Page 10 of Not Because You Loved Me

I sat in a corner booth at the diner, clutching my mug of coffee like a lifeline, trying to keep my hand under the edge of the table. It was useless. Every time the overhead light caught the diamond, Robin and Stacey erupted all over again.

"I told you!" Stacey pointed her toast directly at my nose, leaning so far over her plate her scarf almost dipped into the yolk of her egg. "Did I not tell you? Robin, back me up here."

"You called it in November," Robin agreed, beaming as she reached across the vinyl table to gently tug my wrist into the light. "Oh, Kat... it’s absolutely stunning. Look at how clean that cut is. He did so goooood.”

"He was terrified," I admitted, a helpless laugh spilling out of me. I traced the smooth edge of the setting with my thumb, my heart doing that same fluttery flip it had been doing since Trent slid the ring on my finger. I was still trying to digest it, the reality that it was mine. That he was mine. "I honestly thought he was going to drop the box on the floor."

"The man is completely undone by you," Robin said softly, setting my hand back down. "So... how are you feeling about tonight?"

"Nervous," I confessed, taking a slow sip of coffee to calm the sudden knot in my throat. "It’s the first time I’m seeing his parents since we got engaged. Trent wanted to drive me, but he had early family stuff to handle, and I had morning skates and pre-game prep at the arena anyway. I didn't want him sitting around waiting for me or ditching his family just to play chauffeur."

"Well, you better finish your breakfast burrito," Stacey said, tapping her watch. "You’ve got an arena full of elite athletes to stretch out before puck drop, future Mrs. Prescott."

Robin huffed dramatically, saying, “Bish gets all the goods, the hot lumberjack - looking pretty boy fiancé who is obsessed with her and an entire team of hot, sweaty men…. Not fair.”

I threw a piece of fried potato at her from Stacey’s plate, adding, “Sweaty is right, you don't want to smell that locker room after a game.”

Pre-game warm-ups were always a controlled chaos of heavy banter and last-minute physical adjustments. As lead physiotherapist, my eyes were constantly tracking gait mechanics, tight hip flexors, and sticky hamstrings before the guys even stepped out onto the ice.

I was out on the ice near the bench, guiding one of our wingers through a targeted dynamic stretch to protect a recovering groin strain. We were working near the boards when another player came speeding backward out of a drill, lost his edge, and crashed directly into us.

The impact caught me completely off guard.

Before I could lock my core or brace myself, my feet flew right out from under me. I hit the hard ice surface violently, taking the full brunt of the fall squarely on my left hip with a sickening thud that knocked the air clean out of my lungs.

"Woah! Kat, you good?" the winger gasped, scrambling up off the ice and reaching down to haul me by my arm.

Towering hockey players suddenly surrounded me with concerned faces. Trying to save face and shake off the incident, I smiled up reassuringly.

"I’m fine! Totally fine, just proving I belong on the bench and not out on the ice," I forced a breathless laugh, brushing off my track pants while my hip throbbed. "Keep warming up with the stretch we were working on. I am okay, I promise."

I walked it off for the rest of warm-ups and through the game, burying the sting under adrenaline and habit. I spent my whole life taking care of everyone else’s body; a little impact wasn't going to stop me. But by the time I was changing in the staff bathroom afterward, my hip was throbbing with a deep ache.

Inspecting it in the full-length mirror, I winced. A dark, ugly bloom was already spreading rapidly across the skin over my hip bone. Great.

I pulled on a fitted, snug skirt, balancing the tailored bottom with a thick, oversized knit sweater that swallowed my upper body. Sweeping my hair up into a quick, messy knot at the base of my neck, I checked my reflection. I looked put-together enough for dinner, and I reasoned I’d just toss a gel pack on it when I got back to my house later tonight.

What I didn't realize as I walked up the front steps to Trent’s parents' house was that I was subtly favouring my right side, my stride stiff and tight-legged.

The second the front door swung open, the rich, buttery scent of dinner and the warmth of the Prescott house rushed out to wrap around me.

"Kat!"

Before I could even cross the threshold into the foyer, Gideon grabbed me in a massive bear hug, lifting me off my feet slightly as he gave me an enthusiastic squeeze. "Welcome to the family, sis!"

A tiny gasp of pain tore out of my throat before I could stop it, my entire frame locking up as the sudden elevation pulled violently against my bruised hip. "Thanks, Gid," I managed to choke out, forcing a laugh as he set me down.

"Gideon, release her, let the poor girl breathe," Trent’s mother scolded gently, stepping past him to usher me inside with a sweet maternal kiss on my cheek.

"I'm fine, really," I smiled, stepping deeper into the hallway, and immediately locked eyes with Trent.

He was standing near the entrance to the living room with a glass in hand, but the instant his eyes met mine, his entire body went completely rigid. His dark gaze pinned me, tracking the faint tightness around my mouth, the deliberate way I shifted my weight onto my right heel, and the split-second wince from Gideon's greeting.

He didn't say hello. He set his glass down on the console table and crossed the foyer in three fast, heavy strides, his jaw set and his eyes razor-sharp.

"Trent, hey…" I started, but he was on me before I could finish the sentence.

Without a word, his hands clamped firmly onto my waist, turning me toward the light. His fingers hooked under the thick hem of my oversized sweater, tugging the knit upward.