Page 100 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

“The staff looked busy.”

“And tried to shovel snow after being specifically told not to.”

“I considered shoveling snow.”

“You put on boots.”

“I like to be prepared.”

I fold my arms. He laughs. The sound is easier now. It no longer catches against healing ribs or ends in a wince. His face changes when he laughs. The careful control falls away. The captain disappears. For a few seconds, he is simply a man enjoying a joke. I like that man. The thought arrives without warning. I turn toward the equipment rack before it can settle too deeply.

“Three sets,” I say. “Ten repetitions.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I glance back. “Don’t push it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He would. We both know it. But today he completes exactly what I assign. Not nine. Not eleven. Ten.

When the session ends, his sweatshirt is damp along the collar and fatigue shows around his eyes, but he isn’t defeated by it. He picks up the notebook and writes something before slipping it into his coat pocket.

“What did today earn?” I ask.

He looks at me. “You said it was private.”

“It is.”

“That sounded suspiciously like a question.”

“It was professional curiosity.”

He studies me with an expression I’ve learned means that he’s deciding how much truth to offer.

“Four degrees.”

I smile. “Good choice.”

“And stopping at ten.”

My smile grows. “Excellent choice.”

“I knew you’d appreciate that one.”

I collect the bands and return them to the rack. Behind me, Jamie clears his throat. “Do you have ten extra minutes?”

I turn. He stands near the end of the treatment table; a coat draped over his good arm. Something in his expression is almost tentative.

Jamie is rarely tentative. “Is this related to your rehabilitation?”

“Not exactly.”

“Are you attempting something prohibited?”

“No.”

“Does it involve snow shovels?”