Page 8 of Vital Blindside

“I’m going to take a stab in the dark and guess that you being here today is your mother’s doing?” I ask, smiling sadly. There’s a pang of disappointment in my stomach that I ignore.

“She was pretty adamant about me getting this job and out of her house.”

I lean forward, bracing myself on my desk by my elbows. I’m staring at the slight dimple in her chin when I say, “She wasn’t the only one. You’re my top choice. Injury or not.”

She blinks slowly. “I’m not sure I would be the best choice.”

“Why not? You have loads of experience, not to mention success.”

“I do, but I’m not exactly in the best shape.”

I barely manage to hold back my laugh. A brief flick of my eyes from her head to toes is all it takes to prove that statement incorrect.

Scarlett is in incredible shape. You don’t get to the athletic level she is without spending countless hours working your body to the bone, sculpting it into its highest form.

The way her thigh muscles bulge beneath the thin material of her yoga pants when she quickly crosses one leg over the other has me averting my gaze before I get caught drooling.

“If it wasn’t for your shoulder, I don’t doubt for a minute you would have just finished another winning season with the Blaze. You’re still in your prime, and it’s your choice whether you’re going to spend your best years wallowing with regret at home or helping train a very talented girl here at WIT. I know which option I would choose.”

Faint interest sparks in her eyes. “How old?” she asks reluctantly. “And what exactly did you have in mind? Because I’m extremely busy at home right now, and I have no interest in hurting myself further.”

“Sixteen. Willow Barton. She’s good. Really good. Might even be the best female skater I have. And as far as training goes, your shoulder would be safe. I can have somebody else handle the aggressive aspects of her training, but I need you to teach her everything else you know. I want you to help her perfect it all. Can you handle that?”

“She’s that good?”

I nod once. “She’s that good.”

I’ve had bundles of talented athletes come to WIT before making it to the professional level, but Willow is something special. For such a young girl, her future is brighter than most people double her age. She deserves the best. That’s why she came here in the first place.

Scarlett sighs, still looking torn on what to do. Before I have a chance to stop myself, I’m saying, “Take the job and I’ll help you with your shoulder. I might not be as good as whoever you were working with in Calgary, but I’ll try.” Her lips part as she prepares to no doubt turn me down, but I stop her with my next words. “You can try to fool everybody else by pretending you’re fine, but I’ve been taking care of athletes—injured and not—for too long not to notice that you’re in pain. I won’t judge you. Let me help.”

I haven’t worked on rehabilitation clients in six years—back when WIT was so new, I didn’t have any rehab therapists employed and had to upgrade my college degree—but there’s no chance I’m going to tell her that. The break hasn’t deteriorated my knowledge or experience, let alone my will to accomplish everything I try.

Scarlett runs a hand through her curls and exhales heavily. A scowl pulls at her rosy lips, and I almost laugh at how perfectly it fits her harsh demeanour.

“Fine,” she says. My jaw nearly drops. “I’ll take the job. But I need weekends and every day after five off. I won’t budge on that.”

“Done,” I agree easily.

She nods once before standing and placing her hands on her slightly flared hips.

Our eyes meet, and I offer her my hand. She hesitates for a brief second before our palms meet in a quick shake.

I grin. “Welcome to the WIT family, Scarlett Carter.”

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