Page 73 of Coach's Temptation

Chapter Eighteen

Natalie

The medical room is buzzing when I walk in.

Blake Maddox is perched on the exam table, shirtless, his massive body stiff with fear and frustration. His shoulder is already bruising, the deepening purple darkened against his skin.

Jordan stands off to the side, arms crossed, his usual easygoing expression replaced with something a hell of a lot more serious.

I move closer to Blake, ready to assess the extent of the injury.

Behind me, Hunter prowls the length of the medical room like a caged animal. Three steps, pivot, three steps back. His jaw clenches with each turn, the muscle ticking beneath his skin. Those steel-gray eyes dart between Blake's shoulder and the door, calculating, planning, probably running through every possible scenario for tomorrow's game.

I ignore all of it. Ignore him.

Instead, I pull on my gloves, snapping them into place.

“Alright, Blake,” I say, stepping forward. “Let’s see the damage.”

Blake exhales, tipping his head back with a groan. “It’s nothing, Doc. Jordan's overreacting.”

"Overreacting? You couldn't lift your fucking water bottle." Jordan's voice rises from the corner of the room. "That's kind of important for holding a hockey stick."

"I was being careful." Blake shifts on the table. "Doesn't mean I can't play."

The air cracks inside the medical room. Everyone wants that clean sweep victory tomorrow, and Blake's our key to making it happen.

"Listen, I just need—"

Jordan straightens and cuts in over Blake. "What you need is—"

A sharp whip-like sound echoes as Hunter's palm connects with the wall, silencing both of the men instantly.

Hunter spins on his heel and glares at all of us. "Both of you, shut the fuck up and let Natalie do her damn job."

The room falls silent.

Ignoring the warmth in my belly, I press my fingers against Blake's shoulder, grateful for the quiet. "Why don't you tell me what you were doing when you first felt the twinge?"

I tune out Jordan's muttering behind me as Blake explains how he first noticed the pain during this morning's recovery skate. But as he talks, his insistence that he's fine doesn't match the way he winces when I rotate his shoulder.

My fingers probe the joint, checking range of motion and muscle tension. The deltoid is tight, but what concerns me more is the way his rotator cuff responds when I test it.

Twenty-four hours before a potential series-clinching game, this isn't what anyone wants to see of their star player.

Hunter's presence burns against my back as he watches. His breath catches when Blake grimaces at a particular movement, and I flash back to that first night in his house when I picked up the newspaper articles spread across his counter. Hunter saved them all.

All these years he's had one thing on his mind. One thing, and one thing only. I remember vividly how his voice deepened and went all rough and emotional as he told me about his own career-ending injury against Vancouver.

I knew from that night on that this series isn't just about winning for Hunter…

It's about redemption.

And now his star player is injured right before the biggest game of his coaching career, threatening to derail everything when it's so damn close.

Just like it did twenty years ago.

I push those thoughts away. Right now, Blake needs the physical therapist, not the woman who's falling for his coach and would do anything to put things right for him.

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