Cross Crease (On The Edge Book 3)

by Elizabeth Hartey

  I love the fact Mac trusts me to do the evaluations—at least on some of the minor injuries, for now. She always takes time with the patients I’ve evaluated before we start treatment on them anyway, even if the condition is minor. It’s a requirement for any eval done by interns. Still, the evaluations give me a chance to hone my diagnostic skills, while really getting to know the patients.

  Elite is a bustling clinic even on so-called slow days. The state-of-the-art gym, Olympic size pool, full body cryotherapy chambers, and best sports therapy DPTs in the state are some of the reasons every professional and college team in the Southern California area send their athletes here. Not only for acute or chronic injury care but for prevention, strength, and conditioning training as well. Some of the DPTs here rotate weeks traveling with professional teams.

  It’s the clinic of my dreams, the place I’m hoping to land a job when I get my doctorate. And the non-stop pace has kept my mind off a particular goalie who will not be named. One week and so far my prayers have been answered—no injured Winds’ players.

  “You’ve been doing a great job, Heaven. I’m so grateful they sent us an intern with your knowledge and expertise. I don’t know what I would do if I had to lead an intern around by the hand while at the same time dealing with our patient numbers.”

  “Whatever you need, Mac. I can handle it,” I assure her.

  “I’ll spare you handling the linebackers. It seems the bigger they are, the louder they whine.” She smirks.

  “Serious injuries?” Mac is the most skilled and compassionate DPT I’ve worked under. I’m a bit surprised by her seeming insensitivity to the football players.

  “Sprained thumb and a sprained ankle.” She quirks a brow. “But they bellyache more than the female high school soccer player I have rehabbing a post-op torn ACL.” She shakes her head.

  “Oh. I see.” I smile. I completely understand. Most athletes I know could have a limb hanging off and still want to continue playing. But I have seen a few hockey players as big as trees moaning over things as minor as a hangnail. “You sure you don’t want me to work with them? I can handle a little abusive griping this morning.” I chuckle.

  “No. I got it. I know my guys. They need to believe they’re the center of your universe. These beautiful monsters require a little extra attention and TLC. It’s taken me years to figure out how to deal with the professional athlete, especially the male professional athlete. Women are much stronger when it comes to dealing with pain. You know what they say, it’s the reason women are the ones to have the babies, or the human race would have become extinct.” She laughs. “You’ll learn how to deal with the professional male athlete and all his quirks and eccentricities over time.”

  My mind immediately segues to D and figuring out how to deal with our complicated relationship.

  “But I love working with them. I wouldn’t trade my job for any other one in the world.” Mac’s words bring me back to my current professional duties. “We better stop yakking and get to work, or we’ll be here until ten o’clock tonight.”

  The day continues at a hectic pace. The phrase, ‘thank God it’s Friday’ holds new meaning for me.

  To my credit, I only glance at my phone twice. Once at lunch and now, after sliding my weary ass into my car. My heart skips a beat when I see the number three next to my message folder. But I have to swallow the lump in my throat when my heart takes a dive into my stomach.

  The texts are from Nikki asking me how I’m doing and wondering why she didn’t see me at the home game this week. Even though I’m disappointed not to see D’s name attached to the texts, Nikki’s concern is sweet. I can’t keep hiding from her. I’ll answer her when I get home. Although, I don’t know what I’m going to tell her. I’m sure I won’t be able to disguise the gloom in my voice. A whole week without one word from D and I’m still having trouble breathing when I think about him.

  ***

  “Hey, girl,” Nikki chants over the phone. Hal keeps nudging me with his head. He’s not getting my undivided attention as I sprawl on the couch after work and he’s not happy. “Where ya been? We missed you at the last game. I was getting ready to send out a search party.”

  “Sorry I haven’t called. I started the new internship at Elite. It’s been crazy.”

  “Yeah? How’s that going? You sound…tired.”

  “It’s intense. Non-stop. But I love it. I’m learning a ton, and it keeps my mind off… it keeps me so busy the day rushes by in a blink.”

  “Hmm. You sure you’re okay? I thought maybe something happened.” I can hear the skepticism in her voice. Nikki and Tracey have developed this tag team skill to see through everyone’s BS. But I thought since Trace is still on her honeymoon, maybe Nikki wouldn’t have her full-on Sherlock Holmes powers.

  “Happened? No. What would have happened? Nothing happened.” Great. Could I sound more like I’m hiding something?

  “Well, considering the way you bolted from the resort without saying goodbye and then a certain goalie burned half his tires on the pavement leaving, also without saying goodbye, me and Trace figured something happened between you two.” The dynamic duo strikes again.

  “No…I…we…he…” And that’s all I can manage to sputter before I begin spewing tears again like an unlocked fire hydrant.

  “I knew it! What did the dick for brains do?” Nikki demands.

  “Nothing. He…”

  “I’ll be right over. Dalt left for the away games. I’ll pick up Chinese takeout. The nanny has popcorn and a Disney movie lined up for the kids.” I don’t even get a chance to argue before Nik adds, “But more importantly I have two large bottles of wine with our names on them. One red. One white.”

  I breathe out a huge sigh. “That sounds wonderful, actually. I could use the company,” I concede.

  “And about ten big glasses of wine, I’ll bet,” Nikki states.

  “Yeah and that.” I manage a smile.

  “I’ll grab another bottle.”

  Nik’s a great friend and the perfect shoulder to cry on to give me some much-needed advice on how to deal with a hockey player’s frozen heart. She and Dalt went through some crazy times before finding their way into each other’s arms forever.

  “I’m calling for an Uber. Give me forty-five minutes.”

  “Okay,” I manage to sniffle out.

  “Make that thirty. Hang in there. I’ll be right over.”

  When the call disconnects I’m cheered, looking forward to Nikki’s company. But then it occurs to me. I’m going to have to explain to her everything that went down at the wedding between Wolfe and me. I’m so embarrassed by the way I behaved: drinking too much and then sleeping with D, knowing he had also been drinking way too much and wasn’t thinking straight. I’m so ashamed of my poor judgment.

  But it’s too late now, in more ways than one. Not only did I make poor choices last weekend, but I also agreed to let Nikki come over and console me. She’s already on her way, and knowing Nik, she won’t give up until she’s heard the whole sordid story, and then she’ll offer to castrate D for me. I manage another smile when I think about how worked up Nikki can get. For a little thing, she can be very sassy and determined.

  I should probably talk to D and work this out before I tell anyone else about it. What happened isn’t all his fault. I was a more than willing participant. I dove in with both legs wide open knowing D’s MO. I have to accept the residual heart and V-Jay ache I was left with.

  Maybe Nikki will share her wine for half-truths because I’m not ready to tell anyone how totally stupid I’ve been.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wolfe

  “I’ve seen high school kids do more presses than this with more weight. Do another one,” my pain in the ass brother goads me. He’s supposed to be spotting me. But with his arrogant arms crossed over his arrogant chest I’m not sure how much help he’d be if I dropped the 250-pound bar across my neck while grunting out my seventh rep.

  “Am
I being tortured for something?” I grumble, dumping the weighted bar onto the rack.

  “It’s been a week. You haven’t made one attempt to contact Heaven, asshole.” Batt slaps my sweaty forehead, Three Stooges style.

  “Get…” I try to smack his hand away but every muscle in my body is spent. He moves faster. “What the fuck, dude?”

  “What are you waiting for, dude?” He throws a towel across my face.

  “She didn’t even come to the game this week, and she hasn’t called or texted me, either,” I mumble. She must be really mad…and hurt.

  “Aww. You poor baby. Don’t be such a thirteen-year-old girl.”

  “You know, you can be a real asshole sometimes. How do you know what I’m doing when you’re not breathing down my neck?” I growl at the meddling know-it-all. “I’m trying to figure out the right way to go about this. What do I say to her? Sorry for fucking some other chick when it was you I wanted to be fucking?”

  “At last. A look into the way that bizarre thing you call a brain works. You’re a regular Lord Byron.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Seriously. You’re pathetic when it comes to talking to women. I’m not sure why the ladies love you so much.”

  “Because I don’t waste time using my mouth and tongue to talk. It’s not my words they love. I can explain it to you sometime if you’re ever interested in finding an actual woman and giving your fist a break.” I smirk.

  I use the towel to wipe the sweat off my face and throw it back at him. He swats it across the room before it hits him.

  “Real funny. You know you’re a pig?” He shakes his head in disgust. “But somewhere deep, deep, deep down, I know there’s a sensitive, caring human being in there. There has to be. I read somewhere once that the woman you want reflects who you are. And you want Heaven. She’s as good and caring as they come. Stop trying to define everything. Go for it. Go get her back.”

  “I’ll think about it. Maybe when I get back next week. I’m going to hit the shower.”

  “Is it going to be one of those extra-long try-to-get Heaven-out-of-your-system showers?”

  “Fuck off, Batt.” And yup. It probably is. “And now that you mention it being a whole week, when the fuck are you going home?” I don’t really want him to leave, and he knows it.

  We haven’t been able to spend time together like this since college. I didn’t even realize how much I missed hanging out with him. Not to mention—even though I’ll never admit it to him because I’d never hear the end of it—his emotional support this past week has been a godsend. Also, he’s a lot smarter than me when it comes to interacting with other humans, particularly female humans.

  I miss Pip. My thoughts are a mess. I can’t think straight, can’t seem to function without her. I have such a need to be with her, to talk to her, even when there’s nothing to say. I just want to be near her.

  And every time I start to curl up into a lump like a sniveling teenager, Batt pulls me back to life saying something like, “Do you love the girl, fucktard? Then get the hell up and fight for her.” Dude’s so compassionate. Isn’t he? But he’s right. I have to talk to Pip. I’m not sure what to say. I’m shit at expressing emotions. I need some time to figure out a game plan.

  “You know you’ll miss me, little brother, and the gourmet meals I’ve been cooking every night,” Batt answers the taunting question I forgot I asked.

  “You’re right. I’ll miss the meals.” I laugh and drape an arm around his shoulders as I push the elevator button for my penthouse’s second floor.

  I had the entire first floor set up with a state-of-the-art gym and use the second floor for living quarters. The place is big enough for three families to live comfortably and never see each other. It’s too big for me. I never noticed before. Ever since this past weekend, though, it feels empty and…lonely.

  “You should adopt a dog,” Batt says as the elevator door opens into the large entryway. It’s as if he read my mind about the place being too big and empty.

  “Yeah. Right. And what do I do with it when I’m on the road during hockey season? Like starting tomorrow. I’ll be away all week.”

  “Hire a dog sitter. This is LA. There are more people here you can hire to spoil your pet than there are to take care of your kids.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe,” I mumble. I head for my bedroom and the long shower I’m looking forward to. Pippa would love it if I adopted a rescue dog. Except she might never know because she may never speak to me again.

  “And bro, while you’re thinking about Heaven?” He air quotes around the word thinking. “Try to think of something nicer to say than ‘I’m sorry for fucking another chick when I really wanted to fuck you.’ That’s cold, dude. Unfreeze the ice cube you call a heart and tell her how you feel. Be honest. Be sweet. Heaven’s in love with you. It won’t take volumes of poetry. Just be you. Uh…no. Wait. Check that. You’re a fucking idiot most of the time. Be the you hiding inside that meathead of yours.”

  “Fuck you, bro,” I grumble again. My vocabulary is somewhat repetitive when I’m around my asshole brother. He laughs as I slam my bedroom door.

  I strip off my sweat-drenched clothes and drop them on the bathroom floor. Be the me I have hiding inside. That’s the problem. There is no other me deep inside. I’m a broken leftover shell of a guy. Only when I’m with Pip am I a better man, a better person. But what do I have to offer her besides a big empty penthouse and a big broken me?

  My mind drifts to the times we’ve spent together and how perfect she is. She brings a calm to my life I’ve never found anywhere else. Her beautiful, smiling face fills my thoughts and my heart pounds faster as I remember what we did at the resort and the vivid dream I had afterward.

  I turn the full body jets in the shower on high. Stepping in, I let the hot water hit me full force. I drop my chin to my chest and allow one jet to beat against the back of my neck in an attempt to alleviate the pressure building in me, the same way it does every time I think about her. But nothing ever eases it. Not even when I take matters into my own hands and stroke myself into a powerful release. It’s getting to be a pathetic substitution for the real thing.

  But then it occurs to me. Maybe, what I need to do is learn to be the better man she brings out in me, the one she used to see in me. Be that man even when I’m not with her. I have to prove to her I can be a decent guy. More importantly, I have to prove it to myself. Prove I can be the kind of man who deserves a woman like Heaven.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Heaven

  Another hectic week at Elite is over. My body is in remote mode when I drop my computer bag next to the sofa and drag myself into the kitchen to grab a glass of Cabernet before heading back to the living room. I turn on the television as I pass it, put my glass down on the coffee table, and take a face-first swan dive into the sofa. It was a late night at the clinic. I’m beat.

  But the Winds/Stars game is about to begin. Nikki was kind enough to remind me in about twenty texts that D is starting tonight.

  I somehow managed to get her to stop asking me questions during her visit last weekend. I told her about my drunken activities with D in my cottage. I did not, however, tell her about my further humiliating rendezvous with D in his cabin. and his bourbon-soaked amnesia regarding it.

  Maybe our three-bottle wine consumption kept her from being her usual perceptive self. Hopefully, she bought the masturbation pas de deux as the only reason I was feeling miserable about seeing D with Alison the day after the wedding. Problem is, finding out about my intoxicated interaction with D has somehow fueled Nikki’s matchmaking engines. She’s more confident than ever D and I belong together.

  Groaning when my cell phone rings inside my bag, I stretch to reach for it without moving from my prone position. The annoying tingling sound vibrates again.

  “Ugh. Make it stop.” I dig into my bag. My fingers know right where to find the cellular nag. I pull it up to see who’s calling and sure enough, there�
�s Nikki’s beautiful, sassy face—blue bangs and all—sticking her tongue out at me and flipping me the bird. I don’t even remember where we were when I snapped the cheeky photo. It’s Nikki to a tee.

  “Are you watching?” She doesn’t bother to say hello when I swipe the accept button.

  “Yes, Nik. I’m watching,” I mumble into the sofa cushion.

  “Wait till you see him play. Dalt says Wolfe’s been on fire at practice. So focused. Not one female-involved extracurricular activity. Dalt says Wolfe hasn’t even gone out with the guys all week. Just practice, training, hitting the gym, and home to bed. Dalt says he’s like a new man. He’s even sworn off drinking.” I don’t say a word while Nikki continues to convey Dalt’s acclaim of D’s virtuous behavior.

  “Hello? Heaven? Are you there?”

  “I’m here,” I yawn the words into the phone.

  “Are you sleeping?” she asks with an indignant scoff.

  “How could I possibly be sleeping while you’re blathering about the honorable Damon Wolfe?” I yawn again.

  “Don’t you dare go to sleep. Your man is starting. You have to watch,” She demands.

  “He’s not my…” No point in arguing. It will only drag out this conversation. I really want to get off the phone, drink my wine and pass out until Monday rolls around again. “I’m watching, I’m watching,” I assure her.

  “Good. Have to go. I don’t want to miss Dalt when he skates around the ice to warm up. His ass looks amazing, even on television, when he’s doing cross overs.”

  “Yup. Dalt has one amazing ass.” I smile into the phone. But Nikki disconnects the call before I finish my sentence.

  Sitting up, I don’t waste time savoring the wine’s aroma or the taste on my tongue. I take a long swallow, enjoying instead, the warm fuzzy sensation it induces right down to my toes. It’s almost as good as the tingling sensations I got when D had his lips and hands all over me. Nope. Not as good as that. But much more dependable and a lot less heartbreaking.