Page 14 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)

Maverick

The next day was Thursday, and day one of my physiotherapy with the very famous Rolph “Maz” Mazurenko. After that, I had a pottery class with Hugh Tapper, where he said he’d teach me how to use my hands for something besides throwing punches on the ice. I guess he knew who I was.

After a hearty breakfast of eggs from Rolph’s farm stand—Hugh told me where to get them—and some delicious cheddar cheese made by a bouquet of beautiful cows, I climbed into my truck and headed off to go meet Rolph Mazurenko.

Unger Wellness was located across the street from the Town Center Grocery Store.

Even though I’d only been to the vineyard twice, it was already muscle memory apparently, because I had to quickly correct myself and crank the steering wheel hard to the left so I didn’t head down the road toward the winery.

Damon and his thunderous mood yesterday were certainly on my mind last night, and I considered reaching out to him again, but decided I needed to give the kid some space.

There was only one other vehicle—a big pickup truck, bigger than mine—parked in the parking lot. I recognized it vaguely, but there were a lot of trucks on the island so I didn’t give it too much thought.

Yanking open the door, a gentle bell overhead greeted me, followed by a friendly smile from the woman behind the reception desk. “Be right with you,” she said.

“No worries.” I took a seat in one of the six reception chairs, bringing out my phone. A toilet flushed somewhere nearby, and a moment later, a door squeaked open.

“Hey, I know you,” said a deep, raspy voice.

I plastered on the smile I reserved for fans and lifted my gaze from my screen, only to come face-to-face with Jagger McEvoy, one of the owners of the pub and cabins I was staying in.

He was at the bar last night, playfully giving Logan the gears as I sat at the bar—again—eating nachos for dinner and enjoying a Caesar, which was apparently the Canadian version of a Bloody Mary.

Jagger walked with a cane and had a significant limp as he approached me and held out his free hand. “How’s it going, man?” He didn’t move from his spot at the bar last night, so I didn’t know his situation. Should I have asked?

I shook his hand. “Just here to fix my back. They say Maz is a wizard.”

“They’re all wizards, witches, and fae here the way they wield their magical hands.

” He took a seat next to me. “Took the beating of a lifetime a couple of months ago. Guy shattered my kneecap, broke a bunch of bones in my face, tore my spleen. So I’m here for all the magical spells.

PT, acupuncture, massage. Anything to help me get rid of this cane. ”

“You fight?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not for fun. Shit happened with my girlfriend Raina’s son. Guys kidnapped him, I … got him back.”

My mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding?”

Sliding a sideways glance at me, he snorted. “I’m not the type to walk around with a cane as a fashion statement.”

“Right ... I’ve never had acupuncture, believe it or not. I’ve had IMS, and dry needling, but never acupuncture.”

“Freaking love it, man. Same with cupping,” he said with a sigh, leaning back in his seat and rubbing his knee with his right hand.

“Suvi treats me like a human pincushion and balances my chakras, chi, and stops my knee from making this horrible clicking sound.” He stuck his left leg out and bent it a few times where it did, in fact, make a nasty clicking noise.

I made a face. “You might want to get that looked at.”

His throaty chuckle was interrupted by a short, curvy, Indian woman coming around the corner. “Jagger, are we ready?”

With the help of his cane, Jagger slowly got to his feet and spread one arm wide.

“Do your voodoo magic on me, Suvi. I’m ready for you.

” He glanced over his shoulder at me. “See you later, Mav.” Then the bearded giant with blue eyes and round wire-rimmed glasses followed the woman half his height into one of the treatment rooms.

“You’re Maverick?” the receptionist asked.

I slid my gaze her way and smiled. “I am, yes.”

“And you filled out the forms online, correct?”

“I did.”

“Maz will be with you shortly. He’s just preparing the therapy room.”

“Thank you.”

I returned to my phone, reading the highlights from last night’s game and smiling mostly to myself that we beat Detroit, two-nothing. Woodman scored one of those, and assisted on the other. I shot him a quick congratulatory text.

“Maverick?” asked a deep voice, with a thick Eastern European accent.

“Yes.” I stood up and shook Rolph’s hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Maz. Please, follow me.”

I released his big hand and followed the broad-shouldered Ukrainian man down the terracotta-colored hallway toward a wide-open, exercise gym-style space.

There were several yoga mats, a few treatment tables, yoga balls, various resistance bands, a few treadmills, recumbent and stand-up stationary bikes, and more.

Everything you would expect from a rehab and physiotherapy center.

“You can have a seat on the table if you’d like, so I can first examine you,” Maz said, holding out his hand toward the table.

I did as I was told. “I really appreciate you taking me on,” I said. “I’m sure your schedule is pretty full.”

“I have a very good work-life balance. I never take on more clients than I want or can handle. My peace is very important to me,” he said, walking behind me. “I’m going to examine your back now.”

“You want me to take off my shirt?”

“Please.”

I yanked my dark-gray Henley over my head and set it to the side.

He gently probed my back around where my small surgical scars were and hummed a few times.

“I bought a dozen of your eggs yesterday and had a couple for breakfast this morning,” I said, not particularly liking the silence and feeling the need to fill it with mindless chatter. “They were delicious. The yolk was as orange as a pumpkin.”

He hummed some more. “It is because we feed them pumpkin. And other nutrient rich foods like red cabbage, greens, yams, and carrots. They are very happy chickens. They follow my wife around the yard like little fluffy shadows. They love her so much.”

That made me smile. “I could sense their happiness in the eggs.”

His laugh was a quick one syllable through his nose. “Okay. We’re going to do some simple stretches today. I will get you to join me on the floor on a yoga mat. You can put your shirt back on.”

Careful not to twist too much, I gingerly tugged my shirt back over my head and joined him down on the ground.

He ran me through a series of stretches, most of which I was already aware of from past back injuries.

I had him for forty minutes, and by the end of it, my muscles were sore and my back was stiff.

“Take an Advil. Ice and heat, alternating. Do you have a stationary bike? Light cardio will help with circulation.”

“No, but I can order one and have it here in a few days.”

He nodded as he escorted me out to the front desk. “Do that.”

I shook his hand and thanked him. He was definitely a no-nonsense man of very few words. But I guess when you were a rehab genius in high-demand, you didn’t need to be chatty and have an exceptional bedside manner. We couldn’t be perfect at everything. I certainly wasn’t.

“Looks like you’ve already prebooked your next several appointments,” the receptionist said. “And included your billing information. So you’re free to go.”

“Awesome. Thanks so much.” I gave her a friendly smile, then headed for the door, opening it for the next person stepping inside. A short, older woman with a salt-and-pepper bob and coppery-brown eyes gawked at me like I had a cat on my head.

“Thank you,” she said, grinning up at me. “You’re new. Who are you?”

I wasn’t expecting such bluntness. “Excuse me?”

“I know everyone on this island, and I don’t recognize you. Are you new here or just visiting?”

I blinked a few times, still holding the door as she narrowed her dark brows at me, waiting for an answer.

“Uh, yeah, I guess a bit of both. I’m Maverick.

I’m staying in one of the cabins at the pub, but I’m visiting the Campbells.

They’re old family friends.” Using my foot to hold the door, I held out my hand for her.

Her grip was firm, but her hands boney. “Jolene Dandy. It’s very nice to meet you, Maverick.” Her gaze swept up from my toes to my face, growing more appreciative and almost flirtatious with every inch she climbed. “Are you single? How do you know the Campbells?”

“Uh …”

“Get moving, or she’ll have you betrothed and your children’s names picked out in seven minutes,” the receptionist said. “Let him close the door, Jolene. That wind is cold and we’re not trying to heat the island.”

Jolene gave the receptionist a sharp glare. But I took that as my out, released her hand, and tapped her shoulder. “Lovely to meet you, Jolene, but I have a pottery class to get to. Goodbye now.” Then I was gone.

I arrived at Hugh Tapper’s pottery studio at eleven on the dot. He told me when I came the other day to just walk past the storefront around to the side entrance and not bother knocking.

I did just that. If I had knocked, Hugh definitely wouldn’t have heard me, because the man had Fleetwood Mac blasting at top volume and was humming along. He had his back to me, the red flannel of his work shirt was caked in pottery mud, as well as his baggy, worn jeans.

“Hugh?” I called out, not wanting to spook the guy. If I were to guess, I’d say he was probably about my dad’s age, maybe a bit older. Sixty or sixty-five.

No response.

“Hey, Hugh!” I yelled louder.

This time his shoulders bounced and he spun around, his blue eyes going wide.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and turned down the music volume.

“Sorry,” he murmured, as I ventured deeper into the brightly lit studio with various pots, bowls, vases, and more stacked on pallets and every conceivable surface.