Page 81 of Hat Trick

“He’s doing well, isn’t he?” I beam and grab a rolled-up towel. “We’re increasing the intensity of the physiotherapy exercises today. Do you want to stick around?”

“No. I don’t want to overstep,” Coach says. “And my daughter has figure skating lessons this afternoon.”

“No hockey for her?” Riley asks, sitting on the edge of the table and swinging his legs to the front. “She could be the next Emmy. I’m sure she has some of your skills in her blood.”

“Trust me, I’ve tried. She wants to wear figure skating dresses, not pads.” He glances at me. “You good?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I grab the clipboard I use to track Riley’s progress and sit on a rolling stool. “All is well here.”

He turns his attention to Riley. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Coach.” Riley smiles and gets to work on his prosthetic. “And thanks for believing in me.”

With a grunt, Coach disappears out the door, and the room gets quiet.

“So,” I say brightly after flipping through my stack of notes. “We’re going to try some new things today.”

“New things? Like what?” Riley asks.

“Bridges and similar things. Your core is getting stronger, and I want to see how you fare with some different movements. My hope is in the new year we’ll start working on the exercises you’re used to doing as a hockey player like single-leg squats and RDLs.”

“Sounds good to me. I was at my prosthetist’s office yesterday. I’ve had some trouble walking the last couple of days, and he had to adjust my socket. It’s nice to have a break from lugging this thing around.”

Riley pops off his leg and I take it from him, leaning it against the wall like I always do. We have a routine in here, but that routine hasn’t included wondering if he still has a hickey on his neck from our night together. A quick glance while he scoots back on the table shows the mark below his ear has faded, and I’m a little sad about it.

“Did his adjustments help?”

“Yeah. It’s amazing how things can be out of whack by half a millimeter and throw everything else off.” He fixes his shorts and stretches out his left leg. “I’ve been very good at doing my solo exercises this week. I, uh, wanted to make you proud.”

“Yeah?” I stand and set my clipboard on the stool, moving so I’m next to him. “I’m sure you will.”

“What are we doing first?”

“Bridges. I need you on your back, please.”

“No laughing at me.” Riley maneuvers his body, and I wait patiently until he’s flat on the table with his arms folded behind his head. “God. I can’t believe people sleep like this.”

“Back sleepers have something seriously wrong with them.”

“How do you sleep?”

“On my side. What about you?”

“Side sleepers unite.” He turns his chin so he’s looking my way. There’s something else on the tip of his tongue, but he closes his mouth. He takes a deep breath, bringing his legs together. “What do you want me to do?”

Make me come again.

Put your hand around my throat.

Tell me how good I am.

A million other things that shouldnotstill be lingering in my brain.

“With your left foot on the table, you’re going to lift your hips in the air,” I say, worried it sounds too breathy, like his presence is affecting me when it absolutely shouldn’t be. “Then you’ll bring your hips back down, and we’ll repeat.”

“Whenever I think the exercises are going to be easy, they end up kicking my ass.” He grimaces when he moves his body, and his fingers dig into the leather of the table. “How do you come up with these things?”

“I spend a lot of time researching. I study documents from hospitals and outpatient facilities. I consult with people knowledgeable in limb loss. I’m learning a lot, but I’m used to treating hockey injuries. I want to make sure I’m giving you the right exercises to work on the right parts of your body.”

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