26. Ellie
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ELLIE
On Monday morning, I sat in my car, staring at Brashe’s truck three rows over.
He was early.
My phone sat in my lap, the screen dark, three unread messages from him burning through the glass like they could set my hands on fire if I looked.
Saturday night had been a lot. Sex on the treatment table. The same treatment table where I’d spent two weeks being professional, clinical, and detached. Where I’d touched his body in the least sexy way possible before learning it in a way that made my face heat just thinking about it.
“I love you,” he’d said.
“I love you too,” I’d told him back.
And now it was Monday morning, and Denver was waiting for their answer.
Marzipan had watched me get dressed this morning with her usual judgment, perched on the bureau while I’d changed outfits three times. A blue blazer had won. I’d buttoned it up like I was going into battle.
Maybe I was.
I opened the texts.
Made it home. Hip feels good. Everything else feels… I don’t know. Better? Terrifying? Both?
An hour later, he’d sent another. Sorry. That was weird. I’m being weird.
The third had been sent half an hour ago. I brought you coffee this morning. Your usual. Plus two donuts. One for me and one for you. We can have them together. I’ll be in the treatment room.
Coffee and donuts? That was what people did when they were trying. When they wanted to show they cared and that they’d been paying attention to the small things.
But trying wasn’t the same as changing.
I got out of the car and went inside.
Brashe sat on the treatment table—our table—two coffee cups and a paper bag on the desk behind him. He stood when I walked in. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. His team hoodie looked slept in. His hair stuck up on one side like he’d been running his hand through it.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
We stood there, neither of us knowing how to start.
Two nights ago, we’d had sex and said I love you. This morning we were coworkers again. Except we weren’t. We never had been.
He tilted his head. “About the coffee—”
“About Denver—” I said at the same time.
We both stopped. Almost laughed. But it was too tense for real laughter, the air between us crackling with everything we weren’t saying.
“You first,” I said.
“You have to let them know today.”
I nodded.
“I’m not here to pressure you.”
“Then why are you here?”
“It’s a good offer,” he said.
“It is.”
“You should take it.”
I blinked. “What?”
His face held the same expression he wore in net when he was trying not to show pain. “Denver. You should take it.”
“That’s it?” My voice came out sharp. “I should take it? You told me you love me and now you’re telling me to leave?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean? Because it sounds a lot like you’re giving me an out.”
“Ellie.”
“No.” I stepped closer, anger flaring in my chest. “Please don’t act like you’re being selfless when really you’re scared I’ll choose you and regret it.”
It was a direct hit. His face showed it with a flicker of pain he couldn’t hide.
“That’s not…” He trailed off. Swallowed hard.
“You’re giving me an out because you don’t believe I’ll actually choose you.”
The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable. No, this kind of silence came before a storm.
I turned away from him, gripping the edge of the treatment table. My hands shook.
“You’re doing it again,” I said to myself. To him. “You’re deciding for me. Just like at the picnic. You looked at Crim and decided I wasn’t worth the risk. Now you’re looking at Denver and deciding I’m too good for you, so you’re pushing me away first.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze. “Own it. If you’re going to break my heart, at least be honest about what you’re doing. You told me you love me.”
“I do.”
“Yet you’re pushing me away.” I shoved my shaky hands into my pockets. “Because you think love isn’t enough. That I’m going to wake up one day and realize you’re the guy who held me back from my dreams.”
He looked away.
I’d stated the truth, and we both knew it.
“Say it,” I said.
“Say what?”
“The thing you’re thinking. The reason you won’t fight for me.”
He looked down at the floor.
“Brashe. Say it.”
His jaw worked. When he finally spoke, his voice came out rough. “You’ll resent me for making you choose. For being the reason you turned down the best opportunity of your career.”
There it was, the fear he’d been carrying forever.
“You think that’s what this is about?” I asked. “You?”
“Isn’t it?”
“No, it’s about me.”
He blinked.
“Denver isn’t just a job,” I said. “It’s proof that I’m good enough. That I’m worth something beyond fixing broken hockey players in a city where my brother has to vouch for me.”
“Crim didn’t have to do that.”
“Everyone knows I’m his sister first, a therapist second. In Denver, I’d be Dr. Lundrig. Just me. My work. My worth.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes.
“You think you’re only valuable for what you do in the net,” I said quietly.
He nodded once.
“And I think I’m only valuable for what I do in the treatment room.”
We stared at each other. Two broken people who’d fallen in love. And neither of us believed we were enough.
“Then go to Denver,” he said.
“Stop saying that.”
“I mean it. Go prove to yourself what I already know. That you’re brilliant. That you’re worth every opportunity. That any organization would be lucky to have you.”
The sad thing was that I believed him.
“But I’ll miss you every single day until you come back,” he said.
My chest ached. “What if I don’t come back?”
His whole body jerked like I’d punched him. “I’ll miss you every single day anyway.”
“This isn’t fair,” I said. “You shouldn’t be reasonable. Understanding. Supportive.”
“You want me to be a dick?”
“Yes! No. I don’t know.”
I sat on the treatment table. He stayed standing, keeping distance between us.
“Why did you bring coffee this morning?” I asked.
“Because you drink it every day at 7:15.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
“Isn’t it?”
He shifted his weight. His hip pulled slightly. I noticed.
“I brought it because I wanted you to know I care about you. Not Dr. Lundrig or the person who fixed me. You. Ellie. Who needs coffee to function and loves donuts. The Ellie who found a way to see past the male I project to the one beneath.”
He walked over and set both instruction sheets on the treatment table between us.
“I kept these,” he said. “But not because they’re about the stretches. Just look.”
I picked up the original. My handwriting filled the printed text. 3 sets, hold 30 sec, no cheating. But in the margins…
His handwriting.
She smelled like flowers today.
I blinked and kept reading.
She laughed at something Veskar said. I wanted to laugh like that with her.
She stayed late again. I should tell her to go home. I won’t because she’s her own person, and that’s up to her.
“You—” My voice broke. “You wrote about me.”
“Every day.” He wasn’t looking at me. His gaze stayed fixed on the instruction sheet. “I told myself I was tracking my progress. But I was really trying to remember what it felt like when you were close.”
I found another note, this one squeezed into the margin beside the adductor stretches. Her hands are magic. Not because she’s fixing me. Because they’re hers.
My chest split wide open.
“The 9:41 texts weren’t really about the ice photos,” I whispered.
“They were about not disappearing.” He finally looked at me. “If I texted you every night, and you responded, then I still existed to you. Even when I felt like I was disappearing everywhere else.”
“You set an alarm.”
“Every night.”
“Even the nights we weren’t talking.” I pulled out my phone. Showed him. Screenshots of every single 9:41 text, saved in a folder I’d labeled Someone special.
I stared at the instruction sheet between us, his handwriting mixing with mine in the margins. Evidence that we’d been building something together before we even knew we were doing it.
“I don’t know what to do about Denver,” I said, my shoulders curling forward.
“What do you want to do?”
“That’s the problem. I want both.” I traced one of his notes with my finger. “Denver is everything I thought I needed. Prestige. Working with high-ranked athletes. Proof that I’m good enough.”
“You are good enough.”
“But Patty suggested something when I first got here.” I looked up at him. “She wants to co-author a rehabilitation protocol. If it works, it could be implemented league-wide. Every team in hockey would use it.”
His eyebrows rose. “That’s huge.”
“It is. It’s a long-term project. Years of work. I’d have to commit.”
“And Denver?”
“Is a really good job.” I set the instruction sheet down carefully. “But this protocol thing isn’t just treating one athlete at a time. It’s changing how thousands of players heal. That would have true impact.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “What does your gut say?”
“My gut says Denver is impressive. What if I stay here and in five years I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d gone?”
“Then you’ll wonder and that’ll suck.” His mouth quirked up on one side. “But what if you go to Denver and spend five years wondering what would’ve happened if you’d stayed? That’ll suck worse.”
My laugh came out wet. “This isn’t helpful.”
“I’m trying to tell you that whatever you choose, we’ll make this work.
If you stay, we’ll also make it work. If you go, I’ll follow as much as I can.
If you go and decide to stay there forever…
” His voice broke. “I’ll know you made the right choice, and I’ll find a way to permanently move to Denver. ”
This male had spent his whole life being told his value was measured in saves. He’d been terrified to want anything beyond hockey. And now he was standing here telling me he’d support whatever I chose, and he’d find a way to make our love work.
“The protocol isn’t just about the research. It’s building something. With Patty. With this team. With—” I stopped.
“With me?”
“Maybe. Yeah.”
“And Denver?”
“Would be starting over. A clean slate. No history. No us.”
The words sat between us.
“Then maybe that’s how you know it’s right.”