Page 9 of Over the Moon (Rosewood River #3)

seven

. . .

Clark

“It’s been two and a half weeks,” I said, as she massaged the area around my knee.

“Have you always been a stubborn ass? Or do you do this just with me?”

I barked out a laugh. “According to my mother, I was born this way.”

“Clark.”

“Eloise,” he mimicked my serious tone.

I rolled my eyes. “One more week, and you and I will run a mile together. Slowly.”

“I don’t think you can keep up with me.”

“I ran a 5:23 mile in high school. I assure you, I can keep up with you,” she said, tucking the strand of hair that had broken free behind her ear.

“Ah, you were a track star. Is that why you write every single detail down in your notebook? Are you a stats junkie?”

I saw something pass through her gaze, and I could tell I struck a nerve. Every time I teased her about her notebook, she always went quiet.

I wanted to know what she was hiding. She had this tough exterior, and for whatever reason, I wanted to know what was beneath.

The woman intrigued me.

“I have my reasons,” she huffed.

I sat up and studied her. “You know, I have to tell you everything I’m feeling all the time. My pain level. How I’m frustrated about the lack of cardio we’re doing. But you don’t share anything. That doesn’t quite seem fair, Weeze.”

“I’m the PT, and you’re the athlete. You’re supposed to tell me everything.”

“It’s pretty selfish.” I tried to hide my smile. “I’m always giving, and you’re just taking.”

She swatted me with the towel sitting on the table. “I’m hardly taking. You mostly just complain about wanting to do more.”

“Well, I have my reasons.”

“Fine. If you want me to tell you something, then tell me why you’re so freaking impatient about going for a run and stepping up your cardio. You’re getting in fabulous workouts. What’s the rush?”

I cleared my throat and thought it over. I spent a lot of time with this woman, and I trusted her to get me into the best shape possible. She hadn’t steered me wrong thus far, and I was feeling stronger every day.

“I’ve been reading things online. A few articles that came out were questioning if I’d be able to repeat the season that I had before sustaining this injury.

” I shrugged. “I don’t normally let things get in my head.

But you know, hockey is everything to me, and if I lost that, I don’t know what I’d do. ”

I was my own worst enemy sometimes. Letting myself spend hours reading what sports analysts were saying about my chances of coming back and repeating what I’d done this season.

It was easier when I was an underdog. When there were no expectations of me.

When I would grind and push hard to prove who I was.

But now, I’d achieved everything I’d ever wanted, and I didn’t want it to go away. So I was feeling the pressure of wanting something so badly and being terrified of it being ripped away from me. Achieving my dreams was both the best and the worst… because now I had to fight to keep them.

I was not going to let all the outside voices get in my head.

Eloise stared at me for the longest time before hopping up on the table and sitting beside me.

“I get that. And this sport is not for the weak, that’s for sure.

It’s what makes my job so challenging, because the injuries are endless.

But you’re probably the most resilient athlete I’ve ever worked with.

I promise you, you are not losing anything.

I think people are going to be very surprised with how strong you are when you return.

You’ve done everything I’ve asked of you so far, aside from nagging me about running.

But we’re going to incorporate it back in after a month off, and we’ll see how you do. ”

“Thanks. I didn’t expect it to take this long. I’m ready to get back on the ice.”

“Well, funny you should mention it. I booked us some ice time this afternoon,” she said, her lips turning up in the corners.

“What? I thought you said no ice for a month.”

I felt like a fucking kid at a candy store. I was itching to get back on the ice.

It’s where I left every worry behind. Where I came alive most days.

I’d grown up skating and playing hockey, and it was a part of me.

“Don’t get cocky. I’m going to skate with you. Nothing fancy, no pressure on your knee just yet. Just some casual ice time, all right?” she asked.

“Why’d you change your mind?”

It meant something to me that she’d take the time to arrange this. As if she knew that I needed it right now.

“I reached out to Everly Madden,” she admitted, looking at me like she was prepared for me to be annoyed.

She mentioned me scheduling a meeting with Everly, as she was our team psychologist. I’ve met with her a few times.

She was also married to one of the greatest players to ever live, Hawk Madden, who’d also played for the Lions.

She knew the sport. She knew the struggles that came with it.

But I just wanted to run. I didn’t need a therapist. “What did she say?”

“I wanted to ask if I was being too stringent about not letting you run. Some PTs would let you get back out there a little sooner, but I just don’t want to set you back, you know? So I asked her advice.”

“And?”

“She said to trust my gut on the running, but that a little ice time wouldn’t hurt, as long as I was out there with you. She thought it might give you a little pep in your step,” She chuckled.

“Pep in my step? Baby, I was born with pep in my step. You’ve seen my dance moves.” I barked out a laugh and then turned to look at her. “Thanks for doing that. Getting on the ice will be nice.”

“I’m still going to put you through hell this morning,” she said, jumping down from the table.

“No, no, no. You don’t get to have me spill my guts about my frustration and then not share anything with me. Come on, I told you my embarrassing shit. Tell me something. What’s the story with the notebook?”

She rolled her eyes. “What is your obsession with the notebook? Why do you care?”

“I don’t know, Weeze. But I’m curious. Maybe I have too much time on my hands because you won’t let me run.”

Her shoulders shook with laughter. “You’re relentless.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Fine. The notebooks are sort of an anxiety thing for me, I think.” She looked away before turning back.

Her dark eyes locked with mine. “My mom fought cancer for over a year when I was young. I’d sit with her every day after school, and those last few months were brutal.

She was on hospice, and you know, I didn’t understand at the time, that the end was looming. ”

“How old were you?” I asked. My chest squeezed at the pain I saw in her gaze.

“Ten years old. And my dad had to continue working because we needed the insurance, so it was Mom and me for hours after school every day. And that’s when the notebooks started.

She’d have me write everything down for her.

About things she wanted me to remember. Things she wanted me to hold on to.

Some of it was her story, and some of it was her hopes and dreams for me.

” She let out a labored breath and looked away.

“It just became a way of remembering her, keeping her close, I guess. Maybe it was a form of control for me. But it makes me feel comforted to write things down. Like they won’t disappear if I do. ”

I pushed to my feet and wrapped my arms around her because it was the only thing I could think to do. I was pretty good at reading people, and whether she admitted it or not, I knew she needed it.

Her head rested on my chest, and I just held her there. It was a full-bodied hug, and her hair tickled my nose, but I didn’t pull away.

I knew she didn’t have siblings because her father bragged about his only child any chance he got.

“I think it’s pretty cool that you shared that with her. And I forget shit all the time, so writing things down is a great idea.”

She chuckled and pulled back. “Don’t you dare get all sappy on me.”

“It’s a hug, relax. We can be friends, can’t we?”

She stepped away, putting distance there. It’s what she did often when we were working out and we’d share a laugh or say something that didn’t have anything to do with hockey.

“Not really, Clark. We all signed that contract to be on the team, but it’s different for me, you know?

I’m a female working for a professional men’s hockey team.

My father is the coach, so people already assume that I got the job because of him.

So, if anyone thought there was anything unprofessional going on, even a friendship, it would be me who was fired. You’re the superstar. I’m replaceable.”

Shit. I never thought of it like that.

“Well, that sucks. But I think you’re being a little overly cautious. Randall and I are friends. The ethical contract is about being unprofessional in a romantic way. I’m friends with everyone on staff.”

“We can be friendly . But actually being friends would be crossing a line.”

“Well, you’re friends with Lulu and Henley now. You’re on the Chad-Six pickleball team.” I barked out a laugh. “Like it or not, Weeze, we’re friends.”

She arched a brow before walking over to the mat where she would force me to do awkward stretches. “It’s a professional friendship.”

“Fine.” I followed her to the mats. “But my mother is deeply offended that you haven’t come to Sunday dinner yet. Henley and Lulu keep talking about you, and she knows you’re helping me. She wants you to come this weekend.”

She pointed for me to sit down on the floor, and then she dropped to her knees and reached for my leg.

Why the fuck did my dick respond every time she dropped to her knees?

It had been a while, and I definitely needed to get laid.

I’ve been so focused on my training, but the last time I’d been out at the bar, I considered going home with a woman I’d hooked up with before. She made it clear that she wanted it to happen. But something stopped me.