Page 18 of Deking at Love
“The sprain isn’t as bad as they originally thought.The swelling is down, and most of the bruising is gone.”The first part of his statement was debatable—until he could have that little confab with Angie, that is—but at least the last part was true.
“Don’t rush it,” Coach cautioned.“Injuries like yours take time.We want you back at a hundred percent so you’re healthy and ready to go.”
To which Sam unwisely blurted, “There’s a good chance I’ll make it back before the playoffs.”
Coach let out a noncommittal grunt.“Let’s see how it goes before you start making plans.That’ll be entirely up to your therapist and the training staff.”
Coach LeBrun never minced words, and you always knew where you stood with him.It was one of the many reasons Sam respected the hell out of him.Right now, though, Sam wasn’t too keen on LeBrun’s candor.That particular trait was shooting a deflating dart through Sam’s grand plans.
As he made his way to PT, Sam reminded himself to keep Coach’s warning in perspective.The man had been there once himself, except Coach’s stint in the bigs hadn’t lasted nearly as long as Sam’s before an injury annihilated his NHL career.So Coach totally got it, but maybe he was bending over too far backward, thinking he was managing Sam’s expectations.
Sam barged his way into PT and barely escaped the door slamming him in the ass.Attila the Bun scowled at him.
“Hey, why don’t you guys put in a patient-friendly door?It’s hard to maneuver through it as it is without it swinging back on you.”
“If you showed up a few minutes early, Mr.Durbin, you would have enough time to carefully maneuver through the doorway,” Attila sniffed.
“Not all of us have the luxury of arriving early, especially when the office is the farthest door from the elevator.Who designed this layout anyway?”
“We have one of the most state-of-the-art physical therapy departments in this city.But if it makes you feel better, this office is temporary.We are changing locations in the next six months.”
“Ha!Hopefully I won’t be visitingthis officein six months.”
One corner of her mouth lifted.“One can only hope.”She gestured toward the open room.“Miss Rossi is ready for you.”
Oh, Miss Rossi was most definitely ready.She stood on the other side of her table, her arms folded like battle armor across her chest, and her brows cinched so tightly together he could count the pleats from here.
“I know.I’m late,” he huffed as he lifted his crutch and hopped the rest of the way to her table.
“That’s not what I’m concerned about.”
“No?What is itthistime?”
She took his crutch from him as he hoisted himself onto the vinyl.“Where’s your second crutch?”
“At home, holding back a curtain.”He pivoted and brought both legs onto the table.
“It would do you more good tucked under your other arm.And how much hopping are you doing?”
“Outside of my apartment?That’s my first try at hopping.No, that’s not true.I was hopping in the locker room just now too.”He flashed her a humorless smile.“Impressed?”
She removed his boot.“Not in the least.Your gait is off.I think you’d better go back to two crutches until webothdecide you’re ready to go with one.”
He flopped backward.“Christ, you’re really good at crushing a guy’s spirits, you know that?”
“This is therapy, not preschool.”
“Haha.And what’s with all the kid jokes anyway?”
She slid off the protective liner and began examining his ankle.“Well, when you act like a toddler, I have to treat you like one.”
“Oh goodie.Does that mean I get a sticker today?”
Her gaze remained fixed on his ankle.“Yes, as soon as I’m done here, I’ll get you a sticker.”She lifted icy eyes to his.“For your mouth.”
He let go a chuckle.A sincere one this time.“Jesus, you’re sassy.You don’t date, do you?”When she didn’t respond, he prodded.“I say that because I’m not sure what kind of guy would ask you out … unless he’s into sadomasochism.”
“Interesting,” she mumbled.
