13. Wyatt

13

WYATT

" H ow's the knee feeling today?" My physical therapist, Asher, asked as he entered the room.

"Not bad," I shrugged, moving back on the padded bench as he approached.

"Is that the truth or are you sugar coating it?" The look he gave me said that he wanted a real answer. Asher had spent the past year helping me rehab my knee. The 6'2 former soccer player was said to be the best physical therapist in Toronto and came highly recommended after my surgery.

When I met him at our first appointment, I was a total dick to the guy. I didn't want to be there and made sure he knew it. Asher still showed up every day and once I finally got my head out of my ass, I learned he'd been in the same positio n I was in.

He wasn't lying when he said he knew how it felt.

In the height of his soccer career, he blew out his knee. Before then, they'd called him a soccer prodigy. Then, just like that, his career–and dreams–were over. At twenty-three, he decided to become a physical therapist. Said he wanted to give back, like the people who helped him when he needed it. He moved back home and now at thirty-one he was a great physical therapist.

Over the past year he's helped me to see that while my injury sucked, it wasn't life ending. Aside from helping my knee he's also helped me mentally. Showed me that worse things could have happened, and I should be happy that I still had a career waiting for me.

Knowing I couldn't bullshit him, I leaned back on my hands, right leg stretched out in front of me, and sighed. "It aches a little. I ran ten miles yesterday." Which probably wasn't the smartest idea especially after yet another hard practice.

"Have you been doing the stretches I showed you?" he asked, grabbing my calf.

I relaxed my leg as he started bending and moving my knee. "I have. I make sure I stretch after every practice, before bed and when I wake up."

"Good." Asher rotated my knee, the movement making my wince slightly. "Have practices been intense?"

"You have no idea. Coach is riding our asses." As a former athlete Asher knows exactly how intense practices can get. Plus, he knows, along with the rest of the world, how shitty we've been playing.

"How does this feel?" He bent my knee and turned it to the left, watching my face for the truth.

"That feels fine," I answered. There was no pulling or pinching in my knee. The only thing I could feel was the stretch up my hamstrings which felt great.

"Good. This?" He did it again but turned it to the other side. When I said the same thing, he placed my leg back down on the bench. "You've done a good job letting the muscles around the tendon heal. Let's get you on the bike."

"I have a question for you." I hopped on the exercise bike, slipping my feet into the foot straps. "Have you heard of pepper paste?" It'd been on my mind ever since Josie brought it up. I'd yet to try it and was still dubious.

"Pepper paste?" Asher raised an eyebrow as he set the bike timer to fifteen minutes.

"Yeah. Apparently, you use cayenne pepper and some sort of oil to make a paste," I explained.

"Hm, sounds like a homeopathic thing. I do know cayenne pepper has anti-inflammatory properties. Why?"

"A neighbor of mine recommended it. She said it helped her with her ACL."

"Your neighbor is a woman," he said teasingly.

"That's what you got from that?"

"Is she pretty?" Asher completely ignored me.

Josie's face came to mind. I thought about her beautiful smile and the way her eyes twinkled when she teased me. Pretty was an understatement.

"Wow. She must be pretty, the way you just completely zoned out there," Asher laughed, wrenching me out of my daydreaming. "Yes, she is," I grumbled, annoyed that I could feel my cheeks warm.

"And?" he prodded.

"And what?"

"There's more to the story, I can tell."

"And they say women gossip," I groaned as I peddled.

Asher didn't say anything, crossing his arms and leaning back on another exercise bike waiting for me to talk. I knew the guy would just stand there silently and wait indefinitely until I said something. The man had an uncanny ability to remain silent and make people spill their guts. He honestly should have been a psychologist.

"Fine," I finally caved. "Last Friday I got stuck in my apartment's elevator with a girl named Josie. We bonded over us both tearing our ACL's."

"You were stuck in an elevator all night?"

"Pretty much. Wasn't that bad actually." And it wasn't. Not with Josie there with me.

"Have you seen her since?"

"I took her to Rick's food truck a couple of days ago." I could feel his gaze boring into the side of my face. "And she's coming to the game tomorrow." I said it casually like I still wasn't fixated on the fact she said yes.

"A game." The way he said it made me glance over at him.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You don't get to pry and then not answer. What?"

Asher sighed and leveled me with a look. "We both know how women are when it comes to athletes. Just be careful is all."

I wanted to argue with him that Josie wasn't like that, but he was right in some ways. We were still strangers. I didn't know Josie well enough to know she wasn't secretly a puck bunny. But there was just something about her that made me believe she was nothing like those other women.

I'd been burned enough times in the past from women using me only for my status and money. When I was younger, I wanted to believe the best of any woman that showed interest in me, but I was often proven wrong, and over the years I'd become a bit jaded. Hard not to when you've been used so many times.

So, while I knew I needed to be careful, I didn't want to stop whatever was happening between me and Josie.

Thankfully, the bike took that moment to beep, signaling my time was up–as was the conversation.

"Onto some floor stretches," Asher instructed. I was grateful that he didn't push the topic further as he helped me run through floor stretches. Within minutes we were back to giving each other shit.

While I laid there doing my stretches, my thoughts drifted to tomorrow night's game, and seeing Josie in the stands. I couldn't stop thinking about Josie and her coming to the game tomorrow.

A few hours later, I pulled up out the front of my mom's house for our family's weekly dinner. It'd been our weekly ritual for years. Even when my schedule gets crazy, I make sure to take a day in the week to come home.

"Ma, I'm here," I called out as I stepped through the front door.

"In here!" she yelled back, her voice coming from the kitchen. I could already smell the delicious dinner she had cooking. Walking into the kitchen my mom looked over her shoulder and smiled from where she stood at the sink.

"You're early." Her short brown hair fell to her chin and the corners of her eyes crinkled into delicate laugh-lines; the only sign that she was getting older. If you saw my mom, you would think she was 33 instead of 50.

"Just excited to see you." I went over and kissed her on the cheek before grabbing a hand towel and started drying the dishes as she washed.

"I think you're just excited for my cooking."

"I always crave your home cooking."

"Don't worry I made enough for you to take home for later." My mom patted my hand as I grinned, like she knew what I was going to ask without me needing to say a word.

"I always knew I was your favorite."

"Get in line, hotshot." I turned at the familiar sound of my older brother's voice as he walked into the kitchen. "We all know I'm mom's favorite on account of being the first born and all."

I rolled my eyes as Landon came up to my mom's other side and kissed her cheek. He shot me a smug look over her head.

"Like you could ever be her favorite," I scoffed. "I'm the golden child."

"Why do you two bother arguing about it, when we all know it's me?" Walking through the kitchen came my little brother, Mateo. "As the only person still living here it's safe to assume it's no contest."

As per usual the three of us started bickering back and forth good-naturedly, each stating a reason as to why we would be my mom's favorite.

"Do we seriously have to have this conversation every week?" My mom finally interrupted us, hands on her hips as she stared us down in mock seriousness.

"Pretty much," I shrugged, sharing the same smirk with my brothers. If you couldn't tell from looking at us that we were related, all we had to do was smirk and you'd see the resemblance. The Boone family smirk, my mom liked to call it.

"You three boys will be the death of me. Now, Mateo, go clean up," she gestured to his sweaty, dirt-laden football uniform. "And you two," pointing at Landon and me. "Go set the table while I finish up."

We all knew better than to argue, so as one we all said, ‘yes ma'am' and went to do as we were told. My mom rolled her eyes, but I caught the smile on her face. We may drive her nuts sometimes, but she loves us.

"How have things been?" Landon asked as we got started on setting the table. It felt like ages since I last talked to my brother, when it's really only been about a week. Despite the age gap between us we were close. Landon basically helped raise me when my mom had to work. As my older brother, he was the one I always looked up to and who I came to when I had problems.

When I was ten and came home crying because some kid pushed me, Landon patched me up and told me that Boone's don't sit back and let others bully us. The next day at school he went right up to the kid who pushed me and punched him in the nose. He was only thirteen at the time.

Landon taught me to stand up for myself and not take shit from anyone. No matter what, he was there for me at every game, every loss, when the girl I had a crush on went to homecoming with someone else. He took over the role my father left vacant when he left us. The father figure Mateo and I needed.

"Fine," I finally answered, keeping my gaze on the cutlery and ignoring the look Landon shot me from the other side of the table. It was his ‘don't lie to me' look he's perfected since I was a kid. It was a look he used to give me when I was younger, and I'd lie about brushing my teeth or that I did my homework when I really was at the rink.

Guess the look still works when I'm 26.

"You've seen the last six games," I sighed when he didn't say anything.

"I saw. You guys got your asses beat."

And there's my no holds barred brother.

He always told you how it was, regardless of whether you wanted to hear it or not. "There's still plenty of games left in the season. You guys can bounce back."

"Hope so."

Teams go on losing streaks all the time, but after losing before the playoffs last year we needed to come back stronger. Show we were the team that could win another Cup Championship.

"It's only been 6 months. Most people don't come back this fast," Landon reminded me. He wasn't wrong. Some people never came back after an ACL injury, let alone play after 6 months.

"Are you guys ready for tomorrow's game?" Landon asked, moving around the table with napkins, with me following behind placing the silverware.

"I think so. Coach has been running us down at practice, but we are looking good." I wasn't about to tell him that the main reason I was looking forward to the game was to see Josie.

"You better. If not, I'm going to have to replace you in my fantasy hockey league," Mateo said as he walked in, this time dressed in a clean shirt and pants.

"I already did. I now have Mathews," Landon added.

"Wow, thanks for the confidence," I deadpanned. Even my own family was replacing me in fantasy league.

"Anything for you, bro," Mateo said, slapping me on the back.

"But seriously Wy, get your head out of your ass. You're costing me. I dropped from first to fourth," Landon said.

"It should be considered cheating to have your own brother in your fantasy league." I pointed out.

"Not like we're winning," Mateo remarked, and I glared in his direction.

"What? It's true."

"You're a little shit you know that?"

"Yeah, and I'm still the best Boone. I mean look at him," Mateo pointed to Landon. "He's getting old. And you, you're kinda losing it, so all the greatness is falling onto me now." He gave Landon and I a cheeky grin.

"You going first or am I?" Landon asked, perfectly calm as the two of us slowly moved towards Mateo.

"You can do the honors." The words barely left my mouth before Landon lunged towards Mateo. The little shit was fast, but I blocked his path just in time for Landon to wrap his arm around Mateo's head and put him in a headlock.

"Ow!"

"I'm barely holding you," Landon scoffed.

"I need my beautiful face. How else am I going to get the ladies!"

"What ladies," I smirked.

"I'm telling mom!" Mateo said with his head locked under Landon's arm.

Right on cue, mom stepped into the dining room. All three of us froze as she stared at us. Her eyes look at Mateo in a chokehold before moving up to Landon, who hadn't released him, remaining perfectly still. I raised my hands innocently as she looked at me.

"Where did I go wrong." she muttered before turning on her heel and returning to her cooking.

Landon kept Mateo in a hold for another second before letting go. Mateo sent us a smug look before sauntering out of the room.

"Come on, old man. Let's grab the food." I clapped Landon's back, grinning at the glare I received, and headed back into the kitchen.