Chapter 5
Ethan
The pool room is quiet when I arrive. The water shimmers under the bright overhead lights, and the smell of chlorine fills my lungs.
I make my way toward the edge slowly, my crutches clicking against the wet tile. My swim trunks hang low on my hips, and my knee is bare, the surgical scar still angry and pink against my skin. Every step sends a dull ache up my leg, but I grit my teeth and keep moving.
Natalie is already here, setting up some equipment by the edge of the pool. She's wearing a black one-piece swimsuit, and her hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail.
Her figure is athletic. Toned arms and lean legs, but it's her breasts that catch my attention. They are full, round, and straining against the fabric. A perfect handful. The low neckline shows just enough cleavage to make my imagination run wild.
What the fuck is wrong with me? This is a therapy session, not a strip club.
Her gaze rakes over me quickly, and a part of me wonders if she’s thinking about my body the way I am hers. “You’re early,” she says, but doesn’t sound disappointed by it.
“So are you.”
“I like to be prepared.” She gestures toward the ramp. “Ready to get in?”
I make my way down the ramp, gripping the handrail as the warm water rises around my legs, my hips, and then my chest. The heat feels good on my knee. That's the only thing that feels good right now.
Natalie slips into the pool and wades over to me. The water comes up to her shoulders, but when she moves closer, I can see the outline of her body beneath the surface. I fix my eyes on the far wall.
“We're going to work on some resistance exercises today,” she says. “The water supports your weight, so you can move in ways that would be too painful on land. Sound good?”
“Sure.”
She positions herself beside me and places her hands on my thigh, just above my knee. Her fingers are warm and firm, and my cock twitches in response. Fuck. I clench my jaw and try to think about anything else.
Defensive formations. Penalty statistics. The playoffs. But her hands are moving up my thigh, and all I can think about is how long it's been since a woman touched me like this. Even if it's clinical and means nothing. My body doesn't know the difference.
It just knows that a beautiful woman is touching me, and it's been a long time since anyone has.
“I'm going to guide your leg through some movements,” she says. “Tell me if anything hurts.”
She bends my knee slowly. I stare at the ceiling and try to think about hockey. Anything but the way her fingers feel against my skin.
“Good,” she murmurs. “That's good. Now let's try some extension.”
She straightens my leg, then bends it again. “You're tense. Try to relax.”
“I'm relaxed.”
“You're not.” She looks up at me, and her hazel eyes are filled with concern. “Is it your dad? Are you still worried about him?”
That and a thousand other things. Like, what the fuck am I going to do if the Renegades don’t renew my contract? What will become of my father? Bella and Lucy can’t afford his hospital bills.
I have to do this. I grit my teeth and continue with the painful exercises.
“Ethan.”
“Can we just do the exercises?” I say in a curt voice.
She holds my gaze for a moment, then nods. “Okay.”
We continue the session in silence. She guides me through resistance movements, has me walk back and forth across the shallow end, and tests my balance and stability. I do everything she asks. I cooperate. I'm a model patient.
But inside, I'm falling apart.
By the time we finish, my knee is throbbing, and my jaw aches from clenching it so hard. Natalie helps me to the ramp, and I haul myself out of the pool, water streaming off my body.
“That was good progress,” she says from behind me. “Your mobility isn’t as bad as I was expecting.”
“Great.” I grab my crutches and head for the men's changing room without looking back.
The changing room is empty. I sink onto the bench and let my crutches clatter to the floor. My hands are shaking. I press them against my face and try to breathe.
I can't do this.
What if this is a waste of time? What if this is the end of my career, and I’m fighting the inevitable? I can't keep doing these exercises, hoping everything will work out when there's no guarantee of any of it.
A sob builds in my chest, and I swallow it down.
I don't cry. I haven't cried since my father told me about his diagnosis.
I sat in my room that night and cried until I couldn't breathe, and then I made myself a promise.
I would be strong. For him, for my mom, and for my sisters.
I would be the one who held everything together.
But I'm so tired of being strong.
The door opens, and I don't look up. I assume it's one of the staff, or maybe another player, and I don't want anyone to see me like this.
“Ethan?”
It’s Natalie. What the fuck is she doing here?
“You shouldn't be in here,” I say without lifting my head, trying and failing to force the shake out of my voice. I clear my throat. “This is the men's changing room.”
“I know.” I hear her footsteps on the tile floor. “I wanted to make sure you're okay.”
“I'm fine.”
“You're not fine.” She stops in front of me. I can see her bare feet, still wet from the pool. “Look at me.”
I don't want to look at her. I don't want her to see me like this, broken and weak and barely holding it together. But I lift my head.
She's wrapped a towel around her waist, but her shoulders are still bare and glistening with water. “It's okay to not be okay. You don't have to pretend with me.”
“You don't know anything about me.”
“I know your father is sick and you can't be with him. I know your career is uncertain and you're scared.” She takes a step closer.
The words cut right through me. But I don’t want a therapy session. I’ve never believed in talking things out to feel better. Facts are facts. My career is in jeopardy, and my father is in the hospital, and I don’t know how he’s doing.
What I want is to forget everything. If I were a drinker, I would want a bottle of something hot and strong. That’s not an option for me.
“You want to help?” I ask, knowing how sick this is and that she might slap me and quit her job. But my head feels like it will explode if I don’t do something to distract me from my life falling apart.
She nods. “Anything. It’s what I’m here for.”
I take her hand and pull her to me. Caught by surprise, she lands on my lap, her eyes widening with surprise. “What are you—”
I cup her face and kiss her, then pull back, waiting to see what she does. But she stays silent. Still.
Her cheeks are flushed, her mouth hung open in shock.
My attention drops to her mouth, and I already want to kiss her again. “I’ve been wanting to do that since you nearly knocked me over in the lobby,” I tell her, dropping my hands from her face.
Instead of answering, she kisses me back. Everything narrows down to this. The taste of her and the sound of her soft gasp swallowed by my mouth.
All my thoughts and fears dissolve. There is only sensation. The feel of her hands sliding up my arms and into my hair. The weight of her on my lap. The way her tongue feels against mine.
I’m not gentle. The need building up inside me is like a storm, and I’m just trying to keep my head above water. I grip her thigh, my fingers pressing hard into the muscle, and guide her leg over me until she’s straddling my hips.
Her hand curls in my hair, tugging at the root, and a ragged groan tears from my throat.
I slide my hands up her sides, over the curve of her ribs, and find the straps of her swimsuit. I tug, and the material gives, peeling down to her waist.
Her breasts spill into my hands, the peaks tight and pebbled against my palms. Any other time, I would have taken a moment to just look at them, but I don’t.
Instead, I bury my face between them, the skin salty and cool at first, then warming rapidly under my breath.
“Yes,” she whimpers, her head lolling back, eyes blissfully shut.
I take one nipple into my mouth and suck, hard. A sharp cry rips out of her, and she arches into me, her hips beginning a slow, rolling grind against my cock.
“Fuck, Natalie,” I growl against her skin. “Just like that.” I swirl my tongue around her nipple, teasing the other with my fingers. She does just what I say and keeps a steady rhythm good enough to make my eyes roll shut.
It’s been one goddamn year since I’ve had my mouth on a woman and felt this particular softness. For one year, I’ve lived and breathed hockey. I’ve forgotten just how good it can be.
And fuck me, Natalie’s good.
I want to tear her bathing suit from her body with my teeth. Want to bury my face in her pussy and drink her in until my father's illness, my fucked-up knee, and my uncertain future all fade to nothing.
And I just know she’d make me forget it all. With the sounds she’s making already, I know she has the power to make me forget my own fucking name.
My hands slide down her back, over the curve of her ass, and I pull her harder against me. The friction is exquisite. I switch to her other breast, lavishing it with the same desperate attention, lost in the feel of her.
For these few moments, I’m not an injured athlete or a scared son. I’m just a man, drowning in her.
I raise my head back to her and capture her lips again. She meets me with equal urgency, just as lost as I am. “Fuck me,” she orders between kisses.
I don’t need to be told twice.
I reach down to remove her swimsuit the rest of the way. I need to feel how wet she is for me. Need to feel her pussy clamped around my dick. She half stands, and I get the material down to her hips when I hear it.
Footsteps. Coming down the hall.
I freeze, and so does Natalie.
“Ward? You in there?” A man's voice. It’s one of the trainers. Apollo, probably.
“Shit,” Natalie whispers.
I point to the row of lockers. “Over there,” I whisper.
Reality crashes over me. Ken's words echo in my head. The last two physical therapists didn't last a month. One quit, and the other requested a transfer. And now here I am, half-naked, harder than I’ve ever been with my current PT straddling my lap.
I can already hear what Ken would say. So you ran off the first two, and now you're fucking this one?
Natalie knows the stakes as well as I do. She pulls up her bathing suit and slips behind the lockers just as the door swings open.
Apollo sticks his head in. “There you are. Ken is looking for you. He wants to go over next week's schedule.”
I swallow hard, trying to catch my breath. “Tell him I'll be there in ten minutes.”
Apollo nods and disappears.
I wait until his footsteps fade, then let out a long breath.
Natalie emerges from behind the lockers. Her cheeks are flushed, and her ponytail is half undone. She picks up her towel from the floor and wraps it around herself, refusing to look at me. “I’m sorry. That…that shouldn’t have happened.”
I want to contradict her, but she’s right. It shouldn’t have. “No. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” Her eyes meet mine. “You were just trying to help, and I”—I shook my head—“I took advantage. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
A flicker of disappointment crosses her face, but she nods, then heads for the door without another word.