The Perfect Puck

2

Chapter Two

Ana

 Staring at the clock on the wall of the PT room, I dread the minutes until Cal Sanderson arrives. The grumpy, always-has-a-stick-up-his-ass defenseman grinds my very last gears. It's like he takes pleasure in ruining my entire fucking day, which is a shame, really. All that beauty going to waste because he's rotten on the inside. I'm pretty sure the man doesn't even know what a smile is.

I scroll through my social media mindlessly, freezing at one of the messages that pops up in my inbox. Some of the players from the Nevada Devils are pestering me about the reason I transferred, and for anyone who asks, I've told them the same thing. I switched teams because I missed my family and was homesick, but it's more than that. It was the unwanted hands of one of the players gliding across my body that had me taking the next flight out. After I kneed him in the balls and fled the room, the ghost of his hands still lingered, but I knew it'd be his word over mine if I brought it to management's attention. It's the way the world works. Fancy million-dollar hockey player versus a twenty-one-year-old with a mountain of college debt? It doesn't take a rocket scientist to determine which side they'd be on.

And the reality of me running away guts the ever-loving fuck out of me. I'm the type of person who doesn't take shit from anyone. I'm the first to tell you how I feel, bluntness being my strong suit. Fleeing to an airport with a shaking body full of adrenaline was a complete shift. It's been eight weeks since I moved back and only a month since I signed with the Cyclones, but the fear still lingers. I haven't been myself, which is probably why my father offered to take me to lunch yesterday. 

My friends notice. My sister notices. Everyone can tell something is off, and no matter what I do, I can't seem to shake it.

I left my family the second I turned eighteen because I wanted to experience different places. I never wanted to live in Los Angeles forever, so I chose a college in a new state. But at the first sign of trouble, I came crawling back to my father knowing he'd allow me to work for The Cyclones. Deep down, I knew that if any of the players tried that shit here, my father would believe me with no questions asked.

I reply to the message with the same lie I've given everyone else when the door to the facility opens and Cal steps inside. The sheer height of him forces him to duck his head to enter the room, and since I'm only five-four, I have to crane my head to get a glimpse of him. His sharp jawline, slightly crooked nose, and blazing blue eyes make it hard to focus. He's always had a way of throwing me off guard, but I never let him see it. I'm on my toes when it comes to him and his stupid grunts and one-line comebacks.

This session starts the same as yesterday with him hopping up on the table while I get his hot pack ready. I almost drop the tongs but quickly gain control when I catch him staring at me in that unnerving way of his. I can try to tell myself all I want that it's not because of Cal that the day I left has been playing on a constant loop, but I'd be lying. I saw his scars yesterday traveling down his spine, and although I tried to make him at ease by claiming he had fun in bed, I felt the way his body tensed beneath my hands.

I'm smart enough to tie the pieces together. I never knew why he didn't want me to touch him, but the players on this team claimed he wouldn't let the other female therapist touch him either. And if he has an aversion to females with those scars down his back?

Yeah. Let's just say my hatred towards him has decreased. It doesn't give him the right to act like a total ass towards me, but I can understand it.

To a point.

While he heats his shoulder, I grab a few rubber bands before returning to the table. I get him started on some simple exercises until halfway through he says, "You didn't tell your dad about yesterday."