I stand and walk to the small private bathroom attached to my office, grateful for this small perk of my position. The woman in the mirror looks flushed, her eyes weary, her hair slightly disheveled despite her efforts this morning to tame it.
I splash cold water on my face, careful not to smudge my makeup, and take several deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Center yourself. Find your focus.
As I dry my hands, I make a promise to myself: I will never, ever spend time with Nate Barnes outside this facility again. No matter how charming he is, no matter how good the sex was, no matter how gorgeous those eyes are. This ends now. It has to.
I return to my desk and open the file for my next patient—a veteran defenseman recovering from knee surgery, worried about his future with the team. This I can handle. This is what I'm trained for.
By lunchtime, I've seen three more players without incident. Each session went smoothly, professionally—exactly as they should. I'm starting to feel like myself again, rather than the flustered woman Nate Barnes reduced me to this morning.
I unwrap my sandwich at my desk, not quite ready to brave the facility's cafeteria where I might run into my father. Or worse, Nate. My phone buzzes with an incoming call. Reese's name flashes on the screen.
"Hey, Reesey," I answer, instantly comforted by the connection to my oldest friend.
"Hi, sweetness!" Reese's voice fills my office, bright and warm. "How's the first day going? Saved any tortured athlete souls yet?"
I laugh despite myself. "It's going fine. Just the usual intake stuff, getting to know the players."
"Any hot ones?" She asks this every time we talk about my job. It's our running joke—me, surrounded by elite athletes, steadfastly maintaining professional ethics while she encourages me to "live a little."
My stomach clenches. "You know I can’t go there, girl. They’re my clients."
"And I'm not saying sleep with them. Just appreciate the view from a distance. Window shopping only." She laughs. “I need to live vicariously through you, girl. You know that. All I get to look at all day are kindergartners. I mean, they’re adorable, but I need more…”
"Hey, when are we doing dinner? I need all the San Francisco gossip, and you need to hear about the disaster that was my Tinder date last night."
"Tomorrow night? I should be done by five." The normalcy of making plans with Reese feels like a lifeline. "Maybe that new Thai place on Michigan?"
"Perfect. I'll book it." There's a pause, then her voice softens. "Seriously though, how are you? Being back, working with your dad... that's a lot."
The concern in her voice nearly undoes me. Reese knows everything about my complicated relationship with my father, my need to prove myself to him. She was the one who encouraged me to go to California, to build my own life away from Chicago.
"It's..." I search for the right word. "Dad's being Dad. You know how he is. I actually haven’t seen him today yet."
Reese sighs. "Are you settling in okay at the hotel?"
My mind flashes to last night—Nate's hands on my body, his mouth on my skin.
I should tell her. Right now. I could say, "Actually, Reese, I had a one-night stand with a complete stranger who turned out to be one of my father's players, and now I have to counsel him while pretending I don't know what he looks like naked."
The words are right there, pressing against my lips. Reese wouldn't judge me. She'd probably laugh, then help me figure out how to handle it.
But saying it out loud would make it real. Right now, it exists in a strange liminal space—a mistake that happened in the dark, that can be buried and forgotten if I just don't acknowledge it.
"The hotel's fine," I say instead. "Can't wait to move into my own place soon though."
We chat for a few more minutes about logistics for dinner tomorrow, Reese's parent-teacher conferences, and my search for a decent running route near my new apartment.
After we hang up, I sit in silence, staring at my half-eaten lunch. The truth sits heavy in my body—not just what happened with Nate, but my decision to keep it secret, even from Reese.
Chapter 5
Nate
Itap my stick against the concrete floor as I walk down the hallway toward the rink, each click echoing like a countdown. My body's on autopilot, but my mind's still stuck in that office, watching Elena try to maintain her professional composure while I thought about how she looked naked, writhing beneath me less than twelve hours earlier. Life has a fucked-up sense of humor sometimes.
The woman I slept with last night is my new therapist. And my coach’s daughter. If I believed in God, I'd think he was either rewarding me or setting me up for the most spectacular failure of my life.
I push through the double doors leading to the locker room, early enough that only a few guys are here gearing up. They barely glance my way—the reception I've gotten since returning to Chicago has been exactly what I expected. Cold shoulders, tight nods, zero welcomes. Fair enough.
