Page 60 of Huge Pucking Play

"I'll cook," I offer. "You rest."

Her eyes open, studying me. "You don't have to take care of me, you know."

"I know I don't have to." I massage her ankle gently. "But I want to."

"We'll figure all this out," I say softly. "One day at a time."

Chapter 18

Cyn

Iguide Sorenson's arm through another careful rotation, watching his face for signs of pain. My fingers press into the groove of his shoulder, feeling the muscle respond—still too tight, but better than last week. This is the part of my job I love, the tangible progress under my hands, even if the Blades' defenseman curses under his breath every time we reach the sticking point.

"Easy," I tell him, adjusting my grip. "You're not going to impress anyone by pushing too hard and tearing it again."

"I just want to get back in the game ASAP," Sorenson winces as we hit the troublesome angle.

The training room hums with the familiar sounds of recovery—the whir of equipment, distant voices from the hallway, the occasional clank of weights. I still get a thrill every morning when I walk in here.

"Two more sets," I say, positioning his arm again. "Then we'll do the resistance band work."

The door bangs open. I don't need to turn around to know who it is. The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees.

"Ms. Lockhart." Marjorie's voice could freeze boiling water.

I keep my hands steady on Sorenson's shoulder, not breaking the movement. "Almost finished here, Marjorie."

She steps into my peripheral vision. Her gray bob is immaculate as always, not a hair out of place.

"I need to see you in my office when you're done." Her voice is clipped and something in her tone makes my stomach tighten.

I nod, still focused on Sorenson. "Should be about thirty minutes."

"Don't keep me waiting." She turns sharply and walks out, the door closing with a finality that echoes in my chest.

Sorenson raises his eyebrows. "What's up with the ice queen?"

"No idea." I try to keep my voice light, but my mind is already racing. Did I miss a meeting? File the wrong paperwork? "Let's focus on your shoulder."

"She always looks at you like you just shot her dog."

I force a weak smile. "She’s certainly not the warmest of people."

We continue the exercises, but my body is on autopilot now. My hands guide Sorenson through the motions while my brain spins through possibilities. Last week, Marjorie criticized the treatment plan I'd developed for one of the rookies, but I'd justified my approach with research. The day before, she'd walked past as I was laughing with Garrett about something entirely innocent. The memory of her narrowed eyes sends a chill down my spine.

"You okay, Cyn?" Sorenson interrupts my thoughts.

"I'm fine." My fingers are moving, testing the resistance in his muscle, but they feel disconnected from me. "How's the pain level now?"

"Four, maybe? Better than Monday."

I nod, making notes in my head to update his chart. The next twenty minutes stretch like taffy, slow and sticky. I demonstratethe new exercises, correct his form, remind him about ice therapy. All while the clock on the wall ticks toward whatever awaits in Marjorie's office.

"Same time Thursday," I tell him as he puts his sweatshirt back on. "Ice it tonight if you feel any inflammation."

"Will do." He pauses at the door. "Good luck with the dragon lady."

I smile tightly. "Thanks."

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