Page 15

FIFTEEN

LEXI

Me

Hey. Missed you at our session today.

Riley

Got caught up with something.

Me

No worries! See you tomorrow?

* * *

Me

Missed you at our session. Again.

Riley

Got caught up with something. Again.

Me

Now who’s being the smart-ass?

* * *

Me

Okay, really? Three times in a row?

Once, I get. Twice, shit happens. But three times? This feels intentional.

I hope you’re okay.

* * *

GIRLS JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN(DAMENTAL RIGHTS) AND GOOD SEX

Piper

Are we all free for dinner tonight?

Emmy

I’m in. It’ll let me gloat some more about my victory against the Stars.

Me

It was the preseason, babe. Wins and losses don’t mean anything.

Piper

Hasn’t your team lost their first 5 regular season games?

Maven

We all know the Stars are going to kick the Sea Crabs’ asses at the next matchup in December.

Emmy

Wow. What happened to hoes before bros?

Me

Loyalty to our team goes much deeper, Em. But we still love you!

Madeline

I know Hudson plays on the Stars, but other than that, I have no emotional attachment to hockey. I’m proud of your win, Emmy, and I hope you do it again!

Emmy

That’s what I’m talking about. Thank you, Mads.

Madeline

As for dinner, I’m free tonight, but I can’t stay out too late. Lucy has a field trip tomorrow, and I volunteered as a chaperone.

Maven

Count me in!

Me

I’m free, but I’m coming from the arena. I also can’t stay out late. I’m grabbing a nightcap with a comedian whose show finishes around eleven.

Piper

A comedian? That’s new.

Me

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m horny, and I’ve hooked up with him before. I know he can deliver.

Emmy

I support it. Everyone deserves the chance to get off.

Me

I knew you were my girl, Hartwell.

* * *

“Happy six weeks of injury rehabilitation,” I say when Riley stalks into the athletic trainer’s room for our afternoon session with hunched shoulders. “I brought you something to celebrate the occasion.”

His eyes drop to the doughnut I’m offering him, and he scowls. “No thanks.”

“Are you sure? You mentioned how much you love desserts, and I thought it might be a nice pick-me-up.”

“Positive.”

“Wow. I hope you don’t have a costume picked out for Halloween. You’d make a great Oscar the Grouch.” I take a bite of the glazed doughnut. I didn’t have time to grab a bite to eat after the lunchtime Pilates class I taught downtown, and I sigh around the pastry. “That’s fine. More for me.”

“Can we skip the small talk? I got my ass handed to me in the weight room, and the last place I want to be is here.”

I pull back at his sharp words and try to tell myself they’re not directed at me, but rather the situation. I plaster on a smile and pat the table, relieved when he sits on the edge of the leather and unties his shoes.

He might have an attitude, but I’m glad to see him after he no-showed our last three sessions. I had to come up with excuses to explain his absence to Coach, and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to pull another justification out of my ass if he skipped again.

“We’re going to do static gluteals and side hip flexions today,” I say. “Then we’ll finish with hip extensions on your stomach. You made good progress with that exercise the last time we were together, and I want to see if you’ve increased your range of motion.”

Riley grunts, and I’m not going to let that mean anything except reluctant acceptance. He pops off his prosthetic leg and passes it over to me, a routine starting to settle into place after weeks of working together.

“Are you experiencing any pain today?” I ask, filling the silence in the room.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to massage your residual limb?”

“No. I don’t care.”

“Clearly. Can you lie on your back, please?”

I get another grunt in response, and if he keeps this up, he’ll have his own irritable asshole language soon. He positions himself flat on the table, arms folded across his chest with his eyes closed, and I consider it a small win.

“What do I do?” he grumbles.

“You’re going to keep both legs straight, squeeze your buttocks as tightly as possible, then hold for five seconds.”

“And why am I doing this?”

“Because I said so,” I answer flippantly. I’m not in the mood to be challenged today, and I refuse to buy into the bitterness he’s throwing my way. “We’re going to do ten reps.”

Riley uncurls his arms and rests them by his sides. His fingers dig into the leather, and a labored breath escapes him when he tightens his glutes.

“This fucking hurts,” he grits out, and I move so I’m standing by his shoulders.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” I ask, and he gives me a curt nod. I put a hand right below his collarbone, applying the slightest bit of pressure so he can’t move his upper body. “Keep your spine on the table. You’re lifting your shoulders, and that’s going to cause pain in your lower back.”

“I don’t fucking understand.”

“Squeeze here.” I slip my other hand under his leg, a palm flat on the hem of his gym shorts as I tap his glutes. “And don’t lift this,” I add, drumming my fingers against his chest.

I’ve worked around men throughout my career, and I’m used to athlete’s bodies. I’ve become desensitized to the masculine parts of them when they step into the training room, noticing muscles and ligaments rather than a figure I could be attracted to.

The last thing I need is someone assuming there are sexual undertones to my job. I don’t want people to think I get pleasure out of touching a nearly naked man when he’s under my care, and it’s a very thin line women in my field have to toe at risk of allegations about ulterior motives running rampant.

But when Riley opens his eyes and locks his gaze with mine, I realize how intimate this position is. It’s not injury prevention stretching. I’m not diagnosing a knee or calf wound sustained on the ice that involves a quick, sterile check. I’m touching him. I’m guiding him, lifting his glutes off the table, holding him there, and easing him back into the recovery position while he lets out a soft groan.

“Feel the difference?” I ask. The skin under his gym shorts is warm, and I clear my throat in hopes it also clears the fog in my head. “There should be less pain.”

“I guess. It doesn’t feel like this exercise is doing anything.”

“It might not be right now, but these movements are building blocks. They’re necessary if you want to regain your stability and prevent any further injuries.”

“Too late for that.” Riley finishes his ten reps, and I pull my hands away. “What now?”

“We’re going to take a minute to let your body recover in between sets.”

“Don’t want to do that. I want to get this over with.”

He’s usually tense during our sessions, but his anxiousness is next level today. Something must be bothering him, and I take a deep breath. “Okay. We’ll move to hip flexions. Do you want to start with your right or left?”

Riley turns onto his left side and bends his left leg, a decision made. “Now what?”

“I want you to lift your right thigh slightly, then bring it as close to your chest as you can. After, you’re going to push your leg backward as far as you can. Think of it as a pendulum.”

His eyes screw shut as his right thigh lifts an inch off his left leg. When he tries to swing his residual limb forward, he falls onto his back.

“Goddammit.” He yanks off his glasses and pushes the heel of his palm into his eye. “I can’t fucking do it.”

“Riley. It was one time. We’ll try again and?—”

“I don’t want to try again. I’m not good at any of this. I’m tired. My entire fucking body hurts. My brain fucking hurts.”

“Failing is part of the process, and?—”

“I don’t want to go through a process.” He shoves his glasses back up his nose and rolls his hips until he’s sitting up. “I don’t want to do anything.”

“We could?—”

“No,” he says, cutting me off. He reaches for his prosthetic, and I sigh, passing it over to him. “I’m done for today.”

“Okay. Do you want me to get you a water?”

“I want you to give me my right leg back so I don’t have to be humiliated day after day after fucking day.”

I wish I fucking could, because seeing you so mad at the world hurts , I almost shout.

Anger simmers off of him when he rolls the gel liner into place and positions his limb in the socket. My heart breaks when he can’t get the pieces lined up the first time, but I don’t volunteer to help. What the hell kind of assistance can I offer someone who doesn’t want my help? Who doesn’t want to be around me?

I keep my mouth closed, disappointed when he stands and rocks his hips from side to side. He fixes his shorts and ties his shoes, heading for the door in a cloud of irritation. Starting my mornings with him have been the highlight of the last month, and I that quiet joy slips away with every step he takes.

“Have a good rest of your day,” I say, not wanting to leave things like this, and he hesitates for half a second.

I wonder if he’ll turn around and give me another shot, but he doesn’t. He jerks down on the handle and storms out of the training room, and everything feels darker when he disappears.

* * *

I drop into a chair at the table where my girlfriends are waiting for me and let out a groan after walking to the restaurant in the crisp October air. “I need a drink.”

“What happened to starting a conversation with hello?” Emmy closes her menu and grabs the pitcher of beer in the center of the table so she can pour me a glass. “Are you afraid your comedian won’t be as funny the second time around? You poor thing.”

“Please don’t tell me he makes jokes about the sex you have at his shows,” Piper deadpans.

“That’s slimy. I’ll kick his ass,” Maven adds.

“I haven’t been to any shows, so I couldn’t tell you if he did. And I’m a knockout in bed. I’m not worried about him having anything negative to say.” I take a long sip of the alcohol and drop my head back. “It’s been a rough day, and I feel like a complete bitch for saying that.”

“This is a safe space.” Madeline Galloway, Hudson’s girlfriend and recent addition to our group, squeezes my arm. “You’re allowed to vent and talk to us about what’s going on in your life.”

“Riley and I have been working together on his recovery for over a month now and…” I bite my lip. Frustration threatens to break in my voice, but I swallow it down. “It’s more difficult than I thought it would be.”

“Is it because you’re working with an injury you’re not familiar with?” Piper asks. “I’m sure that must be challenging.”

“Kind of? This is the first time I’ve worked with an amputee, but I’ve done extensive research to make sure I’m handling his recovery gracefully and in the correct way. I just don’t want to fail. Not because of how it’ll reflect on me, but because of how much Riley wants everything to work out.” I take another sip of beer and set the glass down. “I’m used to working with people who want to be there so they can get stronger, and Riley would rather be anywhere else. He’s still mad at the world—and rightfully so—but he’s not giving me anything to work with. He’s started skipping our sessions, and an hour ago, he stormed out of the training room because he failed one exercise one time.”

“Poor guy,” Emmy says. “He must really be going through it.”

“Have you talked to him?” Piper asks. She’s always so levelheaded and pragmatic when I start to feel emotional or worked up. “Maybe he doesn’t know he’s acting that way.”

“He knows, and he’s being a dick about it. He’s allowed to have a chip on his shoulder, but I thought we were getting somewhere. When we went to dinner together after the preseason opener, it seemed like he was turning over a new leaf.” I rub a hand over my chest, an ache that stings like a bruise settling beneath my shirt when I think about the frustration on his face a short while ago. “Guess that’s not the case.”

“That must be hard,” Piper says. “And I see it from both sides. You’re totally valid in your frustration. This is a job you were given, and it’s hard to perform your job correctly when the other person doesn’t meet you halfway. I can also understand why he’s reluctant to show up. Grief isn’t linear. Some days are good. Some days he has the energy to give his full effort, and other days he probably struggles to get out of bed. Sounds like he’s been having a string of those struggle days lately.”

“We help people because it’s the right thing to do,” Maven says. “Even if they don’t want to be helped, we have to keep showing up for them.”

“He knows he’s never getting back to the guy, let alone the player, he was before his accident, so I bet he’s hesitant to move forward. He’s clinging to the past. If hockey was taken away from me, I don’t know who the hell I’d be,” Emmy says. “It’s my whole identity, and I’d be lost without it.”

“Some days when we’re together, he’ll have a good session where I’ll see improvements not only in his physical capabilities, but in his morale too. He’ll laugh and joke and give every ounce of effort he has. The next day, though, he’s scowling and acting like he hates everything in the world,” I say.

“Give him time,” Emmy explains. “I’ve played with guys who have had their livelihood snatched out from under them because of a serious injury, and the aftermath is almost always more brutal than the original accident. Riley has to find himself again, and until he does, you’re going to be in the line of fire.”

“You’re right.” I pick up a menu and sigh. “I shouldn’t be talking about this with you all. I need to respect his privacy like I would with anyone else. It was nice to vent, but can we pretend like I didn’t say anything? I want him to feel comfortable around me, and gossiping behind his back was shitty and unprofessional.”

“That was in no way crossing a line,” Piper assures me, then pats my hand. “But it’s forgotten.”

We order our dinner, and conversation shifts away from me. Piper fills us in on how her offseason promotion from rinkside reporter to color commentator is going. Emmy shows off the bruise from her game last night, a mark just below her collarbone. Maven hands over her phone so we can gush over photos of her son, and Madeline, award-winning chef she is, shyly mentions the website she’s going to start that will feature her favorite recipes.

The food is good. The alcohol tastes better than the glass of wine I had alone in my apartment last night, and I’m so glad to have the chance to catch up with them.

We’re all busy with life and work and a hundred other things with a higher priority like relationships and kids, and I never want to take the time I get with them for granted.

I didn’t have a lot of girlfriends growing up. When I started working with my ECHL team, there were a couple wives of the players I got along with, but it never felt like a permanent thing. It was surface-level friendship, a night out here and there, but not people I could spill my guts to. The same happened in the AHL, but when I ended up in DC, lightning struck. I met Piper, and that was it.

I’ve gone from one best friend to four, finding the kind of support system I’ve always wanted. We’re each other’s cheerleaders. There’s no competition, no jealousy. We celebrate our wins and mourn our losses together without any sort of resentment when things go right for someone else.

Men come and go. Love is fleeting, and I don’t believe in romantic soulmates.

I believe in platonic ones though, and these girls are mine.

“Are you excited for your date?” Madeline asks me. “What’s his name?”

“It’s not technically a date. Just a hookup.” I smile and switch my beer out for water. I don’t want to be tipsy when I leave. “And his name is Dan. I think he lives in Boston? I can’t remember. It’s not important for what we’re doing.”

“Can I ask a personal question? I’ve been friends with you all for almost a year now, but I want to make sure I haven’t missed something,” she says.

“I’m an open book. You can ask me anything.”

“You mention hooking up with guys, but nothing about relationships. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Madeline hurries to add. “I didn’t date anyone for years before Hudson and I got together, so I don’t mean for it to sound like I’m accusing you of missing out on something great. I’m curious why you don’t date.”

“In my twenties, I was in a relationship that didn’t work out,” I answer with a shrug. “It boils down to not wanting to be disappointed, and I’ve found that men constantly disappoint me. I’ve always been happier on my own, and I don’t want to rely on someone else to make me happy. I like sex though. I like being able to express myself in the bedroom, and I’m a firm believer that you don’t need to be in love with someone to be physically attracted to them. Maybe one day I’ll settle down, but for right now, I’m having fun. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Our girl is a free spirit.” Piper loops her arm around my waist and puts her head on my shoulder. “It’s going to take a special guy to tie you down.”

“Men have one-night stands all the time, and they’re considered kings of the world,” Maven chimes in. “When women have sex with multiple people, we’re considered sluts. Why? Why is there such a double standard?”

“I could write a thesis on that question,” I say. “I’m convinced it comes down to the power dynamic. A lot of men have a problem with powerful women, and women who are in touch with their sexuality are powerful. It’s all bullshit if you ask me.”

“I love that you do what you want,” Madeline says. “I respect your extracurricular activities, and I hope you’re getting the best dick of your life.”

That makes me giggle, and soon, we’re all laughing. Emmy wipes under her eyes, and we eventually stop when a nearby table glances over at us like we’ve lost our minds.

“I needed this,” she says. “The season is underway. Maverick and I are getting ready to spend seven and a half months apart while also trying to have a baby. Laughter is very necessary.”

“Anything to report there?” Maven asks gently, and Emmy shakes her head.

“Not yet. I’ve never been patient a day in my life, so this is really testing me. I’m trusting everything will work out in the end, no matter what that looks like.”

“We’re here,” I say. “If you ever need anything.”

“I know you are, and I love you all for it.”

“We need a toast before everyone gets on with their night.” Piper lifts her glass, and we all follow suit. “To incredible women. To friendships. To a special love no man will ever give us.”

“Cheers,” I say, knocking my drink against theirs, my heart full and eternally grateful for the path my life has taken.

The guy I’m supposed to be working with doesn’t want to see me, but my girls do, and that’s all that matters.