Page 15 of Unwritten Rules (The Sunburnt Hearts #1)

I can’t imagine what it must be like to be in his shoes, not knowing how the injury is going to heal or when he’ll get to play again.

But these types of injuries make you play the waiting game.

Being thrust into the unknown is what makes people take chances and push boundaries that could result in making the injury worse.

“What should I do?” Sinnett rasps out, runing a hand through his hair.

“Follow the recovery plan I make for you,” I offer with a shrug. “And if you go at a steady pace and don’t push yourself too hard, you’ll make great progress in no time.”

He exhales a deep breath. “Can I trust you?”

My throat tightens. “I hope so.”

Ocean eyes clash with mine, a fire burning within them. His words hold a weight to them that I don’t understand or can’t comprehend yet. But I do know his recovery rides on my professional assessment, and given Sinnett’s status, it’s a pressure I’m not sure I’m ready to carry.

Sinnett sighs and pushes himself into a seated position, swinging his legs over the side. I stay rooted to the spot in front of the table, less than a metre from him.

“If you’re honest with me, I’ll do everything I can to help you,” I say, my voice gentle.

He nods and runs a hand through his hair—a habit I’m starting to pick up on. “Well, in the spirit of being honest, when you were riding me last week, my thigh hurt like a motherfucker.”

I blanch at his words, colour draining from my face until I’m a character from a black and white film. He did not just say that. “Sinnett!”

A smirk tilts his lips up. “You told me to be honest, strawberry.”

“I-I know, I just—” I hold up my hand and take a deep breath, steadying my racing heart. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“No need to apologise. I liked it, remember? Wanted it, even.”

I do indeed remember how well we fit together like two missing puzzle pieces and how he called me a good girl . Our night together has been on replay in my mind for the past week, so of course, I remember.

“Yeah, well, you should’ve told me you were injured,” I murmur, rubbing my hand over my arm to distract my racing heart.

“And what?” Sinnett presses, tilting his head to the side. “I couldn’t take you back to my grandmother’s house, and I don’t do sleepovers. Besides, I think you enjoyed the car just as much as I did.”

Heat explodes across my cheeks. “Yeah, look, about that?—”

“Allow me,” he interjects, holding my gaze. “I’ll be the first to admit that the night we shared was mind-blowing. But knowing who you are… I can’t do it. My career comes first, and I don’t want to piss your dad off.”

My chest tightens with a pang of disappointment.

I knew this conversation needed to happen eventually, but hearing the words come from his mouth is a shock to my system either way.

We agreed that it was a one-time thing, but ever since that night, my body has craved more, despite me telling it to move on.

And now Sinnett has hammered in the final nail on the coffin to something that was always just out of reach.

I swallow hard. “I understand. My father can be… overprotective of me at times.”

Sinnett raises a brow. “That’s one way to put it. But I respect him as a person enough to listen to his rules.”

He stands from the table, his frame towering over me. I tilt my head back to meet his gaze—Jesus, what is this man, like 6’3?—my heart thundering in my chest. Electricity hums in my veins at the proximity of his body, and my fingers twitch at my sides as I’m consumed by his woodsy scent.

“Give me your phone,” I murmur.

He raises a brow. Instead of refusing like I thought he might, he reaches into his pocket and unlocks his phone.

With the device in hand, I click on his contact list and type in my number.

I’m surprised he’s giving me such access to his phone without so much as showing a hint of anxiety about what I could do with it—or see on it.

“This is my number.” I save the contact name as TATUM and text myself so I’ll have his number, too. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. And rest assured, I’ll be checking in regularly with you on your recovery progression.”

Sinnett accepts his phone when I hand it back to him, an amused smirk tilting up the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be seeing you around, strawberry.”

“I hope not,” I rasp out, voice tight.

A grin splits across Sinnett’s face as he steps back, allowing me a reprieve from the tension swirling between us. He simply shakes his head and turns, leaving the room with the grace and confidence of a man who knows what affect he holds over me and my body.

I exhale a shaky breath and slump against the table, trembling fingers gripping the edge to keep my body upright.

I’m going to need to find a way to forget about this man if I’m to make it through this season with my heart intact.

Dad returns home from work to find me sitting on the lounge, focused on my laptop screen. He drops his backpack somewhere by the lounge and plops onto the plush cushion beside me, exhaling a sharp breath.

Tearing my eyes away, I turn to him. Exhaustion seeps into his skin, his side profile shrouded in a soft, orange glow from the standing lamp to my right. A hand runs down the side of his face, scratching at the stubble growing there.

“How was work?” I ask. Although I already know the answer—it’s written on his face.

“Long,” Dad answers. He swivels his head, blue eyes blinking back at me. “But then again, every day is long.”

“You need to rest more, which means not bringing work home with you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how distracted you’ve been since I moved in, especially last week before I started working.

” He spent a majority of yesterday hidden away in his office.

Doing what? I have no idea. But after the presentation he gave today going over the plays from the game on Saturday, he was likely in communication with his coaching team while he prepared his notes.

When Dad was home for dinner, we would sit down together, but I could tell he wasn’t mentally present. The faraway look in his eyes told me his mind was elsewhere. Whether he was thinking about work or something else, I’m not sure.

It made me realise that I don’t know Dad as well as I should.

When I lived on campus during my uni days, I made the effort to visit for dinner once a week between classes, assessments and spending time with Jayden.

We would talk about what we were up to—mostly uni and Dad’s work.

The topic of Mum’s condition came up a lot.

Dad and I felt tremendous guilt for leaving her alone in Barrenridge, but she was as selfless as they came.

She all but forced me to move to Sydney for uni, reminding me that I needed to follow my dreams, and encouraged Dad to continue working with the club, knowing it made him happy.

It pained me to leave her, knowing she could deteriorate at any given moment.

The three-hour drive home became a fortnightly ritual, and when I wasn’t visiting, we’d spend every second-day on the phone.

It was the only way I could feel close to her and ease some of the worry I felt.

She had her best friend, Kat, just down the street if she needed anything.

Mum was never truly alone, but it didn’t stop me from texting her every chance I got.

Living with Dad again full-time is a reminder that I have years of catching up to do. There’s still so much to learn about him that I never got the chance to uncover growing up.

Dad exhales a sharp breath. “I know, Tate. I’ll try to be more present, okay? For you.”

More present for me . I longed to hear those words as a child, wondering why my dad wasn’t at my assemblies when I received awards or why he wasn’t around to help decorate my hat for the Easter parade.

It seems he is trying to make up for lost time, too.

“Just relax more,” I tell him instead. “Okay?”

He nods, but the movement is stiff. It’s as if he was forcing himself to do it, not believing he’ll be able to stick to the promise.

A beat of silence settles in the room, but then Dad asks, “Whatcha working on?”

My eyes flick to my laptop screen open onto a document I have been working on for what has felt like hours since getting home. The sun is no longer hanging in the sky, replaced by the soft glow of the moon. Without realising it, the day slipped out from beneath me.

“Oh, this?” I gesture to the screen with a flick of my wrist. “I’ve been adjusting Sinnett’s recovery schedule. After my session with him today, learning about the injury and how he’s feeling, I have a good idea of what plan he needs to follow moving forward.”

I haven’t seen too many quadricep muscle contusions in my career, mostly because I worked with elderly people at Happy Limbs. Injuries in athletes require far more research and in-depth plans to help aid their recovery—a simple plan of stretches isn’t going to cut it for Sinnett.

“It has stretches he needs to complete each morning and night, and he needs to follow the RICE method before bed—rest, ice, compression and elevate to relieve the pain and swelling. He can still lift weights, but cannot put too much pressure on his leg, at least until I’m confident the muscle can handle it.

And in between all of that, I have a list of exercises to help strengthen the muscle again. ”

Dad whistles, eyes flicking between me and my laptop. “Woah, Tate. You’ve really thought this all through.”

I nod. “You told me that Sinnett is my top priority, so I’m throwing everything I can into this plan. Besides, I got the feeling from my conversation with him today that he’s keen to do whatever it takes to get back onto the field as soon as possible.”

“He’s a tough kid, I’ll give him that.”

“And stubborn,” I retort, rolling my eyes.

Dad chuckles. “That, too. But the plan sounds great. Once you’re done with it, forward it to Todd, the head assistant coach, for him to review before we pass it along to Sinnett.”

I nod. “Will do.” A wave of nerves rolls over me. What if Sinnett doesn’t like my plan and refuses to follow it after the effort I put into it? A kick to the teeth would hurt less, no doubt.

Dad slaps his thighs and pushes to his feet, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late. Should we order in something for dinner?”

My stomach growls at the mention of food, reminding me I haven’t eaten since lunch. “Chinese would be great.”

“Consider it done.” Dad leans down behind the dark grey lounge and shoulders his backpack. “You’re doing great, Tate, really. I knew you would be perfect for the job.”

His words ease the self-doubt clawing at my throat. “Thanks, Dad.”

When he leaves the living room, I blow out a long breath and close my eyes. I hope I can live up to Dad’s expectations. Working with top athletes is out of wheelhouse, and the last thing I want is to let him down by not looking after his players properly, including Sinnett.

Our relationship is being rebuilt, brick by brick, and I just pray the gust of wind that is my secret of sleeping with his star halfback doesn’t blow it down.