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“I was angry at his foul,” I explain. “He’s a dirty player and everyone knows it.”
I’m not angry at John. I’m angry that Darius Crib is lapping up being a victim and enjoying the limelight thanks to my stupidity. Do I regret what I said? Not really. I know what I meant when the words came out of my mouth. Do I wish I could curb my temper more on the ice?
Definitely.
But then, the game is my life, and I can’t tolerate cheaters.
With John appeased, even though he knows me far better than that, the conversation turns to my injury.
“How bad is it?” Steve asks.
“I’ll be out for a few months. I’m going to go mad with boredom, but it’s not worth the risk of going back before I’m healed.”
“There’s a great physiotherapist here,” John pipes up. “Kinda cute, too.” He grins.
“Not a good idea,” Steve cuts in.
“Why?” I frown.
“It’s Emma Carter,” Steve says, giving me a pointed look.
I’ll be honest, the name is kind of vague, and while Steve clearly has someone in mind, I’m struggling to put a face to the name.
I shrug. “I’ve got nothing.”
“She went to school with us,” John says.
“And you had a run-in with her in our last year,” Steve adds.
“Really?” I’m still struggling to remember her, never mind the run-in.
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” Steve says, his lined brow conveying his worry.
“But she’s the best,” John defends. “I go to her all the time. Her clientele list contains some of the best amateur athletes in a hundred-mile radius.”
I’ll admit, that’s pretty impressive.
Ignoring Steve’s pessimism, I nod. “Maybe I’ll look her up.”
2
Emma
“See you next week,”I say, waving a farewell to Donnie.
“Thanks, Emma. By the way, my coach thinks you’re a miracle worker.” He grins, pushing on the door and heading out into the street.
“That’s because youarea miracle worker, Emma Carter,” Sharon says, beaming a smile across the waiting area of my clinic.
She’s sitting behind the desk, the huge Mac nearly obscuring her entire person. One of my closest friends in school, she’s also as sharp as a tack, and thus, she was the obvious choice when I needed someone to run the other side of the business. While she might look like my secretary, Sharon Langley is far more than that.
“Nope. Just three years of hard work and a bunch of extra learning,” I quip back as I walk over to the desk. Leaning over it, I say, “What’s my schedule like this afternoon?”
She taps a few keys and eyes the screen. “You have a 1:30, a 2:45, and a 4 pm. But right now, you need lunch.” She lifts her eyes and gives me a pointed look.
“I know,” I reply.
“Yeah, sure you do. That’s why I’m going to go and get it, so I can make sure you actually eat today.”