early. Again.
I got out of the truck before I could talk myself out of it.
She was in the treatment room, standing at the desk with her back to me. She wore a soft blue sweater today, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, showing the pale skin of her forearms. Her hair had been pulled up in a high ponytail that swung when she moved.
She held a different pen than yesterday. Purple, with the team logo.
I was noticing the pen.
This was a problem.
She turned, and I saw her face. No makeup, or maybe just enough that it didn’t look like she wore any. A little color in her cheeks. Her eyes were sharper this morning, like she’d had more coffee than usual.
“How’s the pain today?” she asked, setting down the pen. “And don’t lie to me, Kedish. I can tell by the way you’re standing.”
“Three.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Uh-huh. Get on the table before you fall down.”
I sat on the treatment table, the paper crinkling under me, and lay back.
She moved closer, pulling on gloves. “We’re going deeper today. The muscle fibers are starting to release, but there’s still adhesion work to do.”
“I’m ready.”
She positioned herself beside the table, her hands settling on my hip. Her fingers found the edge of the adductor and pressed down.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“The muscle fibers are responding well,” she said. “You’re healing faster than I expected.”
“You’re good at this.”
Her hands paused.
I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“I mean…” I tried to backtrack. “You’re really good. Like, better than any physical therapist I’ve worked with before.”
“Thanks,” she said softly. “That’s…nice to hear.”
She continued. I watched her fingers press into the muscle and could feel her pulse through her fingertips. Or maybe that was mine. Either way, the treatment table felt smaller than it had when I first laid down.
Her hands eased along the length of the adductor. She explained what she was doing as she went, talking about muscle fibers and blood flow and healing timelines.
I wasn’t really listening. I was watching the way her ponytail swung when she leaned forward. The little creases between her eyebrows. The way her bottom lip caught between her teeth when she hit a particularly stubborn knot.
“Did you eat breakfast?” I asked.
Her frown deepened. “Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“That’s not really your business.”
“You tell me to take care of my body. It seems fair I get to return the favor.”
Her gaze flicked up to meet mine. “I’m fine.” But a blush crept up her neck, turning her skin pink.
“What do you like to eat most for breakfast?”
“Healthy things.”
“Like salad.”
Her huff rang out. “Not for breakfast.”
“Then what?”
“I try to eat something healthy, like yogurt or scrambled eggs with lots of vegetables.”
“Eating healthy is good, I guess.”
“I need to.”
“Are you sick?” I asked, worry shooting through me.
“No, I just…” She glanced down at her body.
“Just what?”
“I mean…my size.”
“Size of what?” I didn’t understand.
“I’m a big woman.”
“Lots of women are big.” Still not understanding.
“I’m fat so I’m trying to eat right.”
Now I was the one with a frown. “You have amazing curves.”
Her snort rang out, and I was glad to see the hint of a smile. “Thanks. I think.”
“People come in all sizes. Orcs too. What you can do with your body matters more than how it’s shaped.”
“So says the seven-foot-plus hockey player.”
Did she… Was she worried about her shape?
“You’re gorgeous,” I blurted out.
Her cheeks flashed pink. “Eating healthy makes my body stronger.”
I still wasn’t sure why this conversation had deviated to her body shape, but I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, so I let it go.
“Hockey players eat a pretty restrictive diet as well,” I said. “But I do cheat every now and then.”
Her gaze met mine. “What do you cheat with?”
“Ice cream. Love the stuff.”
“Donuts are my downfall. The chocolate crumb ones.”
“They’re amazing too. Sometimes I scoop up my ice cream with them.”
“That’s overkill, don’t you think?”
“Not when it comes to good donuts and ice cream.”
“I should try it sometime.”
“You should.”
She pressed down harder. Not rough, but not gentle either.
I’d bring her something tomorrow. A yogurt, maybe. Or a donut from the bakery down the street.
She finished the session twenty minutes later, stepping back and pulling off her gloves.
“Ice when you leave,” she said. “And do the stretches. All of them.”
“I will.”
“I mean it, Brashe. Don’t skip the hip flexor work. It’s the most important one.”
“I won’t.”
She made a note on her tablet, not looking at me. “Four this afternoon?”
“Yes.” I slid off the table, testing my weight. The muscle ached, but it felt better. Looser. “Thanks.”
She nodded, not looking up.
I left before I could say something else I’d regret and walked to the gym, finding it empty.
I went through my warm-up routine, my brain stuck in the treatment room. I couldn’t stop thinking about her hands on my thigh. She’d blushed when I asked about breakfast. Her soft voice.
This was bad.
I was noticing her pen colors. Next I’d be tracking what she ate for lunch and how she tied her shoes. Obsession like this would end with me sitting outside her home like a creep.
But I couldn’t stop.
I loaded weight onto the bar and got into position for squats. The first rep was fine. The second made my hip pull. By the third, I was gritting my teeth.
I racked the bar and sat on the bench, breathing hard.
This wasn’t working.
I couldn’t focus on my workout because all I could think about was her. She’d gone soft when I complimented her, but she’d pulled back as if she’d caught herself doing something she wasn’t supposed to.
I wanted to know what she was thinking. If she thought about me the way I did about her. If she hated me for what I’d said at the picnic.
I checked my phone. Eleven forty-five.
Time for lunch.
The break room smelled like garlic and marinara. The chef had made Italian, and the scent filled the space, making my stomach growl.
I grabbed a plate and loaded it, then sat with Tolrek and Fedor. Tolrek was scrolling through his phone, his face unreadable. Fedor was halfway through his meal, sauce on his chin.
“How’s the hip?” Fedor asked around a mouthful of bread.
“Getting there.”
“Doc’s good, right?”
“She is.”
Mikael walked in and loaded a plate. He scanned the room, his gaze landing on Ellie sitting at a table near the windows. She sat with Neva, one of the assistant coaches, and Haley. They were laughing, Ellie’s head thrown back, her ponytail swinging.
Mikael grinned and dropped into the chair across from me.
“The new doc is amazing, isn’t she?” he said to the table at large.
Tolrek didn’t look up from his phone.
Fedor grunted. “She’s good at her job.”
Mikael leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. “She’s good at a lot of things, I bet.”
My fork bent in my hand.
Tolrek’s gaze flicked to me, then back to his phone.
Mikael kept going. “I’m just saying, if I had an injury that needed that much hands-on attention—”
“Fucking shut up, Mikael,” I snarled.
The table went quiet.
Mikael’s grin didn’t fade. “Whoa. Protective, are we?”
I stood, dumping what was left of my meal into the trash. My hip protested the movement, a sharp pull that radiated down my thigh.
I caught Ellie’s gaze on the way out. She was watching me, her expression unreadable.
She’d probably heard the whole thing.
Later that afternoon, when I was supposed to be in the auxiliary gym, doing my stretches, I found myself in the hallway outside the treatment room, leaning against the wall.
Voices drifted through the cracked-open door.
Veskar and Ellie.
“So, I was thinking, if you’re free Friday night…” Veskar said. “Just dinner. Nothing serious. I know a great place, and you’ve been working so hard, I thought we could celebrate.”
“That’s really sweet, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Because of the team thing?”
“I don’t date players. It’s a rule I have.”
The breath I’d been holding punched out of my lungs.
“That’s a shame,” Veskar said. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind?”
“I’m sure. But thank you.”
Footsteps rang out and the door opened wider. Veskar walked out, passing me in the hallway. He nodded once and kept going.
I stood with my hands clenched at my sides, trying to process what I’d just heard.
She didn’t date players.
That meant she’d never date me.
Which shouldn’t matter because I couldn’t have her anyway.
But it did matter.
It mattered so much I couldn’t breathe.
Turning, I strode away.
Fuck it.