Page 3 of Breakaway to You

Piper

In the few years I’d been the Wolves’ physical therapist, I’d never had to fight tooth and nail to complete a physical evaluation. Usually they were fairly quick, and I followed the same routine with each player, checking off all the boxes and then sending them on their way.

But Zeke Lawson wasn’t anything like the other players. And it had nothing to do with how he was older than most of the players I’d worked with. Doing his evaluation felt like I was trying to train a disobedient dog. I was a physical therapist, not a dog trainer, so it was safe to say the evaluation was exasperating and had me wanting to pull my hair out. With every question I posed, he had a question of his own—all of which I refused to answer. With every muscle I checked, he had a quip about how no one had ever complained about his muscles before, how they looked pretty good to him, and so on. I kept my mouth shut and my expression neutral through it all. He didn’t need to know that if I hadn’t been doing my job that I would have been enjoying his well-defined muscles too.

His good looks didn’t help the evaluation either. Roaming my hands over his taut muscles, catching his piercing blue eyes as he watched my movements, and having an irrational urge to run my hands through his dark curls, didn’t help matters. If anything, it had made me even more frustrated with the situation I’d found myself in with him. He was the one player I hadn’t been looking forward to evaluating. He was closer to my age than anyone else on the team. And yes, unfortunately I found him very attractive, which felt extremely unprofessional of me, though it’s not like I could help it.

But I could ignore it.

Plus, I wasn’t into hockey players. Been there, done that. Nothing good came of dating a hot hockey player.

I was used to cocky athletes, and Zeke Lawson was no different. Even as I went through his range of motion, checking his functional mobility, strength, coordination, and balance, he made some remark about how these tests didn’t define him as a player. And when one of the exercises didn’t go as he had anticipated, I wrote it down, which drove him crazy, making him want to try it again.

He had determination and perseverance, I’d give him that. But those two things weren’t going to turn back the clock and make him younger. The damage that had been done to his body wouldn’t be lessening with more time on the ice. It was my job to catalog everything and let Raymond and Coach Hill know exactly what Zeke’s body could handle.

From the outside, Zeke was a tall, fit, strong, and—okay, fine—extremely attractive man. But in the hockey world? He was on his way out. The inflammation in his knees and right hip alone were huge concerns. One wrong move or fall and he could get severely injured. I’d have to work with him regularly to lower our chances of something happening to him that would take him out for the season. Raymond would blow a gasket if that happened. He had already been on the fence about picking up Lawson as it was.

So as much as I wished I wouldn’t be seeing Zeke very often, it would be quite the opposite. I wasn’t sure I had the patience or the energy to put up with him, but if I wanted to keep my job, I’d have to figure it out.

I leaned against the counter, exhausted from dealing with a pretentious hockey player for the past hour and a half. “Okay, I think that’s everything I need for now.”

“And what’s the verdict?” he asked.

I continued to stare at him, debating about how much to tell him. I could gloss over it and give him a quick answer of ‘everything looks good’ and send him on his way. Or I could tell him the truth—and I had a feeling he didn’t want to hear it.

But I was feeling a bit snarky after his evaluation—so I went with the truth. I didn’t usually go over the evaluations with the players, but I thought it might help Zeke realize he wasn’t invincible.

“Okay.” I glanced down at my clipboard. “Fine. Let’s go over your evaluation. Your strength and endurance are still solid.”

He lifted his arm and flexed, showing off his impressive biceps. “That’s right, baby.”

I gave him an exaggerated eye roll before continuing. “Your knees are showing signs of wear—nothing catastrophic, but the cartilage isn’t what it used to be. And your hip…well, let’s just say it’s been carrying more than its fair share for a long time.”

He tried to school his features, but I could tell he wasn’t a fan of my assessment. “Well, yeah, I’ve been playing this sport professionally for over a decade. There are going to be some signs of wear and tear.”

I had assumed it would be hard for him to hear that something he had spent a lifetime doing was coming to an end, but he also needed to accept reality before it was too late. “It’s not just wear and tear. Your body’s been talking to you, and you’ve been ignoring it. The more you push like this, the more likely you are to end up with something youcan’tbounce back from. A bad hit, a wrong move—it could be career-ending.”

“Career-ending?” His face paled, but a scowl covered his features. “You’re saying I’m done?”

I quickly shook my head. “I’m not saying you’re done—not yet. But I am saying you need to start thinking long-term. Recovery, maintenance, smarter plays…maybe even…” I paused, knowing he wasn’t going to like what I said next. “Cutting back on ice time.”

He looked at me like he couldn’t have heard me right. “Cutting back?” he snorted. “That’s not in my vocabulary. That’s not who I am.”

I stood taller, meeting his gaze firmly. “It needs to be. If you keep grinding yourself down like this, you won’t walk away from this sport on your own terms. You’ll be forced to.”

As he stood up from the table, his easy and teasing demeanor from earlier was gone. Now his face conveyed so much anger and frustration, I had to work to not shrink away as I looked up at this giant of a man. He could dislike what I had to say all he wanted, but it was the truth. The sooner he realized that, the better. For both of us.

His gaze smoldered down at me, and if it wasn’t for the anger that was clearly present in his blue eyes, I might have gotten carried away in them. “Walking away sounds a lot like quitting. And I’m not a quitter.”

Gah, this stubborn man!

I pushed back my shoulders, not backing down. “It’s not quitting. It’s protecting what you’ve worked for your whole life—and making sure you still have a life after hockey.”

His jaw unclenched, and the anger in his eyes dissipated, a haunted look quickly crossing his features. But before I could read more into his expression, he closed his eyes and shook his head, making me wonder if I’d seen anything at all.

“Are we done here?” he asked, his warm voice having turned cold.

I nodded, not knowing how to respond after our conversation and the different emotions we both seemed to to have gone through in the span of only a few minutes.

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