Page 25 of Hat Trick
The room is suddenly a thousand degrees.
She’s seen me in less than my briefs before, including a small towel draped over my ass while she worked on a cramp in my calf before game four of the Stanley Cup finals. I know it’s my own fault for not wearing what she asked me to—clothing that wouldn’t restrict my mobility—but my cheeks still burn when I move my walker to the side and hook my thumbs in the waistband of my pants.
What if there’s a huge hole in the crotch? What if I accidentally put on the joke underwear Maverick got me last year that has hot sauce bottles all over the back with the wordssmack my assacross my dick?
Lexi doesn’t watch me undress. She turns her attention to a stack of foam rollers and hums softly as she sorts through the various lengths, grabs one, and tucks it under her arm.
I shove the sweatpants down my thighs and exhale a sigh of relief when I find a pair of black briefs without any suggestive innuendos.
Thank fuck.
“Definitely going to wear shorts next time.” I grunt and step out of the sweatpants. “You could also make the room cooler.”
“It’s sixty-seven degrees.” Lexi walks over in her black pants and long-sleeved Stars shirt. “It’s comfortable, and if I put it any lower, the maintenance staff will be on my ass about electric bills.”
“How often are we going to be doing these sessions?”
“Monday through Friday and twice a day. You’ll have weekends off, and we’re going to have to alter the schedule when the regular season starts.” She gestures at my right leg. “Could you take off your prosthetic for me?”
“Isn’t the point of these sessions to figure out how to move with it on?”
“It would be, if you had been following your outpatient exercises for the last two months. Because you haven’t, we’re starting at square one.”
“Right,” I grit out as embarrassment races up my spine. I sit on the edge of the table and slowly take off my prosthetic. She watches this time, and when I’m finished, she leans it against the wall for me. “Now what?”
“I’m going to run you through a couple of movements to learn the range of motion in your amputated leg. When is your final prosthetic appointment?”
“In a month.”
“Good. That gives us time to catch up. Lie back, please.”
I scoot my ass back until I can lie all the way down, sighing when my body relaxes. This is familiar. I’ve been here, in this exact position, dozens of times. I’ve spent hours on this table stretching, and I try to tell myself this is just another game day morning.
“What’s the most serious injury you’ve worked on?” I ask.
Small talk was part of our routine before, and I’m trying to get my mind back to that place.
It’s how I learned she’s an only child who hates mushrooms. Where I discovered she likes to read under three fluffy blankets, and she always has to wear a pair of socks. She’ll drink a hot coffee even when it’s pushing a hundred degrees outside, and she doesn’t like scary movies.
I’ve shared parts of myself with her, telling her about playing both lacrosse and hockey in high school and the two-hour line I waited in to meet my favorite author when they came to town.
“Besides this? When I was in the ECHL, a guy tore his ACL. That was a hard rehab because he was stubborn as hell. I’m learning you two might have that in common.”
“He sounds like a delight.”
“He was frustrated. I’m sure you can relate.”
“Yeah.” I adjust my glasses and stare at the fluorescent lights above me. “Guess I can.”
“The first exercise we’re going to do focuses on moving your residual limb. Can you bring it off the table and lift it in the air?Good,” Lexi says. I hope she can’t see the way I’m wincing or the sweat on my hairline. “And lower it for me? Perfect, Riley.”
“How many times?”
“What’s your favorite number?”
“Zero.”
“Nice try.” She laughs. “Let’s do ten reps.”
