Page 18

Chapter 17

Zach

My sneakers crunch against the salt-covered sidewalk, the sound echoing in the pre-dawn quiet. I walk toward the sports complex, hands shoved into my jacket pockets, head low against the bite of the wind.

Everyone’s probably still asleep, enjoying their weekend, but I have a meeting with Coach Harper. Which meant my ass had to leave Merci’s before the sun came up to shower and change. Showing up to a meeting with my coach reeking of sex is out of the question.

Part of me wishes I was still in bed with Merci, not just because I’m tired, but because of him—curled up against me, his head tucked under my chin, his breath warm and even against my chest.

For once, everything inside my head had been . . . quiet.

No chaos. No sharp edges. Just calm.

I’d stayed longer than I should have, watching him sleep. His face was relaxed, peaceful in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. No furrow in his brow. No thrashing or crying out.

No nightmares.

Does he still have them? Noticed the nightlight in his room.

I still can hear those raw, guttural screams that tore through the walls of the house when he first moved in. I never asked him about them back then. Didn’t see the purpose of knowing.

Now, I want to.

Before I left, I'd also carefully checked Merci's ass to make sure I hadn't hurt him. The skin was pink but not bruised. Hadn’t meant to spank him as hard as I did, but the way he begged, the way he arched into every slap, I’d gotten carried away.

And he definitely likes being collared. Figured as much after he whimpered that time in the warehouse when I jerked on the chain. But after stopping at my dorm to clean up after the fight, I figured I’d bring a leather one I had lying around—just in case.

I hadn’t gone there expecting to fuck, but I was worked up, not just because of the fight but because of seeing Merci dancing up on the table. There’s no denying he’s hot, no denying how much my cock craves him.

But I wasn’t going to force him either .

What I didn’t expect was how his whole body flushed when I put the collar on him or how he asked me not to take it off. As he slept against me, I stared at the leather around his neck, snarling at the thought of him wearing one that someone else had given him.

The glass doors to the sports complex slide open with a soft hiss, and the warmth inside hits me like a wall. I exhale sharply as I navigate the corridors and head straight for Coach Harper’s office.

I pause outside the door, my hand hovering over the handle. He hadn’t told me what this meeting was about, and I fucking hate surprises. Not wanting to waste more time, I push the door open and walk in.

Coach Harper sits behind his desk and a man I've never seen before stands beside him. The new guy’s taller but leaner, with a neatly trimmed beard and brown hair. His white button-down shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, revealing forearms covered in tattoos, and he’s wearing a pair of black dress pants.

If anything, he looks . . . imposing.

Like he owns the room just by standing in it.

The man’s gaze locks onto mine. His eyes are sharp and assessing, as if he’s dissecting me with every blink.

My eyes dart to Coach Harper. “Who’s this?”

Coach folds his hands on the desk. "This is Tommy. My brother. "

My jaw tightens, my left hand flexing again. “Why’s he here?”

“He’s the physical therapy connection I mentioned.”

“The person who will help you.” Tommy’s voice is firm and to the point as he steps around the desk. “Assuming you’re not going to waste my time.”

I glare at my coach, heat prickling at the back of my neck. “I didn’t agree to this.”

“You didn’t have to. You need this, Zach. And Tommy’s the best. He’s worked with athletes at every level, including the NHL.”

My stomach churns, a tight, relentless knot forming as soon as the NHL is mentioned. The dream I’ve been clawing toward my entire life—that I’m still desperately fighting for— feels like it’s slipping through my fingers. “Does he know everything?”

“You can trust him. He’s not going to say anything to anyone. Not about your arm or anything else you choose to share. He’s here to help.”

“Beckett told me about the nerve damage, reduced sensation, and some coordination issues.” Tommy Harper’s gaze sharpens, his arms crossing. “I don’t care about anything other than getting you back to full functionality. Don’t even give a shit why it’s messed up. My job is to fix it. ”

I don’t like this, don’t like being ambushed. My fingers curl into fists at my side. "And if I refuse?"

"Then you're the dumbass who's going to blow his shot because he's too proud to accept help."

The bluntness of Tommy’s response catches me off guard. And when I glare at him, he holds my gaze, his expression unmoving, like he’s daring me to push back.

“Fine. What’s the plan?”

Tommy straightens, his shoulders squaring as his expression shifts to something more stern. “First, I need you to drop the attitude. I’m not one of your coaches, and I’m not here to coddle you. My job is to get your hand working as well as it can, and I don’t have time for bullshit.”

A muscle twitches under my eye, and I exhale sharply through my nose as I give him a curt nod. “Got it.”

“Good.” He gestures to the chair in front of Coach’s desk with a flick of his hand. “Sit.”

I drop into the chair, my fingers drumming against the armrest, while Tommy picks a tablet and a stylus off the desk.

“Tell me about the numbness. When did it start?” He glances at me briefly before his eyes shift back to the tablet.

“After the surgeries.” My voice comes out flat, almost detached. “The doctors said it was nerve damage. Permanent. ”

He scribbles something down, stylus tapping at the screen. “Where’s the numbness worst? Fingers? Palm?”

“Fingers. Sometimes it spreads to the palm.”

“And grip strength, fine motor skills?”

“Not great.” I flex my fingers, brows furrowing. “It’s worse in the mornings. Takes a while to loosen up.”

“What about pain?”

“More like pressure but not. It’s a dull sensation.”

He sets the tablet down on the desk. “I’ll need to do a physical assessment. See what we’re working with. Then we’ll develop a regimen to strengthen the hand, improve dexterity, and manage the numbness. It won’t be easy, and it won’t be quick, but if you’re willing to put in the work, I’ll get you there.”

My eyes narrow. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because my brother asked me to. And because I’ve seen what it’s like for athletes when their bodies betray them.” Tommy briefly glances at Coach before his eyes snap back to me. “But you’re lucky. You still have a chance.”

That’s right.

Coach was forced to retire after his back surgery.

“Thank you.” The words feel foreign, stiff, and unnatural. But I mean them.

Tommy nods, his expression still hard. “We’ll start tomorrow before practice. ”

Coach’s gaze locks with mine. "Don’t make me regret this, Zach."

“I won’t.”

Pushing myself to my feet, I nod once, muttering another thank you as I step toward the door. This isn’t going to fix everything. My brain damage isn’t going away, and I’ll never process things like a normal person.

But for the first time in a while, my NHL dreams aren’t slipping through my numb fingers.