Page 19

I’ve never been particularly nervous going to work, but today is different. After I got home from that confusing morning run with Leah, I knew I was in for some sort of interrogation from Paige.

All day I keep watching, waiting for her to show up. To catch me off guard. She hasn’t yet, and I don’t know why. The anticipation is throwing me off, my mind and body tensing, fight-or-flight response in effect. I want to flee.

When I’m on the ice, I typically leave everything else behind. My head clears and it’s just my eyes tracking the play, my body ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

But I see a door open in my periphery, and when I look over to check, the puck my trainer launched smacks against my helmet. He begins scolding me, but I don’t hear him. I’m still thinking back to this morning.

The hurt on Paige’s face. The guilt on Leah’s. I don’t have any siblings, so I don’t understand their dynamic. Will this create a rift between them? Should I have said something? No, I don’t think I should have—Leah would have bitten my head off. I was right to stay quiet.

Once I’m finished with my ice time, I check my schedule, having forgotten this morning to memorise it for the day.

Massage with Paige.

Oh fuck. No wonder she hasn’t said anything or sought me out—she’s going to have me all to herself for a full hour. I sigh and slowly make my way over to the health and wellness offices at our training arena. Knocking on the door feels more ominous when I hear her soft voice telling me to come in. I hesitate for a breath before letting myself in.

“H-Hey, Paige,” I say hesitantly.

“Hey, Julien. Have a seat.” She doesn’t seem upset.

I pushed myself hard when I ran home this morning. I don’t usually run faster than my easy pace, but I practically sprinted the five kilometres home. It was a mistake.

My phone buzzes, and while Paige is getting her notes together, I take it out.

Adam Ashford

if my fiancé comes home more pissed today than when she left this morning, I’m blaming you.

Of course. Shit. Just thinking the word puts a smile on my face, remembering the way Levi’s voice sounds when he swears. So damn cute. And when Leah’s face lit up after repeating my French word for wolf. So damn stunning.

“What are you smiling about?” Paige quirks a brow.

I suddenly feel considerably smaller—not an easy feat given my size—as she appraises me. Though I’m sitting and she’s tall, I’m almost at her eye level.

“N-Nothing,” I say, putting my phone away and take a seat on the massage table

“Mm-hmm. So, Julien, what do we need to work on today?” she asks, her professional demeanour back in place. Though there’s an edge to her voice, and her face is not as cheery as usual.

“My legs.”

“Again?”

I nod, and she studies her notes. The room is not what you’d expect when you think of a massage room. There aren’t tea tree oils everywhere, no soft candles burning or orange bulbs turned down low. It’s a fairly medical room.

The top half of the walls are white and the bottom half a navy blue. The massage table is grey, and Paige’s rolling chair is currently behind her desk with the computer monitor turned off. There are shelves of oils and lotions, but right beside them are posters of the muscular system of the body—and the pressure points.

It’s clean and clinical. The massaging that’s done here is not meant to relax us. Though she does sometimes dim the lights and make it less painful.

Today is not going to be one of those days .

“Go ahead and lie down,” she instructs, though I’m already moving, adjusting my robe so she has access to my legs. I settle my head into the rest, lying flat on my stomach.

I hear Paige move to the wall of lotions and when she comes back, I anticipate the warm feeling of her hands. Instead, the shock of the cold lotion hits me right in the middle of my hamstring.

A hiss escapes my lips at the unexpected temperature. Can I hear Paige smiling? Evil.

Her hands begin kneading my muscles. Hard. I flinch, a grunt I can’t hold back slipping through my lips.

“Oh, sorry, is that too much pressure?” Her sweet voice fills the room. Bullshit.

“No.” I won’t give her the satisfaction. As a bonus, if she can take a little of her anger out on me, maybe that’ll help repair things between her and Leah. I feel a kernel of guilt, like it’s my fault.

“Good.”

And before I know it, she’s digging in harder.

“Fuuuuuuck,” I say through gritted teeth as she works her strong hands, or should I say torture devices? Is she trying to dig her way through the muscle fibres?

“How’s that?”

“P-Perfect.” I think I may cry.

She pulverizes my muscles for a few more moments before speaking again.

“Why are you running with my sister?” She comes right out and asks .

I shouldn’t be surprised at her bluntness. I know it’s something both she and Adam have been working on. Because of their faulty communication skills, they spent two years thinking the other didn’t want to hear from them. They were both too considerate for their own good. A quick conversation could have solved the whole problem. But I can relate.

Conversations like that are hard, and who wants to be outright rejected? I don’t blame them. They barely knew each other, and they had enough proof to confirm their own assumptions.

And when Paige moved here and they were reunited, they danced around each other. Now they’ve learned to communicate better, sometimes to the point of oversharing.

You’d think I would’ve been ready with an answer given I’ve been preparing for this confrontation all day. Though, I didn’t want to discuss it lying prone on a massage table while she pulverizes me with her hands.

I clear my throat and try to get ahold of my stutter. I hate that it’s worse when I’m feeling tense. “W-We bumped into each other o-one day.”

“When?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Weeks.” She breathes the word and momentarily forgets she’s supposed to be causing me as much pain as possible. Then she snaps back into it, moving to the other leg.

I brace myself for the onslaught. It’s just as bad, if not worse, now that I know what’s coming. My jaw clenches as she works the hamstrings of my other leg .

“You should t-talk to Leah,” I tell her.

“I will.”

The relief that floods me comes as a surprise. I didn’t want to be the reason they were fighting or stopped talking. I know that’s self-centred of me—there’s more to this than simply Leah running with me.

I don’t pry though. It’s none of my business. Paige will talk about it if she wants to.

“So are you guys, like, dating?” she asks. Though Leah had already answered this unasked question this morning.

“No.”

I can’t see her face, unable to judge what she’s thinking.

“Julien, give me something,” she urges.

For the sake of my legs, I do. “I’m helping her learn how to run.” There, that wasn’t so hard.

“But why you? If she needs help, she should ask.”

Leah told me asking for help is hard for her. I’m sure Paige knows this, and that’s probably why she’s so upset.

“I think it’s easier to take h-help from someone you don’t like than someone you love.”

“She doesn’t like you?” she asks as if I made a joke.

“She’s always calling me a jackass.” Even I hear the frown in my voice.

Paige snorts.

It makes me turn to prop myself up on my elbows. Though her hands are still on my legs, I get a reprieve. I give her a questioning look, and she shakes her head, pushing my shoulder in a silent command to lie back down.

When she begins again, she’s much gentler, her usual strong pressure back. Thank god. There’s silence as she works through the tightness in my muscles. My calves get a nicer treatment than my hamstrings, but it’s still a little harder than absolutely necessary.

“When do you run?” she asks quietly. I know better than to answer—it’s not my place.

“You’ll have to ask Leah.” That answer earns me a rough stroke of my calf. I have to take a deep breath in.

“I’m asking you.”

“Are you trying to torture me for information?” I say through my clenched jaw.

“Yes.”

At least she’s honest.

“T-Talk to Leah,” I say again.

“Oh, I will.”

And the torture continues.