10. Brashe
CHAPTER TEN
brASHE
Istepped inside the treatment room at four PM, barely on time. I’d worked a bit on the ice, helping one of the rookies. Not playing hockey. Not doing anything I shouldn’t.
Ellie was waiting, her arms crossed on her chest, her face flushed.
“You want to tell me why you nearly bent your fork in half at lunch?” she asked before I could even say hello.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mikael was being gross. You got defensive. Why?”
“He shouldn’t talk about you like that.”
“I can handle Mikael.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“That’s not your call to make.”
“What is this, Brashe?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “You show up early, you ask if I’ve eaten, you get territorial when someone makes a comment. What do you want from me?”
The words tangled in my throat. “I don’t want anything.”
“Are you sure?”
“You don’t date players.”
She went still. “You were listening earlier.”
“The door was open.”
“So you heard me turn Veskar down, and you decided to make that weird too?”
“I didn’t mean—” I dragged a hand over my face. “No.”
“I’ll ask you again. What is this?” She gestured between us, her voice rising. “Because you’ve been acting like I matter and then like I don’t, and I can’t keep track anymore.”
The words pressed against my tusks. I swallowed them back down. “It’s nothing.”
“Don’t shut me out when I’m asking you a direct question. Just tell me the truth. Why do you care if Mikael makes comments? Why do you ask about breakfast? Why do you show up twenty minutes early?”
The confession tried to claw its way out. I locked my jaw. “Because watching other males ask you out makes me want to break things.”
Her breath caught. The treatment room felt smaller. Hotter.
“Why?” she asked.
“You know why.”
“No, I really don’t. Because you made it pretty clear last summer that I was just… What did you call it? Cute?” The word came out bitter. “You shot me down. So explain to me why you suddenly care who talks to me.”
“That’s not… I didn’t mean it like that.” I couldn’t look at her. If I did, I’d tell her everything, and that would mess everything up. Anything between us could cost me the only real friendship I had on this team. “Forget it.”
“No.” She moved closer, her voice dropping. “You don’t get to act like I matter and then take it back when it gets hard.”
“I’m not taking anything back.”
“Then tell me why.”
The silence stretched. I could hear her breathing. Could smell that floral soap she used.
“Because it should be me,” I said. The words came out rough. “Asking you to dinner. Making you laugh. It should be me, and it can’t be, and watching everyone else get to try is—”
I stopped. I’d already said too much.
Her face had gone pale. “Why can’t it be you?”
“You know why.”
“I really don’t.”
I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t tell her that Crim was the reason, because that would make her the problem, and she wasn’t. I was.
“Let it go,” I said. “Just forget I said anything.”
“I felt humiliated.”
The word landed like a crosscheck to the chest. I watched her hands shake before she shoved them into her pockets. She’d been carrying that for months. I’d put it there and walked away thinking I’d done the right thing.
“You looked at me like I was a joke, Brashe. Like I was stupid for thinking someone like you might actually be interested in a woman like me.”
And there it was, the wound I didn’t know I’d left.
“Ellie, that’s not what I meant at all.”
“From where I was standing, it felt pretty clear.”
“I meant I couldn’t have you. Not that I didn’t want you. I couldn’t risk it.”
She stared at me like I’d just told her that ice was made of marshmallows. Her breath came fast and shallow.
“Get on the table,” she said.
“Ellie—”
“Now.”
I lay back, and she positioned herself beside me.
Her hands found every sore spot like she had a map that showed her where she could hurt me. She pressed down on the adductor, and I flinched.
“This feels worse,” she said, her hands still on my thigh. “What did you do?”
I ground my teeth together. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Don’t lie to me. This isn’t the same muscle I treated eight hours ago.”
She was right. I’d felt it give, that sharp pull that said I’d crossed a line I shouldn’t have.
“One of the rookies needed someone to demo the butterfly,” I said. “I explained a billion times, but he wasn’t getting the hip rotation right. I decided to show him.”
“And you didn’t tell him you were injured.”
“It was just a demo. I thought—”
“Let me guess. You thought it would be fine.” Her voice dropped to a growl. “How many times did you show him the butterfly?”
I looked at the ceiling. “Three. Maybe four.”
“Maybe four.” She pulled her hands away. “On a grade one strain. After I gave you a timeline that would’ve had you ready for playoffs.”
“The rookie needed—”
“I don’t care what he needed. You’re not a demo dummy, Brashe. The back-up goalie could’ve done it instead of you. You’re the starting goalie with an injury that needed more days of rest.”
“I had to do it.”
“You did not!”
The words stuck, but I shoved them out. “If I didn’t show him, I’m not the guy who does whatever it takes. I’m the guy who’s too injured to help.”
“You are too injured to help. That’s the point.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me, because from what I can see, you made this worse two days before playoffs. I made everything clear. I handed you instructions a child could follow. And you decided your feelings about letting others down were more important than the medical degree on my wall. Do you have any idea what you did? I’ll tell you.
I think it’s a grade two now. Maybe worse. I can’t tell without another MRI.”
I sat up. “I’ll play through it.”
“No, you won’t. You’re going to ruin your entire season because you were too stubborn to rest for a few more days.”
I faked a smile. “Come on, Ellie, don’t be like that.”
“Don’t you dare try to charm your way out of this.”
Her face was bright red with fury.
“I told you what to do,” she said, her voice shaking. “I gave you a plan. And you thought you knew better.”
“I didn’t think anything would happen.”
“No, you didn’t think. You never do. You do whatever you want and expect everyone else to deal with the fallout.”
She stomped across the room, then turned back and rushed back over to stand in front of me.
“Now let’s talk about the other thing you just said.” Her voice shook. “You wanted me. Past tense. But I wasn’t worth the risk.”
I sat up straighter. “That’s not—”
“That’s exactly what you said. You said you couldn’t risk it.
” A sheen of tears appeared in her eyes.
“Do you have any idea how that sounds? I spent ten months thinking I’d misread everything.
That I was stupid for thinking you might actually be interested.
And now you’re telling me I was right, you were interested, but I just wasn’t important enough to take a chance on. ”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“Crim’s my best friend.”
She blinked a moment before her face cleared. “You actually chose your friendship with my brother over me? I mean, that’s fine. It’s your choice to make, but that means you don’t get to act jealous when other guys ask me out. You can’t have it both ways.”
“I wasn’t trying to have it both ways.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
I didn’t have an answer.
She made a sound that might’ve been a laugh. “You know what the worst part is? I actually started to believe you were different. That maybe I’d gotten it wrong about you. But you’re exactly who I thought you were at that picnic. Someone who makes decisions based on what’s easiest for himself.”
“That’s not fair.” I dragged both hands through my hair. “Crim is one of the only people on this team who sees me as more than just the goalie. He asks how I’m doing and actually wants to know. To him, I’m not only the weapon Coach sends out to stop pucks.”
“So you couldn’t date me because it might make things awkward with Crim.”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I was making this worse. “You weren’t just some woman at a party, alright?”
Her face went white. “Some woman at a party?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Panic clawed up my throat. “I meant the opposite. You were important. You are important.”
“But not important enough.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant, though. I bet Crim told you to stay away from me, and you listened.”
“Crim didn’t tell me anything.” The words came out too loud.
“He didn’t have to. I saw the way he was looking at me when you walked over.
Like if I touched you, he’d check me through the boards.
And I couldn’t—I didn’t want to lose our friendship.
I didn’t want him to look at me the way everyone else does. ”
“So you made me feel like I was nothing instead.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing.” Even as I said it, I knew how empty it sounded.
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “The right thing would’ve been honesty. You could’ve pulled me aside and said ‘Hey, I can’t do this because of Crim.’ But instead, you dismissed me in front of your teammates and let me think I was the problem.”
“You weren’t the problem.” The truth tried to force its way out. “You were everything I wanted and couldn’t let myself have.”
The words hung in the air between us.
Tears clung to her lashes, and I didn’t know if they were from anger or hurt or both.
“That’s not romantic, Brashe. That’s just sad.”
“I’m sorry for everything.”
“I don’t want your apology. I want you to get out of my treatment room.”
“Ellie, just listen.”
“Leave. Please. I need to call the coach and tell him his starting goalie just benched himself for at least the second game of the playoffs.”
“Second? I’ve got to play.”
“Then ruin your damn season. See if I care.” She pointed to the door. “Leave.”
I did as she asked, my hip screaming with each step.
I kept going all the way to my truck in the back lot.
I hadn’t messed it up too bad, had I? I’d skate through it. I had to.
Once inside my vehicle, I pulled out my phone and opened my messages, finding Crim’s name.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard before I typed out a text. I need to tell you something about the picnic.
I stared at the words. They looked small on the screen. Not nearly big enough to hold everything they meant.
If I sent this, I’d have to tell him I’d wanted his sister. That I’d shut her down to protect our friendship.
I couldn’t do this now, not when I’d made everything worse by ignoring Ellie’s medical advice and proving I didn’t respect her professionally.
I deleted the message and shoved my phone into my pocket.
Through the windshield, I could see the building entrance. Ellie would be in there, calling the coach. Updating my chart. Doing her job even though I’d just made it ten times harder.
I should go back inside. Apologize again. Tell her I’d follow every instruction from now on. But when I reached for the door handle, my hand stopped.
She’d told me to get out. Going back now would just prove all over again that I couldn’t listen, respect boundaries, or do the one thing she’d asked me to do.
So I sat in my truck with the engine off, watching the door.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
I pulled up my phone and opened a new text to her. I should’ve told you the truth at the picnic. I should’ve…
My thumb hit send before I could finish the thought.
The message sat there, incomplete and pathetic, with the little delivered notification mocking me.
No response came.
Movement at the entrance made me look up. Ellie walked out with Crim. She said something, and he threw his head back, laughing that full-body sound he made when something truly surprised him.
She smiled at him, and even from here I could see it was real.
The smile she’d never given me except one—at the picnic. Before I said something flippant and hurt her.
Crim slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, being protective. She leaned into it, and my chest cracked clean through.
This was why I’d walked away at the picnic. This right here. The easy way they moved together, the obvious love between them. Crim was family to her in a way I’d never be.
And I’d chosen to preserve that. To protect what they had.
But watching them now, I wondered if I’d protected anything at all. Or if I’d just been too scared to risk being seen as something other than the weapon in the net.
Crim looked across the lot and spotted my truck. He lifted his hand in a wave.
I waved back, the motion automatic.
Ellie’s gaze followed his. For half a second, she looked right at me. Then she dragged her gaze away, said something to Crim, and headed for her car.
As her taillights disappeared around the corner, my phone buzzed with a text from Coach Beecham. Ellie says you reinjured yourself, that you’re out at least for game two. We need to know what we’re dealing with here. You’re booked for an MRI as soon as you show up.
I’ll go get it.
See that you do.
Another text came through, from Ellie. Ice your hip. 20 minutes on, 20 off.—Dr. Lundrig
Even though she was furious enough to kick me out, she was still telling me to ice my injury. I didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve her.
I read the text three times.
My incomplete text sat above hers, a half-finished confession that said everything and nothing.
I should’ve told you the truth at the picnic. I should’ve…
Should’ve found a way to want her that didn’t require choosing between her and the only real friend I had?
I didn’t know then. I still didn’t know now.
But sitting in this parking lot, watching the space where her car had been, I knew one thing for certain. Ten months ago, I’d made a choice I thought was right.
And I’d spend every moment since wondering if it was the biggest mistake I’d ever made.
I started the truck and drove to imaging.