Page 17

SEVENTEEN

LEXI

I’m going to murder Riley Mitchell, and I won’t have any remorse for my crime.

He skipped our rehab session—again—and he’s not answering my texts. If this were the first time he no-showed, I’d be concerned.

Since it’s the sixth time in two weeks, I’m pissed .

Instead of lingering in my office and trying to explain his absence to Coach, I grab my keys and phone, heading for my car in the employee lot. I pull up his address from the time I took him home and make the quick drive to his apartment, not thinking twice as I ride the elevator to the sixteenth floor and bang on his door.

“Open up, Riley.” I rub my fist and stretch out my fingers after an aggressive three minutes of knocking. “Don’t make me cause a scene in front of your neighbors.”

There’s a moment where I think he might not be home, but then I hear the click of a lock. The door slowly opens and Riley stands on the other side…

Shirtless .

The gray sweatpants he’s wearing sit low on his hips. His glasses slide down his nose, and he pushes them up with his index finger before crossing his arms over his chest.

Jesus Christ.

Riley Mitchell is hot .

Maybe it’s because I haven’t allowed myself to look at him as anything other than an injured hockey player I’m working with so I can keep my firm boundaries in place, but being here, seeing his body outside the confines of the fluorescent lights in the training room and away from the arena where we have very specific roles is like seeing him for the first time, and, oh .

Hell .

He’s a man .

I’m noticing physical features I’ve never picked up on when we’ve worked together. Details I shouldn’t be categorizing and appreciating like sculpted biceps and defined lines across his chest. Dark hair trailing down his stomach and disappearing inside his pants and abdominal muscles that could be cut from glass. A faded scar or two near his hips and a certainty to his posture he didn’t have a month ago.

He’s goddamn beautiful, so much so it feels like I’ve stopped breathing the longer I stare at him, and I can’t believe the fucking audacity of him to hide a body like that under clothes.

“What do you want?” he asks, and my eyes snap up to meet his.

“Glad to see you’re alive,” I say, doing my best to swallow down the flash of lust I’m experiencing from seeing a bare-chested man. “It would’ve been nice of you to send a text. Or answer the sixteen I sent you this morning.”

“Sorry. Overslept,” he says, not appearing very sorry at all. “Do you need something?”

“Yeah, I do.” I push my way into his apartment, determined. He doesn’t put up a fight and closes the door behind me while letting out a heavy sigh that sounds like he’s been carrying a weight on his shoulders for years. “What the hell, dude? I try to be respectful of your time, but you’ve been nothing but inconsiderate of my schedule.”

“I’m sorry,” Riley mumbles again, and when I turn to look at him, he’s hanging his head. His hands come up to land on his hips, and I watch his throat bob around a swallow. “I was getting ready to head your way, but I got distracted.”

“By?”

“ESPN. They did a whole segment on whether or not they think I’ll be able to skate again. They brought in a doctor who broke down my injury and talked about the challenges I’m going to face if I ever want to get back on the ice. It felt like a huge invasion of my fucking privacy.” He lifts his chin and runs a hand through his hair. “Then my prosthetist called and confirmed the appointment for my final leg fitting next week, and I kind of spiraled.”

“Fuck ESPN.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “That’s what I said.”

“Why did the call with your prosthetist send you spiraling? Isn’t that a good thing? You’re moving in the right direction. You won’t have something temporary anymore. It’ll be permanent.”

“Yeah.” Riley leads me to the living room and sits on the couch, motioning for me to join him. I drop on the cushions and relax. “It also makes all of this a reality. I’m not delusional. I know what happened. I know my leg isn’t going to grow back. I know I’ve been in a prosthetic for a while now, but the second I put that final leg on, that’s it. It’ll be my new life until the day I die, and… that’s hard to grapple with.”

“Oh.” I play with the ends of my hair. Heaviness fills the space between us and I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. I’m not sure there are any. I’m sorry sounds insensitive. I understand sounds disingenuous, because I don’t understand. I’ll never understand. “I never thought of it that way.”

“Please don’t throw me a pity party. I’m doing that enough on my own, and I really don’t want you to start. Not when I’m used to you kicking my ass.”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t bring up the streamers and balloons I keep in my car.”

I get a half smile, and it makes me feel like the luckiest girl in the world. I take the break in conversation to look around his living room, noticing the bright blue paint and a wall of windows. There’s a bookshelf full of romance novels in the corner and some LEGO designs on the middle shelves. I spot an easel with a half-finished canvas propped up on it, and it looks like he’s trying to paint Starry Night.

“Snooping?” Riley asks.

“Is it considered snooping if I do it without trying to be sneaky? This is my first time in your apartment.”

“It’s nothing special, but it’s home.” Riley grabs a decorative pillow and sets it in his lap. “I’m sorry for ditching today. And the other days. I met Lamar, the guy who was driving me the night of the accident last week, and then Coach and I had a really good heart-to-heart. My therapy sessions are going well. I was ready to change my shitty behavior and get back on track with my rehabilitation and with you. I got up this morning and got dressed. I was even looking forward to seeing—” He stops abruptly. “To trying new exercises and pushing my body, and that’s the first time that’s happened. But then I just… I couldn’t.”

“Thank you for telling me, and I’m sorry I didn’t consider things from your perspective. It won’t happen again.” I scoot closer to him, and his fingers graze my shoulder as he adjusts the cushions to make room for me. I shiver at the surprising contact. “Maybe we can make an effort to be more honest with each other? If you need a day off, you’ll tell me. And I’ll listen.”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “I’d like that.”

“You said you meet up with Lamar? How did that go?”

“I cried three times,” he says, and my smile matches his. “It was really fucking good to see him.”

“I met him the night in the hospital. He stayed there with us. He was so distraught, and I know he wanted to make sure you were okay. Oh, Riley.” I put my palm on his knee without hesitation, and he rests his hand on mine. “It’s such a sensitive situation to be happy about, but I’m so happy for you.”

“Me too. He told me he stuck around with you all and… fuck. I needed to see him to know he was okay. To put an end to all of this resentment I’ve been carrying.” Riley squeezes my hand, and I like it so much. “Marcus told me they set a trial date for the guy who hit us. It feels like everything is finally moving in the right direction.”

“It’s about time, isn’t it?” I knock my knee against his, and I’m met with soft laughter. “The universe needs to give you a break for a change.”

“You’re telling me. For a while there, it seemed like I had a streak of serious bad karma.”

“I’d never wish for you to have to go through that kind of turmoil again,” I say, and I swear he drags his thumb across my knuckles. “But watching how you’re prevailing even on the days where you think you aren’t? It’s so cool to see, Riley.”

“I told Lamar I’m a work in progress.”

“You are. We all are. You’re not alone.”

“I know I’m not.” He gives my hand another squeeze and pulls away. “Thank you for being patient with me.”

“Patience is something I’m working on,” I say.

“And showing up is something I’m working on.”

“I’m really proud of you.” I can tell he’s ready to move on to something else, and I smile, pointing to one of his bookshelves. It’s practically overflowing, and I spot some of my favorite titles organized by the color of their spines. “What are you reading right now?”

The boys on the team have a book club, a monthly meeting where they talk about the stories they read. I’ve never been to one, but I hear they’re passionate about their choices. There have been heated debates. Arguments and even a food fight. Grant didn’t talk to anyone for a week because they made fun of his obsession with a fictional character.

I’m glad they have a hobby away from the ice. Something that entertains them when they’re not playing one of their eighty-two games, and that keeps them out of trouble.

“I’d rather not say,” Riley answers.

“Why not?”

“It’s, ah, kind of dark?”

I grin. “Now you have to tell me.”

“You can read it yourself. I finished it last night.” He stands and walks to the bookshelf, grabbing a paperback with a black cover and handing it to me. “Check the trigger warnings. They’re there for a reason.”

I flip to the first page and my eyes widen. “Oh, shit. ‘Exhibitionism’? ‘Gruesome murder’? Two of my favorite things. Can I really borrow it?”

“Of course.” Riley clears his throat. His cheeks are redder than they were before he gave me the book, and I wonder if he has to skip certain scenes when he reads. I wonder if the explicit descriptions of sex embarrass him, because judging from his blush, he’d rather be talking about anything else. “Do you want something to drink?”

“I have a better idea.” I tuck the book under my arm. “I’m taking you to lunch.”

“Lunch? Why?”

“Because you need to eat, and even though you skipped our session this morning, you’re not getting out of your weight training session this afternoon. You’re going to need carbohydrates, and the only way to do that is to consume food.”

“Fine, but I’m buying. It’s my apology for being a dick.”

“Good answer.” I pop to my feet. “Any suggestions on where to go?”

“How do you feel about sandwiches?”

“I’ve been known to be a fan.”

“Then I have the perfect place.” He looks down at his naked torso. “Let me, ah, put on some different clothes.”

“Really? But the view is so good,” I tease, and his blush deepens.

“You’re a goddamn flirt, Armstrong,” he calls out over his shoulder as he makes his way down the hall.

“You like it,” I call back, and I swear I hear him say yeah, I do before he disappears, and a strange sensation flutters in my chest.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, we’re sitting at a table in the back of a sub shop. It’s tucked away from the main streets of DC, hidden around a corner and situated next to a thrift store, but it smells delicious. The serving sizes are bigger than my head, and when Riley asked if he could order for me, I trusted him to make a good choice.

“Holy shit.” I take a bite of my steak and cheese. Tears almost spring to my eyes. Angels rejoice. I suddenly believe in heaven. “This is the best sandwich I’ve ever had in my entire life. Bury me with this, please. How the hell did you find this place?”

“I wasn’t making a lot of money my rookie year on my ELC. I couldn’t afford to go with the veterans to the steakhouses they liked to visit, but I needed to eat. I made a wrong turn one afternoon when I was looking for the drugstore, wound up here, and I’ve come every week since.” Riley wipes his mouth and points at the wall. “That’s me with the owner.”

“Oh my god.” I laugh at the photo of him behind the counter, an apron tied around his waist and a wide grin on his mouth. There are wrinkles around his eyes. His head is tipped back like the photo was captured mid-laugh, and he hasn’t looked that happy in weeks . Maybe ever. “You look so young. And cute. What happened?”

“Watch your mouth, Lexi,” he says, and the deep timbre sends a shiver down my spine. He’s used that voice before, and it always elicits the same response: a swoop in my belly and my thighs squeezing together. “I’m still plenty young. And cute.”

“Much younger than me. You’re, what? Twenty-seven?”

“Twenty-six, but thanks for the extra year.” He takes a bite of his ham and cheese and smiles. There’s a drop of mustard on the corner of his mouth, and he licks it away. “And I’m not that much younger than you.”

“I remember when I was twenty-six. I was freezing my ass off in Ohio at a job where I was under-appreciated.”

“Was that your first athletic trainer gig? How many teams did you work for before you got to DC?”

“Yeah. I got my bachelor’s degree then my master’s. After I graduated, I found a job with an ECHL team where I spent a few years. Next was the AHL, and finally DC. It’s funny. Before I landed in Ohio, I almost took a job with a G League basketball team. I wonder how different my life would be if I’d gone down that path instead.”

“Basketball makes sense because you played in high school.”

“You remember that?”

“Of course I do. We talked about it a few weeks ago, and my memory isn’t that shitty. It’s an important part of your life, and it’s worth remembering.”

“Damn. I guess my bar for men and remembering details is that low.”

“Understandable. We don’t have a good track record.”

“When I went to college, I made a list of careers that would allow me to work with my hands and help people rather than sit behind a desk and stare at a screen all day. It’s been a journey, but I wouldn’t change it for the world,” I say.

“You’re a much better trainer than the person we had before you.”

“Really? Tell me more. I love talking shit.”

Riley laughs and pops a chip in his mouth. “It was my rookie year. He was a dick. Never listened to any of the players’ concerns or bothered to ask what we thought about an injury. I’m all for tough love, but his methods bordered on sadistic.”

“I’m a woman.”

“Are you?” He tilts his head and stares at me through his glasses. The lens on the right has a smudge on it, and I have the inexplicable urge to pull them off his face, wipe them clean, and hand them back over. “I had no idea.”

“I mean I don’t have the luxury of acting like that. If I make one wrong move, I’m out of a job. That’s why I rely on a player’s input when asking about methods of treatment.”

I leave out the other parts: how I’m careful not to get too close to any of the players out of fear I’ll lose my job over fraternization. Acknowledging I’m probably getting paid less than my colleagues but not making a fuss about the pay discrepancies because I don’t want to be labeled as a bitch.

“I know Emmy experienced some of that behavior when she came into the NHL. I didn’t know it extended to other parts of the league too.”

“It does, but we don’t need to talk about it. I’m… honored, I guess, that you believe in me enough to ask me to be the one to lead your rehabilitation.”

“I didn’t have to think twice. I feel safe in your care.” Riley stares out the window to his right. “I really am sorry about not showing up today, Lex. I have good days, but I also have a lot of bad days. I’m trying not to let the bad days overshadow the good ones. It’s hell sometimes. I’m working on it. I promise.”

I remember what the girls said when we had dinner together, how I need to show up for him even when he doesn’t want to show up for himself, and guilt wraps around me. I set my sandwich down. I wipe my hands and reach across the table, pressing my fingers into his forearm.

“My behavior earlier was uncalled for. Showing up to your apartment? Demanding you get your act together? That’s… it’s shitty,” I say.

“I like that you’re holding me accountable.” Riley grins, and it’s fucking beautiful . Carefree, light. Brilliantly bright. I’d love to make him smile like that again. “Everyone else is tiptoeing around me like I’m going to break. And, yeah, I guess I might, given the whole one-leg thing, but I also need a reality check from time to time.”

I pull my hand back and cover my mouth to stifle a laugh. “Sorry. I’m not laughing at you.”

“You can laugh.” A dimple carved deep on his cheek shows up. “My therapist thinks humor is my coping mechanism.”

“We all have our things. Are you going to come with the guys to Pilates the week after next?”

“I’ll try. If I show up, how about we call that our clean slate? After you kick my ass on the reformer, I promise I won’t skip another rehab session.”

“Really?” Hope springs in my chest. “I’m game for a new way of life if you are.”

“Oh, I’m game, Lexi.” Riley pushes his plate out of the way and leans forward. He smells like soap and coffee beans, and I refuse to inhale his scent. “I’m going to be the best damn patient you’ve ever had.”

“Good luck, Mitchell. It takes a lot to impress me.”

“Guess I have my work cut out for me.” A cocky smirk is tossed my way. “It’s a good thing being the best has always come naturally.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Yeah.” His foot nudges mine under the table. I don’t pull away. “We will.”