Page 1 of The Assist
CHAPTER ONE
DYLAN
The final horn blares, loud and sharp, and the crowd roars like they’ve seen war and we’re the ones crawling out of the rubble. We’ve won. Four-two. Another one for the books.
But I can barely stand.
My right ankle’s throbbing like a bitch, and my shoulder… don’t even get me started. I took a hard check halfway through the third; the guy came in late and caught me high. Shoulder popped, then snapped back in. I finished the shift because I’m stubborn like that, but I knew the second I skated back to the bench, I was fucked.
“Diesel!” Murphy yells, catching up to me as I limp off the ice. “You alright, mate?” Murphy and I joined the team around the same time. We’ve had each other’s back ever since.
“Feel like someone ran me over with a Zamboni. Other than that, peachy.”
He laughs, slaps my good shoulder, and I grimace. Bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. My teammates are still hyped, shouting and throwing gloves and sticks, buzzing on adrenaline and victory. Me? I want to sit down and not move for a week.
But of course, our trainer, Jonno, is waiting for me thesecond I hobble into the tunnel. “You’re not going near the showers,” he says, arms crossed, no room for argument. “Straight to Clarke.”
I groan. “Come on. Can’t I just ice it and pretend I’m fine?”
“You can try,” he says, stepping aside and gesturing like a bloody bouncer. “But you’ll be explaining to Mia why you think you know better than she does. I’ll grab popcorn. This should be interesting.” He smirks.
Fantastic. Exactly how I wanted to end the night; getting lectured by the team’s new physio, who’s got a mouth on her like a sailor and eyes that could strip paint off a wall. Mia Clarke. She’s been here three months and already has half the team terrified of her. Not me, though.
Well. Notterrified.
I limp down the hall toward the physio room, each step jarring my ankle. I’m sweaty, bleeding a bit from my knuckles, and I smell like the locker room after we’ve played a game. She’s going to love this.
The door’s half open. I push it open and lean against the frame, taking the weight off my ankle for a second. The slight reprieve only makes it throb more.
“Got time for a broken man?”
She looks up from her clipboard, one brow already raised. Her dark hair is tied back in a messy bun, wisps escaping and clinging to her cheeks. She’s in joggers and a tight black T-shirt emblazoned with The Raptors logo, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. No-nonsense. Clarke always looks like she’s about to wrestle a grizzly bear and win.
“You’re early,” she says flatly. “Didn’t even give me a full hour of peace.”
I step inside, dragging my foot a little more dramatically than necessary. “Missed you.”
“Mm.” She doesn’t look amused. “Which bit’s falling off?”
“Shoulder’s gone dodgy. Ankle’s not right either.”
She waves at the table. “Top off. Sit down.” Mia has her back to me, busying herself with whatever paperwork her clipboard holds.
“Buy me a drink first.” There’s a slight chuckle to my voice, despite the pain that’s currently wracking my body.
She shoots me a look that could curdle milk.
“Fine, fine.” I pull off my shirt with a hiss and drop onto the treatment table. The room’s cold. Or maybe that’s just her. Leaning on my good arm, I push up onto the table and wriggle backwards, so I’m sitting comfortably.
Her eyes scan me clinically, like I’m a project she didn’t ask for. Then her fingers press against my shoulder and I flinch.
“Jesus, Clarke. Your hands are like bloody vices. Give a man a break, for fuck’s sake.”
“Stop squirming.” Mia doesn’t give me a break, not for a second. She continues to try and manipulate my shoulder, moving it from one position to another without remorse for the pain she’s inflicting.
“You’ve got a real gentle touch, don’t you?” I wince as she allows my arm to drop back down to my side.
“I save it for people who don’t flirt like a teenage boy.”
