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1
LUCY
Thank God. I eased my head left and then right. Muscles that had been bunched and tight for the last hour finally released, and I groaned while massaging the nape of my neck. Daylight forced me to blink when I pushed open the door, and I felt like a zombie waking from the dead until my vision cleared.
The walk from the clinic to my car was a few dozen feet, but it felt like forever before I slid behind the wheel. “If I never have to do a clinical rotation again, it will be too soon.” I knew clinicals would be a bitch, but I still wasn’t prepared for the sheer number of hours I’d spend locked inside a tiny room listing injuries.
My phone shrilled my dad’s tone from my purse, and I fished it out before it rolled over to voicemail. “Hey, Dad.”
“Dinner’s ready. You want to come over and eat with us?” His smooth voice held out hope I’d say yes.
I nodded and cranked the car. “Let me pick up Abigail. I’ll see you in an hour.”
“Okay. I’ll tell your mom to hold dinner for you.” He signed off without a goodbye, but I didn’t expect one. Dad’s great, but he wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type.
I spent the whole drive to Abigail’s day care drumming up names for my future physiotherapy clinic. Nothing sounded right. I wanted to convey healing with strength but with that undertone of softness. Pulling up at the day care, I smiled at Abigail’s teachers and stepped out to help my daughter into the backseat.
“Hi, Mama.” She bounced over to me, her sunshine smile plumping her cheeks.
I scooped her into a hug and tugged off her backpack. “Hey, sweetheart. Did you have a good day?”
“Uh-huh.” Abigail’s blonde ponytail draped down the back of her neck. “Did you?”
I waited until she’d strapped herself in and I’d gotten behind the wheel again to answer. “It was a good day.” I pulled out on the highway and eased toward Dad’s. “Listen, sweetie, we’re going to stop by Gram and Gramps for dinner, okay?”
“Okay.” She played with the straps on her seat and kicked her feet back and forth. “I have homework.”
“Really?” I switched between watching her in the mirror and keeping an eye on the road. “What kind of homework?”
Her toes caught on the passenger seat and she pulled them back while humming her favorite song. “It’s due tomorrow. It’s about my family. Who’s my daddy?”
Whoa. My entire body spasmed at the question, and I tightened my grip on the wheel to keep the car on the road. How was I supposed to tell my daughter that I didn’t know her daddy? She was the result of a one-night stand in college. A night I don’t remember except for a bright red strawberry birthmark on the right side of a muscular neck.
Thankfully, we pulled into my parents’ driveway and Abigail forgot all about her assignment. How could I help her finish it without telling her the truth?
“Gramps!” Abigail wiggled in her seat and yanked off the straps holding her in place.
My dad—the head coach of the next up-and-coming professional American Hockey League team—grinned playfully at Abigail and cupped his hands around his eyes while pressing his nose to the glass. He might be a bit short-tempered with his team, and with me, but he loved his granddaughter with every cell in his body. “Abby, are you in there?” He knocked on the glass. “Hello?”
“Gramps, I’m here.” My daughter popped up from her seat and pecked on the glass with her little fingers. “I’m right here.”
He opened the door and wrapped her up in a bear hug. “Hiya, kiddo.” He gave me a quick nod of welcome and turned for the house. “Got something I need to talk to you about, Lucy.”
I stiffened automatically and had to force my jaw not to clench. The last time he said those words to me was right after I told him I was pregnant with Abigail. A conversation that had gone over like a blowtorch on ice. We’d put that behind us, but I never quite got over the disappointment I saw on his face that night.
Mom met us at the front door and ushered us all into the kitchen and straight to the old, scratched-up kitchen table I’d done homework on for as long as I could remember.
“How were your clinicals?” Mom wasted no time in passing around plates already filled with food and helping Abigail over to her seat.
I broke open my dinner roll and slathered it with butter. “Not bad. Glad they’re over.”
“What happens now?” Dad asked while adding salt to his potatoes. “You’re still helping out at the women’s and teen’s advocacy center?”
“Yeah.” I shook my head. “It’s so sad. Over forty percent of teen girls stop sports because of self-esteem and body imageissues.” I forced myself to stop there before I delved into the harsh reality of it all. I’d stopped playing hockey at sixteen for those very reasons. It took years for me to understand that my body shape had nothing to do with my ability to play. I was a devil on the ice. Always had been. But I’d quit because of my size and suffered for years before I finally found peace with myself and a body shape that I loved. But I really didn’t want to go into all that with my dad. “I found a building that’s available for rent. Now that I’m fully licensed, I can open my own clinic.”
A look passed between Mom and Dad, the two of them having a whole conversation with a single look. Man, they were good at that.
Dad set his fork aside and dropped his hands to the table. “About that.” He gave me a small smile. “I have an offer for you.” His smile widened. “I’d like you to consider becoming the team’s physiotherapist.”
