Fantastic kiss aside, Mac was a potential patient, nothing more, nothing less. She’d be professional if it killed her. She deliberately glanced at her watch and lifted her arched eyebrows. “I have another patient in thirty minutes...so let’s skip the small talk and you can tell me why I’m really here.”
“I need a physiotherapist.”
“Obviously.” Rory shrugged. “You’re going to need a lot of therapy to get your arm working properly.”
“I don’t want it to work properly. I want it to be as good as new,” Mac stated. “In two months’ time.”
“In your dreams.” Okay, everyone knew Mac was determined but he wasn’t stupid. “That’s not going to happen. You know that’s not possible.”
Mac pulled on his stubborn expression. “It is going to happen and I’ll be back on the ice with or without your help.”
Rory sent Kade and Quinn a “help me” look but they just stood there. She was on her own, it seemed. “McCaskill, listen to me. You half ripped a tendon off the bone. It was surgically reattached. We don’t know how much damage you’ve done to the nerves. This injury needs time to heal—”
“I don’t have time,” Mac told her. “I’ve got a couple of months and that’s it.”
Rory shoved her hands into her hair in sheer frustration. “You can sit out another couple of months—you are not indispensable!”
Dammit, her voice was rising. Not good. Do not let him rattle you!
“Two months and I need to be playing. That’s it, Rory, that’s all the time I’ve got,” Mac insisted. “Now, either I get you to help me do that or I take my chances on someone else.”
“Someone you will railroad into allowing you to do what you want, when you want, probably resulting in permanent damage.” This was how he’d be in a relationship, she thought. All bossy and stubborn and determined to have his way.
After a lifetime of watching her father steamroll their mother, those weren’t characteristics she’d ever tolerate.
“Maybe,” was all Mac said.
Rory placed her hands on the bed and leaned forward, brows snapping together. “Why are you doing this, Mac? You have enough money, enough accolades to allow you to sit out a couple of months, a couple of seasons. This is not only unnecessary, it’s downright idiotic!”
Mac pulled in a deep breath. For a split second she thought that he might explain, that he’d give her a genuine, responsible reason for his stance. Then his eyes turned inscrutable and she knew it wouldn’t happen. “I play. That’s what I do.”
Rory shook her head, disappointed. He was still the same attention-seeking, hot-dogging, arrogant moron he’d been in his twenties. Did he really believe the hype that he was indispensable and indestructible?
“You’re ridiculous, that’s what you are,” Rory said as she straightened. She sent his friends a blistering look. “You’re supporting him in this?”
Kade and Quinn nodded, reluctantly, but they still nodded. Right, so it seemed like she was the only clear thinker in the room. She had to try one more time. “It’s one season! You’d probably not even miss the entire season...”
Mac looked resolute. “I have to be there, Rory.”
Mac had a will of iron. He was going to play, come hell or high water. She wouldn’t be able to change his mind.
“It’s my choice and I’ll live with the consequences,” Mac told her. “I’m not the type to create a storm and then bitch when it rains.”
There was no doubting the sincerity in his words. Now, responsibility was something her father had never grasped, she thought. He’d been a serial adulterer and when he got caught—and he always got caught—there were a million reasons why it wasn’t his fault. And, really, why was she thinking about her father? Honestly, woman, concentrate!
She might not agree with what Mac wanted to do, it was a colossal mistake in her professional opinion, but it seemed he was prepared to accept the consequences of his decisions. She had to respect that. But didn’t have to be party to his madness.
She dropped her eyes from his face to look at the control box. “There’s still twenty minutes to go. I’ll ask Troy to disconnect the mat and pack it away. Have a nice life.”
Rory turned around and walked toward the door, thinking that her bosses at Craydon’s Physiotherapy would throw a hissy fit if they found out she’d turned down the opportunity to treat the great Mac McCaskill.
A part of her wanted to stay, to carry on trying to convince him—them—why this was the stupidest plan in history. But you’re not the jackass whisperer, her brain informed her.