Chapter 23
Natalie
Ivory spreads a stack of files across the desk in front of me, each one labeled with a player's name and number.
“Consider this your crash course in New York Renegades personalities and bodies,” she says. “You'll learn them eventually, but a head start never hurts.”
It's been a week since Ethan ended things. A week of barely sleeping, crying into my pillow, and replaying every word of our last conversation. But today is the first day of training camp, and I don't have the luxury of falling apart. I have a job to do.
Ivory taps the first file. “Cole Maddox, as you know, is the captain. The guys call him Robot because nothing rattles him. He's serious and no-nonsense, but he's also the heart of this team. If you earn his respect, the others will follow.”
She flips open the file. “Physically, he's a machine. Rarely misses games. He had a minor groin strain two seasons ago but recovered fully. Just keep an eye on his hip flexors during heavy training weeks.”
I nod, knowing that much about Cole from what I've heard from Avery and his girlfriend, Harper.
“Theo Anderson. You already know him.”
I smile. “Olivia's husband. Theo is lovely, and so is their baby. I've met Maya. She's adorable.”
“She is.” Ivory taps his file. “Theo had shoulder surgery three years ago. It's solid now, but he tends to overcompensate with his right side when he's fatigued. Watch for that imbalance.”
She moves to the next file. “Logan Shaw, defenseman. He's quiet but intense. Don't take his silence personally. He's not being rude, he's just in his own head most of the time. Some people find him intimidating, but he's actually a good guy once you get past the brooding exterior.”
Like someone else I know. I push the thought away.
“Logan's had chronic lower back issues for years. We do maintenance work on him twice a week, minimum. He knows the drill and won't complain, but don't let him skip sessions even if he says he's fine.”
“Got it.”
“Liam Novak.”
I smile at the mention of my cousin’s boyfriend. Liam is a riot and the life of the party. He and Avery are such a contrast, but they work.
“He's charming, and he knows it. He teases everyone constantly. Shut it down early, or he won't stop. He's harmless but relentless.” She smirks. “Physically, he's been lucky. No major injuries. But he's reckless on the ice, so it's only a matter of time. His ankles are his weak point.”
“Noted.”
“Jake Morrison is Nova's best friend. They're attached at the hip, and they feed off each other's energy. When they're together, expect chaos.” Ivory grins. “Jake had a concussion last season, so he's on the watch list for any head-related symptoms. He also has a history of hamstring tightness.”
She runs through the rest of the roster quickly. Ryan, the quiet defenseman who keeps to himself and has an old ACL repair that needs monitoring. Alex, the winger with a dry sense of humor and a surgically repaired wrist that acts up in cold weather.
Blake, who is one of the more mature players on the team, has never had a significant injury in his career.
“And then there's the others you'll meet today,” Ivory says. “Rookies trying to make the roster and veterans fighting to keep their spots. Training camp is intense. Everyone's on edge, and bodies break down. You'll be busy.
“I don’t need to add this, but do keep an eye on Ethan,” Ivory adds.
Pain races through me, and Ivory notices because her expression softens.
“I heard about you two,” she says gently. “The facility isn't as big as people think. Word travels.”
My cheeks burn. “It's over, whatever it was.”
“I'm sorry.” She squeezes my hand. “For what it's worth, I think he's an idiot.”
“That makes two of us.”
Ivory glances at her watch. “Ken wants to introduce you to the guys before practice. Are you ready?”
No. I'm absolutely not ready to walk into a locker room full of hockey players while the man who broke my heart pretends I don't exist. “Yeah.”
We leave the office and find Ken waiting in the hallway. He falls into step beside us as we make our way toward the locker room.
“The guys are finishing up their gear check,” he says. “Perfect time for introductions. They're in good spirits today. First day back, everyone's excited.”
The sound of male voices and laughter grows louder as we approach. Ken stops at the door and raps his knuckles against it.
“Everyone decent in there?”
“Define decent,” someone shouts back, followed by a chorus of laughter.
“Decent enough for ladies to enter?”
“Ladies? Plural?” Another voice calls out. “Now I'm interested.”
Ken rolls his eyes and pushes open the door. “Behave yourselves.”
The locker room is rows of wooden stalls, each one decorated with a player's nameplate and filled with equipment. The smell of leather and sweat hangs in the air. Men in various states of dress occupy the benches, pulling on pads and taping sticks.
Every head turns when we enter.
My eyes sweep the room, searching for the one face I'm dreading and desperate to see at the same time.
Ethan is in the far corner, half-dressed in his practice gear. His gaze locks onto mine, and for a split second, shock registers on his face. Then his expression hardens into a scowl, and he turns away, focusing intently on the tape in his hands.
The dismissal stings.
“Gentlemen,” Ken announces, “this is Natalie Cross. She's taking over as our full-time physical therapist when Ivory leaves. I expect you to treat her with the same respect you've shown Ivory.”
“More respect,” Ivory says. “I've seen how you treat me.”
The room erupts in protests and laughter.
“We treat you like a queen,” someone calls out.
“A queen who's abandoning us,” another adds with mock hurt. “How could you, Ivory? After everything we've been through?”
“You'll survive.” Ivory grins. “Natalie is better than me anyway.”
“Impossible,” Theo says. He's in the stall closest to the door, already fully dressed. “But we'll give her a chance.”
Cole rises from his bench and approaches us. Up close, I understand why they call him Robot. His face is perfectly composed, revealing nothing. But when he extends his hand, his grip is warm.
“Welcome to the team,” he says. “Ethan speaks highly of you.”
The mention of his name is a knife to my chest. Not now. Please not now. I keep my smile in place, but my mind is racing. Does Cole know what happened between us? Do all of them know? The thought of these men discussing my failed relationship in the locker room makes heat crawl up my neck.
I'm supposed to be their physical therapist, not the subject of gossip.
“Thank you,” I manage. “I'm looking forward to working with everyone.”
“Don't let these idiots intimidate you.” He jerks his thumb toward the room. “They bark a lot, but they don't bite.”
“Speak for yourself,” Liam calls out. He saunters over with a grin that's equal parts charming and mischievous. “I definitely bite. Ask anyone.”
“Down, Novak,” Ivory warns.
“What? I'm just greeting my girlfriend's cousin.” Liam pulls me into a quick hug. “Good to see you officially joining the team, Natalie.” He throws an arm around Ivory's shoulders. “You sure you have to leave? Can't Tim just commute from Seattle?”
“That's a four-hour flight, Nova.”
“So? Long-distance builds character.”
More players drift over to introduce themselves. Logan gives me a silent nod that Ivory warned me about. Jake and Liam immediately start debating who gets to be my favorite patient.
Through it all, I'm acutely aware of Ethan in the corner. He hasn't moved or acknowledged my existence in any way.
“Alright, alright,” Ken says eventually. “Let the woman breathe. You'll all get plenty of time with her over the next few weeks. Get your asses to practice.”
We file out of the locker room, and I allow myself one last glance over my shoulder. Ethan's back is to me. His shoulders are tense, and his head is bowed over his equipment. He doesn't turn around.
I force my eyes forward and follow Ken and Ivory toward the training arena.
The rink is already set up for practice, with cones and pucks scattered across the ice. Coach Mercer is standing near the bench with a clipboard, flanked by two assistant coaches I don't recognize. Several trainers mill about, checking equipment and preparing water bottles.
“Natalie.” Coach Mercer extends his hand when we approach. “Good to have you on board officially. You’ve done great things with Ward.”
“Thank you, Coach. I'm excited to be here.”
“This is Assistant Coach Davidson,” he says, gesturing to the man beside him. “You'll be working closely with all of us. Training camp is a beast. Lots of bodies, lots of injuries, lots of egos. Think you can handle it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Welcome.”
As the coaching staff disperses to their positions, the reality of my situation settles over me.
Working with Ethan was one thing. It was intimate and focused.
This is something else entirely. I'm part of a machine now, one cog among many, and the expectations are higher than anything I've faced before.
The sound of voices echoes from the tunnel, and then the players emerge, fully geared and ready for practice. They jostle each other, trading insults and laughter.
“Novak, you're looking slow this summer!” someone shouts.
“I'm looking relaxed, you jealous bastard. Try a vacation sometime.”
“Some of us were working on our game instead of working on our tans.”
The banter makes me smile. There's something infectious about their energy and their enthusiasm for the season ahead. For a moment, I almost forget about Ethan.
Until he emerges from the tunnel.
He moves with the rest of the group but somehow apart from them, his expression closed off and his eyes fixed straight ahead. His knee is braced, but his gait is almost normal. All those weeks of therapy, and I can see the results in every step he takes.
I helped him get here. I held his hand through the darkest moments of his recovery and celebrated every small victory along the way.
And now he won't even look at me.
My throat tightens, and I have to turn away before anyone notices the tears threatening to spill over. I busy myself with the supplies Ivory is organizing, arranging tape rolls and ice packs.
“You okay?” Ivory asks quietly.
“Fine.”
“You don't have to be fine. This situation is awful.”
“I know.” I take a deep breath and force my shoulders back. “But I still have to do my job.”
“Yes, you do.” She squeezes my arm. “And you're going to be great at it. Don't let him take that away from you.”
I nod and plaster on a smile as Coach Mercer blows his whistle and practice begins.
The players take to the ice, and I position myself near the bench with the other medical staff. My job today is to observe, to learn the rhythms of a full team practice, and to identify the players who might need extra attention in the coming weeks.
But my eyes keep drifting to number twenty-two.
Ethan skates cautiously at first, testing his knee to find his balance. Then, gradually, he pushes harder. He goes into a quick burst of speed that makes my heart leap into my throat.
He's doing it.
I should be proud, but all I can think about is how I won't be the one he comes to after practice. I won't be the one who ices his knee and listens to his fears and holds him when the doubt creeps in.
Someone else will do that now. Or no one will.
“Focus,” I mutter to myself. “Just focus.”
But as the practice continues and Ethan glides across the ice without me, I have no idea how I'm supposed to survive the rest of my life with this ache in my chest.