Chapter 2
Ethan
“My eyes weren't closed.” Her face flashes with embarrassment.
She’s taken my words literally, and I suppress a smile. She’s actually pretty, with dark hair framing her face and brown eyes that have flecks of gold. The more I look at her, the more she looks familiar.
I know her from somewhere.
I rack my brain, trying to place her. Then it clicks. The Stanley Cup finals. She was with Avery, Novak's girlfriend. She stood out because she was wearing a skirt suit to a hockey game. I remember thinking she looked like she'd wandered in from a board meeting.
“You're Avery's cousin,” I say.
“Yes.” She straightens up and shifts the grocery bags to one arm. “I'm Natalie Cross.” She thrusts out her hand like we're at a business conference.
I'm tempted to ignore the handshake. But she's Avery's cousin, and that makes her part of the hockey family, whether I like it or not. I let go of one crutch and take her hand.
Her grip is firm, and her skin is soft. Something stirs low in my gut, and I drop her hand fast. Great. On top of being in constant pain, now I'm horny. Just what I need.
“What are you doing here?” There’s no logical reason why she’s carrying groceries into the Starlight Suites. It’s reserved for players and staff.
“I just moved in.” She holds up the grocery bags as evidence. “I'm in 4B.”
“Welcome to the building.” I don't bother to sound welcoming.
She doesn't seem fazed. In fact, her smile gets bigger. “We were supposed to meet tomorrow, but I guess fate had other plans. I'm your new physical therapist.”
What?
This is my new PT. This woman with her grocery bags and her bright smile. Avery’s cousin? How is she my PT? I groan out loud. Management must be getting desperate.
How long will it take before that smile disappears? The physical therapists I've worked with so far have been a pain in the ass. Condescending and overly cheerful, treating me like a child who needs to be coddled. They didn't last, and I don't expect her to either.
“Great,” I say flatly. “Can't wait.”
Her smile falters for just a second before she recovers. “I'm looking forward to working with you. I've reviewed your file, and I think we can make real progress.”
Yeah, they all say that at the beginning.
Before I can respond, the building door swings open behind me, and my mother appears. “Ethan, honey, I found a closer parking spot so you don't have to walk as far to the car.” She stops when she sees Natalie. “Oh.”
“Mom, this is Natalie Cross,” I say. “She's my new physical therapist.”
“How wonderful.” My mother's face lights up. She steps forward and takes both of Natalie's hands in hers, grocery bags and all. “I'm Danna Ward. It's so nice to meet you! Ethan didn't mention that his new therapist was so young and pretty.”
“Because I didn't know,” I mutter.
“It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Ward. I’m looking forward to working with your son.” Natalie smiles broadly, and why not?
She's not the one who had her leg torn apart on national television or spent the best night of her team's history in the hospital, pumped full of painkillers while everyone else celebrated.
Natalie Cross didn't have to sit at home and watch the victory parade on TV because she couldn't walk, or skip the ring ceremony because she could barely get out of bed. She's not the one who lies awake every night wondering if she'll ever play again.
It's easy to smile when your whole life isn't falling apart.
“Oh, call me Danna, everyone does.” My mother laughs, and I resist the urge to groan.
Natalie smiles, and I hate how warm it looks. “Danna it is, then. I was just telling Ethan that I've reviewed his case extensively, and I'm confident we can get him back to full strength.”
“That's so wonderful to hear.” My mother places a hand over her heart. “We've been so worried. Haven't we, Ethan?”
I grunt.
“Are you from New York originally?” my mother asks, completely ignoring me.
“No, I just moved here, actually. I'm from Charlotte.”
“Charlotte. I have a sister who lives there. It’s such a lovely city, but definitely smaller than New York!” She laughs. “That must be quite an adjustment, moving here.”
“It is, but I'm excited for the change. My cousin works for the Renegades, so I have some family here, which helps.”
“Oh, that's wonderful. Family is so important.” My mother beams at her. “And how are you settling in? Moving can be such a hassle.”
“I'm getting there. I still have a few boxes to unpack, but my apartment is starting to feel like home,” Natalie says.
“Well, if you need anything at all, you just let Ethan know. Restaurant recommendations, the best dry cleaner, anything. He knows this area like the back of his hand.”
I stare at the side of my mother's head. What is she doing? I don't want to be Natalie Cross's tour guide. I don't want to recommend restaurants or dry cleaners or anything else. I want to do my rehab, get back on the ice, and have as little interaction with this woman as possible.
“That's so kind of you, thank you,” Natalie says.
“Ethan is always happy to help.” My mother pats my arm. “Aren’t you, Ethan.”
No, I'm not. I grunt in agreement anyway.
“I’ll be sure to reach out if I need it,” Natalie says, her eyes briefly meeting mine.
They smile at each other like they've known each other for years instead of two minutes. At this rate, my mother will be inviting her to Thanksgiving dinner before we make it to the parking lot.
“Mom.” My irritation level is at a ten out of ten. “We need to go. I have an appointment.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” She pats Natalie's arm. “It was so lovely to meet you, dear. I'm sure you're going to do wonderful things for my son.”
Natalie smiles. “I'll do my best.”
We make our way out to the car, and I lower myself into the passenger seat, wincing as my knee protests the movement. My mother fusses with my crutches in the back seat before getting behind the wheel.
“What a sweet young woman,” she says as she pulls out of the parking spot. “And you get to work with her every day.”
I grunt.
“Ethan,” she scolds, giving me a knowing look.
“What?”
“You need to be nice to her. She seems very capable. And it doesn’t hurt that she's pretty, too.”
“I don't care if she's pretty, Mom.” I stare out the window at the passing buildings. “I don't need pretty. I need someone who can get me back on the ice.”
My mother is quiet for a moment. I can sense the optimism she wants to inject into this conversation. She's been relentlessly positive since my surgery, talking about silver linings and everything happening for a reason. I know she means well, but I can't stomach it right now.
My future is uncertain. My career might be over. I don't need sunshine and rainbows. I need reality.
“I'm just saying, maybe give her a chance before you decide she's the enemy.”
I don't respond. I just keep staring out the window and count the blocks until we reach the doctor's office.
The next morning after I see Mom off at the airport, I'm lying on a treatment table in the medical wing while Dr. Burke runs an ultrasound wand over my knee. The gel has gone cold, and the my knee is tender, but I've grown used to discomfort over the past month. It's become my constant companion.
“The swelling has gone down,” Dr. Burke says, his eyes on the monitor. “That's good news.”
I grunt in response. Good news is relative. My knee still feels like it belongs to someone else. Someone broken.
The door opens, and Ken Wagner walks in. He's the Director of Physical Therapy and my least favorite person in the building right now. Every time I see him, he's got another plan, another timeline, or another reminder of how far I have to go.
“Ethan.” He nods at me. “How are you holding up?”
“Fantastic,” I say. “Living the dream.”
Ken ignores my sarcasm. He pulls up a chair and sits down like we're about to have a heart-to-heart. I already don't like where this is going.
“I wanted to talk to you about your new physical therapist,” he says. “Natalie Cross. She starts today.”
“I've met her.”
Ken raises an eyebrow.
“She lives in my building. Damn near knocked me over yesterday.”
“Well, that's one way to break the ice.” Ken chuckles.
“She comes highly recommended. She spent three years at Premier Medical Center in Charlotte, one of the top orthopedic rehabilitation programs in the Southeast. Post-surgical recovery, complex knee reconstructions, that sort of thing.
Her patient outcomes are impressive. We're lucky to have her.”
I stare at the ceiling. “I don't want to work with her.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get someone else.”
Ken is quiet for a moment. Dr. Burke clears his throat awkwardly and excuses himself from the room, muttering something about checking on another patient.
“You haven't even had a session with her,” Ken says once we're alone.
“I don't need a session. I can already tell she's not going to work out.”
“Based on what exactly?”
I can't tell him the truth. I can't say that she's too pretty and that my body reacted to her like she’s a woman I want to fuck.
“She's too soft,” I say instead. “She won't last a week.”
Ken leans back in his chair. “The last two therapists we assigned to you didn't last a week either. And that wasn't because they were soft.”
I clench my jaw.
“Ethan.” Ken's voice drops, and the casual friendliness disappears. “I'm going to be straight with you. Management is getting frustrated. We can't keep switching therapists every time you decide you don't like someone. It's costing time and money, and frankly, it's costing you.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Your contract is up for renewal at the beginning of next season.”
I tense. I knew my contract was coming up, but I hadn't let myself think about it. Not with everything else going on.
“The front office is going to be looking very closely at your progress over the next few months,” Ken continues. “They need to see that you're committed to recovery and that you can work with the team we've put in place. They need to know that you're not a liability.”
“I'm not a liability,” I say with barely contained anger.
I’m well aware of how things work. A player is valuable as long as they’re helping the team win. When you get injured, you become a liability. Right now, no one cares that I helped my team win the Stanley Cup. That’s now old news. Onto next season.
“Then prove it.” Ken stands up. “Natalie Cross is one of the best in her field.
She can help you get back on the ice, but only if you let her.
It's up to you how this goes. You can cooperate and give yourself a real shot at returning to form. Or you can keep pushing people away and see where that gets you.”
He walks to the door and pauses with his hand on the handle.
“Your first session with her is in two hours. I suggest you show up ready to work.”
He leaves, and I'm alone with the barely veiled threats he issued.
My contract, my career, and my entire future are all hanging by a thread. And on top of that, I have to play nice with a physical therapist who smiles and talks too much.