Page 3 of Over the Moon (Rosewood River #3)

three

. . .

Clark

I was used to getting up and going for a run, but I knew running wasn’t an option at the moment.

Hopefully, in a week or two, I could get back out there.

I wasn’t sure how long this recovery would take.

I’ve had issues with my MCL in the past, but this was definitely the most severe injury I’ve had to date.

I was a mellow dude in most aspects of my life, aside from hockey.

My job.

My profession.

My passion.

So I was feeling anxious about getting back into my routine.

There was a knock on the door, and I shouted for her to come in while I popped the last bite of banana into my mouth and slammed my protein shake.

“Hello?” she called out.

“I’m in here.”

She came around the corner, her light brown hair pulled back in a long ponytail, not a stitch of makeup on her face. She was naturally beautiful, no question, but she appeared to have a big attitude where I was concerned. Her dark brown eyes met mine, and they blazed with obvious displeasure.

She was clearly still annoyed.

I wasn’t used to anyone being quite so irritated with me, if I were being honest. I was a likable guy, and I got along with most people.

So this had me slightly off-kilter. She was not only my physical therapist, but she was Coach Gable’s daughter, and I loved the dude.

I couldn’t have his girl hating on me for the next few months.

She dropped the large duffle bag that she was carrying on her shoulder on the floor and folded her arms over her chest. She wore a black fitted tank top and black athletic shorts. They weren’t showy in the slightest, yet they hugged her curves in the most distracting way.

“Who shit in your cornflakes?” I asked.

“Excuse me?”

“What’s with the attitude? You’ve been here for all of two seconds.”

She sighed. “I don’t have an attitude. You’re the one who felt the need to reference shit and cereal in one sentence. I haven’t spoken yet.”

“All right. Good morning, Eloise. Should I call you Eloise?”

She gaped at me. “What else would you call me?”

“I don’t know. Aren’t you a doctor? I thought maybe you’d want to be called Dr. Eloise.” I smirked as I rinsed my blender cup in the sink and dried off my hands.

“Well, technically, if I were a medical doctor, I’d be Dr. Gable, not Dr. Eloise.” She rolled her eyes. “But no, I’m not a physician. I have my Doctorate of Physical Therapy. So you can call me Eloise. No fancy title necessary.”

“All right. Let’s go to the gym, and we can get started.” I reached for her duffle bag, and she slapped my hand away.

Literally, the woman slapped my hand.

“I’ve got it, Hotshot,” she grunted, yanking the strap from my hand and making no attempt to hide her irritation.

For fuck’s sake. What was her deal?

I moved in front of her down the hallway, pushing the door open to the gym. I invested a lot of money in my home gym, and it was one of my favorite rooms in the house, only second to the backyard that sat on the river, where I go for swims after my workouts when the weather permits.

She dropped her bag and turned in a slow circle, taking in all the equipment.

“This will do.” She bent down to pull a few things out of her bag.

“This will do?” I said, not hiding my irritation now.

This gym rivaled most professional gyms. Hockey was my livelihood, and keeping myself in shape was my job.

So throw me a goddamn bone when it comes to my home gym.

“Listen, I’m not sure what I’ve done to piss you off, but I’d like to just hash it out so we can get to work. ”

“I’m here to work.” She pushed to stand, dropping a few straps and bands onto the floor and setting a stack of notebooks on the countertop beside her. “That’s the reason I’ve relocated to your hometown, to focus solely on you.”

There it is.

“That wasn’t my choice. I am capable of training myself. I’ve done it my entire life.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re a hockey star, a physical therapist, and an athletic trainer,” she said, arching a brow.

“I didn’t say that. Don’t put words in my mouth.” I stepped forward, shoulders back, meeting her glare head-on. “I’m saying that I’ve always trained myself.”

“So you don’t need me here?”

I looked away for a few beats before turning back to meet her gaze.

“Listen, it’s obvious that you don’t want to be here, and I get it.

I know I need your help, and I didn’t mean to imply anything differently.

I came back home because it’s where I train best. It’s where my family is.

It’s quiet here, and I can focus. I did not know that your father was going to insist on you coming here.

I figured I could just meet with a local PT and do the work here.

I found out you were coming here a few days ago. I didn’t ask him to uproot your life.”

Her gaze softened. “I get it. This is home. But things are different for you now. You just scored the winning goal to win the Stanley Cup and you had the season of your life—so the game has changed, Chadwick. The stakes are higher, and everyone on the Lions team wants to make sure you heal correctly.”

“And my goal is to recover and get into the best shape of my life for the upcoming season. This has always been the place where I do that best.”

She nodded. “That’s fair.”

“So we can start fresh? And maybe it’ll be another day before you hate me again?” I said, my voice all tease.

“Hate is a strong word. I’d go with despise or dislike.” She chuckled as she reached for a few bands on the floor and pointed at the massage table on the left side of the gym as she walked in that direction. “Hop up. I want to check out your knee before we do anything.”

I did as I was told and lay flat on my back as she removed the brace from my knee.

“So if you didn’t hate me, what was the hostility about after the game?”

Her fingers moved along the outside of my knee, and she was quiet for several beats.

“The swelling has gone down, which is a good thing. Are you wearing the brace at night, as well?”

“No. I take it off when I sleep,” I said.

“Let’s wear it at night for now, until we get in a couple of sessions.” She moved around the table, inspecting the other side of my knee. “You misread my frustration for hostility. You were reckless after the game, and I just can’t get behind that.”

I pushed to sit up, and her hand pressed down on my chest, and I fell back down on the table. “How was I reckless?”

“You didn’t know what your injury was, and you refused the wheelchair.

You were too busy popping champagne bottles and having a good time.

I get it, you just won the Stanley Cup. So, sit in a damn wheelchair and drink your bubbly,” she said, as her fingers traced over my knee and pressed down gently.

“I was fine on crutches. This isn’t my first rodeo with an MCL injury,” I said.

“I understand that you’ve had this injury before.

I’ve read your file, Clark. But this is what I do for a living.

I wouldn’t attempt to tell you how to play hockey, so please don’t tell me how to do my job.

You’re lucky that it was just an MCL tear, but we didn’t know that at the time.

And every time you tear the same ligament, it’s even more challenging to rehab and strengthen it.

So how about you listen to me while we’re working together, so you don’t make me moving here for three months a waste of my time. ”

She lifted my leg and slowly bent it until I resisted. She stretched my injured leg for the next few minutes, and it actually felt the best it had in a week.

I let her words resonate. I could feel her frustration, and I realized that I hadn’t looked at this from her perspective. It could have been a more serious injury, and she was basically looking out for me, and I’d brushed her suggestion off without a thought.

“I’m sorry for being an ass. This wasn’t a new injury for me, but you’re right, it’s more severe this time, and each time, it takes longer to recover. I should have at least heard you out,” I said.

“It’s fine. Let’s just work on getting this leg stronger while getting you in shape for the season at the same time.”

I nodded. I wouldn’t say we were friendly yet, but at least she wasn’t shooting daggers at me.

She worked on my leg for probably forty-five minutes, massaging and stretching, and then she explained that we would move to upper body strengthening and stabilizing. I walked over to my phone and turned on my playlist.

I worked out to music. Always. It was my thing.

She quirked a brow. “Does it need to be so loud?”

“Yes.” I tried to hide my smile, because she was easy to get a rise out of, and I kind of enjoyed it. There was something about the way her dark eyes sparked when she narrowed her gaze at me.

“All right, I’ve got the workouts from Randall, and I’ve tailored them to get the max out of the workout without any strain to your knee.” She jotted down a few things in a notebook and then discussed the workout with me.

Today was going to be upper body exercises. Most could be done without any strain on my knee. I put the brace back on, and she moved from each machine with me, taking endless notes.

After an hour of pushing hard on the machines, I tugged off my shirt because it was hot as fuck. I wiped my face, and I didn’t miss the way her gaze moved down my chest and abs before snapping back up to look at me.

Interesting.

I smirked, knowing that she was enjoying the view, even if she was going to act like she hadn’t noticed.

“So what’s the deal with the blaring music?” she asked, not hiding the fact that it bothered her.

“It’s my thing.” I smirked before belting out the lyrics to “A Bar Song” along with Shaboozey. I swayed my hips back and forth to the beat as her cheeks pinked. “I like music, so you best get used to it, because I can’t work out with it.”

“And you need to dance and sing unusually loud while you work out, too?” she grumped.