Page 16 of Racing Heat

I nod. “Have you?”

Hendrix shakes her head. “Nope, I’m fine.” We both must stare at her a moment too long for her comfort, because she adds, “Seriously, guys, I’m fine!”

I laugh. “No need to yell. Just checking up on you. Making sure you’re in top shape.”

“Didn’t I look like I was in top shape out there?”

“Yes, you certainly did.”

“Okay, then,” she tells me with a shake of her head.

Lucas expertly pulls a section of tape away from her ankle and begins to cut.

Hendrix rolls her newly freed ankle and sighs. “That feels good.”

“How bad is the pain?” Lucas asks her, waiting intently for the answer. “I need a number, Hen. You should know the drill by now.”

“I guess I would say a three,” she says with a noncommittal shrug.

“Are you sure?” Lucas asks, grinning like he knows she’s about to give him either a smart-ass quip or her wrath. I’ve been the recipient of both, so I understand his amusement.

“Yes, I am sure,” she replies a little too quickly.

“Thank you,” Lucas replies.

Hendrix sighs.

“He’s just doing his job,” I remind her.

“I know.” She nods. “I just worry one false move and I’m out for a couple of games.”

I remember those days. Going into the trainer wasn’t something I was fond of, because—like I’m sure Hendrix realizes—the trainer could spell doom for you if you report that you have too much pain. And by doom, I mean sitting out and missing a game or practice. Following a seven-day protocol to get yourself cleared and ready to play again.

It can be exhausting.

“You ready to head into the locker room and talk with the rest of the team?” I ask her as she hops off the table and heads toward the door.

“Shouldn’t he be done talking to them by now? I would think his talk shouldn’t be a bad one or a long one?”

I shrug. “Sometimes the man has a lot to say. And this was a really good game, so he’s probably psyched.”

“We tied. What does that mean for the playoffs?” Hendrix asks me.

“Let’s not worry about that right now.”

“You don’t know, do you?”

I can always count on Hendrix to call me on my bullshit, and here she is doing it again. I laugh and pull her into a side hug. “I don’t, actually. There’s too much at play. We need to see how the other teams with similar records have fared. A loss—I could tell you right now. A win—we’d know too. But a tie causes us to have to wait for other games’ results to come in.”

“Which games?” she asks me.

“Let’s not worry about that right now. Let’s celebrate your amazing saves and that great goal Cassie scored.”

“Cassie was amazing out there today,” Hendrix says.

“Yeah, she really was.” My chest swells with pride as I say the words. I must be grinning like an idiot too. I catch Hendrix watching me. “What?” I ask.

She laughs at me—of course. “You just seem to bereallyproud of her. You know, for someone who coaches the goalies.” She bumps my shoulder.