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.”
