Chapter 3
Natalie
I pause outside the entrance of the training facility and do a discreet armpit check. The walk from Starlight Suites wasn't long, but the heat is unforgiving, and the last thing I need is to show up to my first day smelling like a locker room.
I seem okay. Thank God for deodorant.
I check the time on my phone. A few minutes to eleven. I’m right on schedule.
The security guard at the front desk examines my ID and checks his computer. “Natalie Cross. Physical therapy department.” He hands me a lanyard with a temporary badge. “You'll get your permanent credentials from HR later today. Take the elevators to the third floor. Someone will meet you there.”
“Thank you.”
The elevator doors slide open on the third floor, and as the security guard said, Ken Wagner is waiting for me. He's in his fifties with grey hair and a professional demeanor. “Welcome to the team, Natalie. Ready for the grand tour?”
“Absolutely.”
He leads me through the facility, and I try to absorb everything at once. There's a state-of-the-art gym with every piece of equipment imaginable, a hydrotherapy pool that could fit a small yacht, and treatment rooms with every piece of technology imaginable.
The place makes my old clinic in Charlotte look like a garage operation.
“We have everything you could possibly need here,” Ken says as we walk. “If there's something we don't have, we'll get it. The organization spares no expense when it comes to player health.”
I nod, though I can’t imagine what else I could possibly need that is not already here.
We end up in the medical wing, where Ken introduces me to the rest of the team. Dr. Reid Burke is the head physician, Lane Stevens is the head athletic trainer, and Hillary Holmes is the massage therapist.
Then there are the assistant trainers, Adan and Apollo, who look like they could be brothers with their matching dark hair and easy grins. George is the chiropractor, soft-spoken with gentle hands when he shakes mine. And Lilly, a petite redhead, is the nutritionist.
Everyone is friendly and welcoming. They ask about my background and seem impressed when I briefly tell them my background.
Then Hillary leans in and lowers her voice. “So you're taking on Ethan Ward.”
“That's right.”
She exchanges a look with Lane. One that doesn’t exactly bode well for how our sessions will go. I kind of got the impression yesterday that he’s not the warmest person in the world. “Good luck with that,” she says with a scoff.
“He's going through a tough time,” Lane adds quickly. “The injury hit him hard. He's not exactly pleasant right now.”
“I've worked with difficult patients before.”
Ken reappears and checks his watch. “Your first session with Ethan is in ten minutes. Treatment room three. I'll walk you over.”
Ken gives me a few last-minute tips. Be patient. Don't take anything personally. He stops walking and faces me. “I need you to understand the stakes here, Natalie.
“Ethan's contract is up for renewal next season. If he can't get back on the ice, there's a real chance the organization won't re-sign him. We've already been through two other physical therapists. This is his last chance.”
I think of the angry man I met yesterday. The tight jaw, the cold eyes, and the hostility radiating off him in waves. Sympathy tugs at my chest. No wonder he's so moody. His entire career is hanging in the balance. Anyone would be difficult under those circumstances.
“If he doesn't cooperate, I need you to tell me immediately,” Ken continues. “This is professional hockey. The organization is investing a significant amount of money in his recovery. He needs to hold up his end.”
“An injury of that magnitude must be incredibly stressful,” I say. “Not knowing if you'll ever play again or what your future looks like. It can bring out the worst in a person.”
Ken nods. “All the more reason for him to cooperate and give himself the best chance at recovery. Keep me updated on his progress. I want weekly reports.”
“Of course.”
Ken nods and leaves me at the door. I take a deep breath and walk in.
Ethan is already there, sitting on the treatment table with his injured leg extended. He's wearing shorts and a Renegades t-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders. His jaw is tight, and his blue-grey eyes are fixed on his phone. He doesn't look up when I enter.
“Good morning,” I say brightly. “I'm Natalie. We met yesterday.”
“I remember.” He still doesn't look at me.
I set down my bag and pull out his file, even though I've memorized every detail. “How are you feeling today? Any changes in pain levels since your last assessment?”
“No.”
“Any swelling or discomfort overnight?”
“No.”
“Did you do the exercises Dr. Burke recommended?”
“Yes.”
Three questions, three monosyllabic answers. This is going to be fun.
I put on my most professional smile and approach the table. “Let's start with some passive range of motion exercises. I'm going to move your leg through different positions, and I need you to tell me if anything hurts.”
He finally looks at me. His expression is flat and unreadable. “Fine.”
I place my hands on his knee and begin the exercises. His leg is warm under my palms, and there’s tension in his muscles. He's fighting me even though I'm trying to help him.
“Try to relax,” I say.
“I am relaxed.”
He's not. His whole body is rigid, and his jaw is clenched so tight I'm surprised his teeth don't crack.
I guide his knee through a gentle bend, and he winces. I stop immediately. “Did that hurt?”
His eyes widen slightly. Just enough for me to notice the fear slip through before his walls come slamming down again. “I’m fine.”
“Ethan, I need you to be honest with me. If something hurts, I need to know. It could affect your treatment plan.”
He looks at me, and there's a flash of anger in his eyes. “Keep going.”
I continue the exercises, and he tolerates them in stony silence. Every few minutes, I ask him questions about his pain levels, and he gives me the bare minimum response. Yes. No. Fine. I don't push. Not today.
The session is basic. Passive range of motion to assess his current flexibility. Some gentle massage to manage the swelling around his knee. Ice therapy at the end.
When we're done, I hand him his crutches. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Do I have a choice?”
I give him a tight-lipped smile. “Not really.”
He leaves without another word, and I stand in the empty treatment room and let out a long breath.
That was exhausting.
I sink onto the edge of the treatment table and replay Ken's words in my head. If he doesn't cooperate, tell me immediately. But I also remember what else Ken said. Ethan's contract is up for renewal. If this doesn't work, there's a chance the organization won't re-sign him.
If I report him, I could end his career.
One bad report from me, and the front office has all the ammunition they need. They can point to his lack of cooperation and wash their hands of him. Sorry, Ethan, we gave you every chance. You just wouldn't play ball.
He was difficult today. Monosyllabic, hostile, and unwilling to communicate. But he showed up. He did the exercises even when they hurt. He didn't quit.
I think about the fear I saw flash in his eyes when I asked about his pain. He's terrified. He's a man whose entire identity is built around hockey, and now he doesn't know if he'll ever play again. Naturally, he's angry, and he's pushing people away.
I'm not going to be the one who destroys what's left of his career.
I'll handle Ethan Ward myself. I'll be patient and professional, and I'll get through to him somehow. And if he makes me want to scream into a pillow every night, well, that's between me and the pillow.
I gather my things and head to my new office.
It’s a small room with a desk and a window that overlooks the practice rink. I sink into my chair and pull out my phone.
Eve answers on the second ring. “So? How was day one?”
“Remember when you said I was crazy for taking this job?”
“You were right.” I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. “The patient I'm working with is difficult. He barely spoke to me. He answered every question with one word.”
“That bad?”
“Everyone warned me about him. Apparently, the last physical therapist left in tears.”
Eve laughs. It's a familiar sound. We've known each other since we were six years old, thrown together at neighborhood barbecues because our parents were friends. She's seen me through braces, bad haircuts, college heartbreaks, and now this. There's no one I trust more.
“Oh, honey. What did you get yourself into?”
“I have no idea.” I rub my temples. “He's so angry, Eve. Like, radiating hostility. But honestly, I can't blame him. His entire career is on the line. He doesn't know if he'll ever play again, and his contract is up for renewal. If I were in his position, I'd probably be angry too.”
“Look at you, already defending him.”
“I'm not defending him. I'm just saying I understand where it's coming from. It doesn't make it easier to work with him, but at least I get it.”
“Give it time. You're good at your job. He'll come around.”
“I hope so.”
“What's he like otherwise? Is he at least cute?”
My mind flashes to Ethan on the treatment table. The way his t-shirt hugged his chest. The strong lines of his jaw. Those intense blue-grey eyes that seemed to see right through me.
“He's a professional athlete,” I say carefully. “They're all in good shape.”
I can hear her smile through the phone when she says, “That’s not what I asked.”
“Eve.”
“Fine, fine. Keep your secrets.” She pauses, and her tone shifts. “Listen, I need to tell you something. Brody came by the bank today.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“He walked right up to my window like he was going to make a deposit. He asked where you are and that he knows you left Charlotte, and he needs to find you.”
“Eve, I'm so sorry. I didn't think he'd bother you at work.”
“Don't apologize. It's not your fault he's a stalker.” Her voice hardens. “I told him I had no idea where you were, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell him. Then I asked if he wanted to open a savings account or if he was done wasting my time.”
I laugh. “That must have pissed him off.”
“It did. My manager gave me a look, but it was worth it.” She sighs. “He'll give up eventually, Nat. Once he realizes you're not coming back, he'll move on with his life and find some other woman to torture.”
“I hope you're right.”
“I'm always right. Now get some sleep. You've got a grumpy hockey player to fix tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Eve.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
We hang up, and I stare at my phone for a long moment.
What I didn't tell Eve is that my pulse quickened when I touched Ethan's leg. That I had to remind myself to breathe when he looked at me. That underneath all that hostility, he's one of the most attractive men I've ever seen.
Because none of that matters. He's my patient, and I'm his physical therapist. End of story.
I tuck my phone away and open his file again. I have work to do.