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Brashe Kedish was exactly what I’d thought he was: a player with a reputation and an ego to match.
But today, in the break room, he hadn’t looked at me in the same way. He’d looked wrecked, and I didn’t know what to do with that.
Tomorrow, I’d see Veskar again for his ankle. I’d do my job. I’d prove I belonged there.
And I would not think about Brashe Kedish any longer.
CHAPTER FIVE
ELLIE
The next morning, after dropping my things in the office, I checked my schedule on my tablet.
Veskar. Ankle strain. I’d already done my initial assessment during our first appointment yesterday. Tablet in hand, I went to the training room, where I found him waiting, sitting on the treatment table dressed in compression shorts and a team t-shirt.
“How’s the ankle?” I asked as I laid my tablet on the desk and joined him.
“It’s fine.”
“Fine? You told me yesterday you were compensating.” I knelt in front of him, scissors in one hand, athletic tape in the other. “When’s the last time you could put full weight on it without wincing?”
“I’m not wincing.”
“I saw you in the hall yesterday. You are.”
His mouth twitched. “Maybe a little.”
The ankle was swollen, though not terribly, but enough that I could see the difference between his left and right. He’d injured it during an awkward landing in the last regulation game when he was checked into the boards.
I cut off the old tape and applied new, wrapping it with steady pressure, overlapping each strip. “It’s still swollen. No skating today.”
“Coach is going to—”
“The coach is going to listen to me, because if you go out there and make this worse, you’ll be out for at least a game or two of the upcoming playoffs.” I glanced up. “And I don’t think you want that.”
He sighed. “No.”
“Then listen to me.”
Veskar watched me work. “You’re good at this.”
“I know.”
He laughed. “Confident. I like it.”
“I didn’t spend eight years in school and ten months doing a sports fellowship to be unsure of myself.”
“Right.”
I finished the wrap and straightened. “Stand up. Slowly.”
He did, testing his weight without a flinch.
“Better?”
“Yeah. Actually, yeah.”
“Good. Ice it as much as possible. Twenty minutes on, twenty off. I’ll retape again tomorrow and if the swelling’s down, we’ll talk about you skating again. If it gets worse, you come find me.”
