Page 5 of The Rookie
“Follow you? Um ... no.” I glance at Jillian, who’s smiling nervously at me. I clear my throat. “I came here to help you get back on the ice. And since you weren’t returning my calls or emails ...”
My surprise at his willingness to just outright refuse my help must be written all over my face. Inhaling sharply, I turn toward his mother for reinforcements.
“How about some tea? Can I get you some tea, Summer?” Jillian asks sweetly.
“No tea,” Logan says, his voice a deep rumble. “She’s not staying.”
“That’s crazy,” Jillian says, scolding her son. “She came all the way here. Let the girl warm up and at least hear what she has to say.”
I’m liking her more and more.
Logan exhales, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Fine. You have five minutes.”
Turning back to me, Jillian grins. “Great. Would you like chamomile or English breakfast? I have coffee too.”
“I’m fine,” I say, waving off her hospitality.
“Get her one of those cinnamon buns with her coffee, Jill,” Grandpa Al calls out from his armchair.
“Okay, that would be lovely,” I say cautiously, giving her a grateful smile. At the mention of food, my grumbling stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten since breakfast, which was an awful breakfast burrito at the airport that I only managed a few bites of. It hardly counts as breakfast.
I’m sensing that while Logan might not want me here, his mother and grandfather seem to understand my presence here is important for his future. I guess that’s one tick in the plus column.
Taking a deep breath, I follow Jillian to the kitchen. She gestures for me to take a seat at the table while she retrieves a mug from the cabinet. I follow her instructions, pulling out a sturdy wooden chair and sitting down.
The kitchen is large with plenty of cabinets, all painted in a soft gray color. Healthy plants fill the window box, and there’s a big bowl of fruit on the table, along with a half-finished puzzle. It’s a family home—the kind I always dreamed about while growing up, but never got to experience. Complete with creaky wooden floors and books overflowing from the bookcases.
I ramble when I’m nervous, so it’s no surprise that I begin filling the empty silence with nonsensical chatter. “It’s a lovely property you have here. So serene.”
“Cream or sugar, honey?” Jillian asks, holding up the coffee carafe.
“Both, please.”
As she pours me a coffee, Logan wanders in and leans against the doorway, appraising us. His cool, indifferent gaze makes me nervous.
Jillian places a steaming mug of coffee before me and sits down. Folding her hands on the table before her, she meets my eyes. “So, you were saying you’re a sports ...”
“Psychologist, yes.” I take a sip of my coffee.
People get nervous when they hear that word, but they shouldn’t. I’m as non-threatening as they come. I mean ... if they only knew. My own life is kind of a dumpster fire at the moment. But I doubt that’s what they want to hear, so instead, I launch into my backstory.
“After graduating with a bachelor’s degree in sports medicine, I interned for Les—um, Les Benson, he works for the Titans.” I look to Logan, because surely he knows who Les is, but he looks completely disinterested. “Anyway, I worked for him while getting my master’s degree in psychology. And after I graduated and started working with athletes, I quickly learned that stretching and taping sore muscles wasn’t going to fix their injuries, when a lot of them ran much deeper than that.”
Jillian is nodding along, but Logan hasn’t said anything else. So I just continue.
“Sometimes they need things a physical therapist can’t provide. Like counseling, or someone to talk to. Help dealing with performance anxiety. Or overcoming obstacles to improve their performance. A lot of times those things are mental, not physical.”
I pause for a moment, letting my words sink in. I’m guessing this may describe Logan, because by all appearances, he looks normal and healthy.
“Anyway, all of this made me want to start my own business, so I did, shortly after graduating.”
Jillian’s mouth tilts up in a smile.
It may sound impressive that I started my own company, but it’s tricky. I need to win over clients—payingclients—if I want to succeed and keep a roof over my head. Now that I have this opportunity, I refuse to blow it. I didn’t fly across the country to fail. If I can get him back out on the ice, scoring goals, it will go a long way toward building my professional reputation.
Logan still stands glowering at me in the doorway, his back ramrod straight, not saying a word.
I’m off to a stellar start.
