“You almost knocked me over,” he growls. “Do you always walk with your eyes closed?”
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.
