Page 12 of Love Me (Charlotte Monarchs Hockey #1)

Luke

Ann Arbor, MI

“ A nd rest,” Jonathan, my physical therapist, says. He’s been counting my reps while I lie on my back doing bench presses.

Jonathan and I get together whenever I’m in Ann Arbor for follow-up appointments with Dr Patel. We used to meet at the clinic where he works, but our sessions gradually moved from rehab to tips in the gym so I learn not to go overboard.

“When can I add more weight again?” I ask. I’ve worked hard to get to this point, which is only about twenty-five pounds less than what I’d been lifting before my injury. I’m almost back to normal.

“What’s up with you, Luke?” Jonathan asks. “You seem extra motivated today.”

My thoughts immediately fly to Bree. In general, motivation has never been a factor for me, but ever since I met her, I’ve been pushing myself harder.

We’d discussed my injury for a minute after she asked about the painkillers in my bathroom drawer, but I never confessed I wasn’t playing at the moment.

The self- inflicted pressure has given me a bit more incentive to try to get back on the ice.

“How about twenty?” I ask instead of answering his question. I’m not about to admit I’m working harder to impress a girl.

Jonathan’s probably annoyed as fuck by my constant pestering.

I just want to show him that I’m close to where I was before my injury, when I was in the best physical shape of my life and playing better than I ever had.

The light weights and increase-slowly shit drives me insane.

I follow orders from my therapists and trainers, though, because I don’t want to fuck up the progress I’ve made over the last six months.

After intense physical therapy for my neck and shoulders, I’m more than ready to get back on the ice with my team.

In addition to weekly sessions with the physical therapist Jonathan referred me to in Charlotte, I’m working out and skating on my own every day.

I’ve been able to hold my stick and rotate my shoulder for months.

No more tingling. No more numbness. Surgery made me the bionic man.

Hell, maybe it added a few more years to my career, too.

“The slower the better, Luke,” Jonathan says for the millionth time.

I groan and glance out the window, which is nothing more than a view of a McDonald’s. After a powerful workout, the sight makes me want to puke.

I’ve never been the guy who takes things slow. It’s always been now or never. All or nothing. Waiting around for something to happen never got me anything but trouble.

But I do understand working hard to get what I want. I’ve never known any other way of life.

“I know you’re anxious to get back in the game, but if you go too fast and reinjure your neck, you’ll be out for a hell of a lot longer.”

Every time someone warns me of that, I stop in my tracks.

Between my injury and the bleak outlook I originally received from multiple doctors, I’ve been thinking a lot about the reality of what would happen if I couldn’t go back to playing hockey.

I can’t imagine surviving that, so I’ve tried not to dwell on it.

I’ve got an appointment with Dr. Patel today.

I’m hoping that as soon as he sees how well I’ve recovered, he’ll finally change his tune.

When I pull into the parking lot of the orthopedic surgeon’s office, I’m greeted with a front-row parking spot near the door.

Not that I mind walking, but this place is always busier than Target on Black Friday, so the lucky opening gives me a flicker of hope that this appointment will be a good one.

After an encouraging session with Jonathan this morning, I’m riding high on the amazing progress my body has made.

Despite all of Dr. Patel’s warnings, there’s no way he can keep me from getting back into the game.

When I enter the office, I stroll right up to the front desk and knock on the counter. “Hey, Felicia.”

The middle-aged receptionist looks up, cocks her head, and smiles. “Good morning, Mr. Daniels.” She reaches out, grabs a manila folder from a wire rack on her desk, and opens it. “What’s that sneaky little grin about?”

“Your smile always makes my day.”

She looks up from the folder and chuckles. “Well, thank you. You’re certainly in a good mood.”

Felicia thinks I’m bullshitting her, but I’m not. She has an amazing smile like she’s genuinely happy to see whoever checks in. It’s a perfect trait for the front-desk person in an office to have. “Just wanted to let you know in case you hadn’t heard it yet today.”

Color flushes her cheeks, which immediately reminds me of Adrienne, the girl I had an ongoing friends-with-benefits relationship with during most of my time in Detroit. Felicia is double her age, but both women have similar light brown skin and tight, dark curls.

Though I hadn’t seen Adrienne in years, I still texted her after my surgery to see if she wanted to assist me during my recovery in Ann Arbor. That’s when she told me she was engaged. It’s not like I expected her to always be around, but it still stunned me. More bad news on top of the surgery.

“Any changes to your insurance?”

“Nope.”

“Dr. Patel will be with you shortly. Have a seat.”

I hadn’t thought of Adrienne since that text.

I wasn’t in love with her. I just liked the idea of having someone there.

Someone I could count on for sex and closeness.

Mentally, I’m solid where my focus needs to be—solely on hockey—but there was something satisfying about coming home to one person, something I’ve been missing almost my entire life.

The door next to the front desk opens, and a nurse I’ve never seen before calls, “Luke Daniels.”

“Yeah, that’s me.” I stand up quickly and follow her to Dr. Patel’s office.

She motions to a seat and says, “Dr. Patel will be with you in a few minutes.”

“Thanks.” I nod at her and sink into one of the hunter-green chairs.

The walls are adorned with framed diplomas, a certificate from the American Board of Orthopedic Surgery, and pictures of Dr. Patel with various athletes. I’ve seen them all numerous times, but there’s nothing else to do, so I scan them again. Nervous optimism keeps me from thinking too much.

I wonder if Bree has a wall at her apartment dedicated to displaying her diplomas and accomplishments. Do nurses do that?

I haven’t heard from her in over a week. I texted once to say hey and never got a response. Normally, the lack of interest would be a reason to shut her out of my mind completely, but for some reason, I can’t. Maybe I’ll try texting again after I get the good news about being able to play again.

“How’s it going, Luke?” Dr. Patel asks as he steps into his office and closes the door behind him.

“Amazing,” I tell him, unable to keep the corny grin off my lips.

Excitement radiates under my skin, jolting me to life.

I haven’t felt this way since the day I was drafted by the Monarchs.

I’ve been looking forward to this appointment, anxiously awaiting the moment he gives me the green light to start playing again.

His approval is the last piece of the puzzle.

“Amazing is good.” He smiles and sits down across from me.

“I feel great, Doc. Like a new man. Did you do anything else while you were in there?” I ask. “Implant a radioactive spider or something?”

“That’s quite a compliment, Luke. I’ve never heard anyone say they felt like a superhero after surgery before.”

“You’re good at your job.” It’s easy to throw a compliment out to a guy like Dr. Patel. He may not have the best bedside manner, but at least he doesn’t come across as an egotistical douche.

“Well, thank you.” Dr. Patel smiles again. He turns toward his computer, clicks his mouse, and scans the screen. His eyes move fast under his thick, dark eyebrows. “So, what brings you in today?”

“Recovery from the surgery has been grueling, Doc. But after nine months of physical therapy and working myself to the bone, I’m as strong as I’ve ever been. I’m more agile and focused. I’m back to playing weight and feel great.”

Dr. Patel’s shoulders drop, and the smile slips from his lips. He shifts his eyes to me. “Playing weight?”

“Yes, sir. I’m ready to start practicing with the guys again. My physical therapists all agree that I’m ready. The team doctors have taken so many X-rays that I may die of radiation, but they all say that I look good enough to play. We’re just waiting on the okay from you.”

“I’m sorry.” Dr. Patel shakes his head. “I’m confused.”

“I’m ready to play again.”

“Luke, we talked about this. I don’t think you should get back on the ice. Playing a full contact sport like hockey is too great of a risk.”

“You said we’d see how I felt after surgery. Here I am, sitting in front of you, in the best shape of my life. I haven’t felt any numbness or dizziness.”

“Luke—”

“I swear I’ll be careful. I’ll stay out of the corners. I’ll?—”

“Luke—”

“I want to take my chances,” I finish, raising my voice for emphasis. He has to listen to me and not just shoot me down right away. It’s my body, my choice.

“I’m sorry, Luke,” Dr. Patel says quietly. “I won’t clear you to play. I told you before. I can’t put your health in jeopardy.”

“But—”

“This isn’t news, Luke. I’ve spoken to various individuals in the Monarchs organization about your situation.” Dr. Patel’s voice is stern, shutting me down quickly.

What?

When Mike asked me to be the Director of Player Development, I assumed it was temporary. Working in an operations role while I rehabbed my injury seemed like the perfect situation until I could get back on the ice.

“What’s your relationship like with your teammates, Luke?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you see pity in your teammates’ eyes right now?”

“No.” I shake my head, anger shooting to the surface. “I get along fine with the guys. I mean, I guess our relationship is a little different because I’m not on the ice or in the locker room, but we still hang out when we’re all in Charlotte at the same time.”