Chapter Thirteen

Reeve

A text chimes on my phone and though I always want it to be Keely, I know it won't be since she's at the bar doing inventory with Oakley.

Seven: Gym?

A man of few words.

Reeve: Sure sounds good. When?

Seven: 15

I'm guessing he means in 15 minutes, but if he means 15 hours... I'll still be doing nothing and available to go.

Reeve: I'll be ready.

Getting out of this apartment and into the stadium is just what I need today. Sam and Coach Bex imposed a one-week hiatus for me to ensure that I would take it easy and heal up, but now I just want to get back to work.

It's been almost a week since Keely fell asleep in my arms after the night we had sex, but by the time I woke in the morning, she was up making breakfast, and I found a blanket and a pillow on the couch. While I was out cold, she moved like she said that she would. We didn't discuss it and I pretended not to notice.

Now, I'm sitting on the couch, my leg propped up on pillows, flipping through channels on the TV—Seven's text couldn't have come at a better time.

The apartment feels different now—in a good way. There's a routine emerging, one that revolves around Keely's visits.

Every morning, she comes over to make breakfast. At first, I tried to insist I could manage on my own, but there's something comforting about her presence in my kitchen, the smell of coffee brewing and the sound of her humming softly as she cooks.

We've fallen into an easy rhythm, working together to prepare meals. I may be injured, but I'm not completely useless. I chop vegetables while she mans the stove, our bodies moving in sync in the small space.

During the day, she leaves to help Oakley with inventory or beer bottle recycling at the bar. The hours drag without her, but I try to keep busy with PT exercises and catching up on game footage. My number one priority is getting back out on the ice.

At night, she brings home dinner, and we settle in to watch an episode of a documentary series we started together. It's become my favorite part of the day - just the two of us, sharing a meal and conversation.

I hear a knock at the door. "Come in!" I call out, knowing it's probably Seven.

The door opens, and Seven pokes his head in. "Ready?"

I nod, reaching for my crutches. "Yeah, just give me a sec."

As I make my way to the door, Seven eyes me carefully. "You sure you're up for this? We don't want to push you too hard."

I appreciate his concern, but I'm determined. "I'm good. Keely's got me on a solid rehab plan. I need to keep moving forward."

Seven nods, a knowing gleam in his eye. "Speaking of Keely... how's that going?"

He steps back and holds my front door open so I can walk out of my apartment on crutches. I shouldn't need these soon. Two weeks is the recommendation, and I'm halfway there, but Keely thinks I'm healing well enough that I can use a cane around the house if I want.

I pause, unsure how to answer. "It's going. She's great at her job."

"Uh-huh," Seven says, not buying it for a second. "And that's all?"

Since when did Seven give a shit about this stuff? He would never have asked about Keely while hinting that he thinks something might be going on.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "That's all it can be right now. I need to focus on getting back on the ice."

Technically her words, not mine. But she's right—we both need to focus on our careers for the time being. There's a lot on the line for both of us.

Seven claps me on the shoulder as we head out. "Fair enough. It just looked like something was happening between you two in the bar the night of the accident, and then before I know it, she's your PT and living across the hall."

His words stick with me as we make our way to the gym down the elevator to the underground parking lot of the apartment building. He saw something between us that night too.

But as we enter the gym and I see Brent and Briggs already there, I push thoughts of Keely aside. It's time to focus on getting stronger, on proving to myself and everyone else that I can come back from this.

"Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence!" Brent calls out, a grin on his face.

I roll my eyes, but I can't help smiling. "Missed me that much, huh?"

Briggs laughs and heads in my direction. "The locker room isn't the same without your ugly mug, man."

As the guys settle into their usual workout, the familiar banter starts up. It feels good to be back with the guys, to feel like part of the team again.

I take a seat in the chair that Seven pulled out for me. In one more week, Keely said that I can start adding weights into my routine but until then, I'm just happy to be back with the guys.

"So," Brent says between sets, "how's life with your personal nurse?"

I shoot him a glare. "She's not my nurse, she's my PT. And it's fine."

"Just fine?" Briggs chimes in, glancing over his shoulder while running on the treadmill with Lake to his left. "Come on, man. You're not fooling any of us. We've seen the way you look at her."

"It's not like that. We're just friends," I tell them, though the word 'friends' is almost physically painful to say when referring to Keely.

Seven snorts. "You dropped out of a game of pool to walk her to her car… a winning game."

"You had it under control without me," I say, shrugging it off. "By the way, did we win?"

"No, Romeo, we didn't finish the game. We came running out to find you mangled, laying on the asphalt after we heard tires screech and people outside screaming. We got sidetracked making sure that you were still alive," Lake says, hitting the 'cool down' mode on the treadmill. He must have just finished his cardio for the day.

"And this is one of the two rooms with workout equipment in the building," I hear Sam's voice say as he pushes through the gym doors.

I look over to find a blonde woman, who I'm guessing is about my age, trailing closely behind Sam. She's dressed professionally, and my guess is that she's either involved with a new sponsorship or part of the press. She does seem familiar, but during interviews, it can be hard to know who's who as they all scrunch in together. I just look for a raised hand and point at it anymore.

Sam gives us quick waves as he continues to give her information about the building. She sends us a smile and then they're back out the door in the direction that they came.

"Who's that?" I ask.

Briggs slows down his treadmill, turning it down to 'cool down' as well. "That's Rowan Summers. She's the reporter who's doing the big piece on the Hawkeyes and our comeback year. Sam's giving her full access to the stadium, and she's even going to travel with us for some of our away games."

Brent finishes his last rep and then walks over to his water bottle and takes a big gulp. "Coach Bex hates her."

"Why is that?" I ask.

This is the first I've heard of Rowan Summers or the puff piece. Though Coach Bex not liking reporters isn't news to me. I've heard him attempt to convince Phil Carlton to do away with making us do interviews at the end of every game, but that won't ever happen.

"I don't know. She wrote something about how he's the grumpiest NHL coach who ever lived and how his multi-million-dollar contract should at least buy Phil Carlton a smile once in a while," Brent says.

My eyebrows shoot up at the thought of a reporter going after Coach Bex. "Oh shit…"

"Yep. He's been dodging her all week—it's weird," Briggs says.

Lake hits the kill switch and jumps off the treadmill, finishing for the day. "Yeah, it's like watching that viral video of the hamster chasing the cat that was going around."

Brent's eyebrows scrunch together as he takes another pull off his water bottle. "Wasn't it a mouse and cat?"

"I don't know… either way, Coach Bex trying to avoid a pint-size reporter is unnatural," Lake says.

"Agreed," I chime in.

Thank God I'm back.

Reporter or no reporter, I'm home and being here is the best rehab I could ask for.

And I'll admit, seeing Coach Bex dodge this reporter is a hell of a lot more entertaining than sitting at home.