"Why can't she do it?" Hawke asks, and his eyes slide lazily over to me.
My body stiffens and I stand upright from the way I was leaning on the table as I read from the laptop. My heart skitters out of control as I realize Hawke was very much aware of me.
He stares at me now with those mesmerizing eyes that don't speak a single word to me. There was a time in our lives when he could communicate to me just with those irises. I could read want and need. Anger and love. Pain and happiness. Hell, I could tell if he was hungry for a steak or a chicken by the way he stared at me.
Now I get nothing. Not even a hint of welcome or even curiosity about me.
I have to wonder what he's feeling, because we did not part on good terms. In fact, we parted on very bad terms. I shut him down and out, and refused to even let him know my thinking.
Of course, I was operating on pain, loss, guilt, and anger myself, so I felt I was justified back then.
Now?
I'm not so sure I did things right, but I can't change the past. I was ruled by emotion, and I acted in the only way I knew my conscience would let me at that exact moment in time.
"Vale's still reading the procedural manual," Goose says. "I can get you in a few."
"Or she can tape me now," Hawke suggests with what borders on an imperious tone. "I need to get back on the ice."
"Suit yourself," Goose says with a shrug of his shoulders. "She fucks it up, not on my shoulders."
My body jerks and my gaze swings over to Goose. Now why would the asshole say that?
"She fucks it up, it's on her shoulders," Hawke clarifies, and my head snaps back to him. He's got a challenging glint in his eyes, and I realize in this moment that I much preferred the blank, uninterested look he gave me earlier. This look right here says there's still some bitter feelings toward me, and that's just an unnecessary complication I don't need in my life right now.
With a sigh, I tip my head toward the table next to the one that holds the laptop. "Skates, socks, shin pads, and pants off."
Hawke lumbers toward me, his skate guards clacking dully on the industrial tile floor. "Jock strap too?" he asks without a trace of humor.
"No," I tell him coolly as I grab a towel and toss it at him before turning to the supply cabinet. "You can put that over your lap though."
He's only half a foot away when he catches the towel and murmurs so low I barely hear him, "Why? Seen one dick, you seen 'em all."
I freeze with my hand on the cabinet handle and a sudden wave of longing and sadness crashes through me. Anguish over what we had, which was still so fresh in my mind from my dream of him and me and that stupid stone wall along the Sydney River. Wondering through the years, and more so now with him standing just a few feet away, what would have happened had things been just a little different.
"Vale?" Hawke says softly, and I jerk into action. I pull the cabinet open and gather adhesive, gauze, and tape, knocking it closed with my shoulder.
I turn to face him, squaring my shoulders and sliding a neutral expression on my face. I tip my head toward the table. "Let's go, Therrien. Thought you wanted back on the ice?"
His eyes flick back and forth between mine, his jaw muscle ticking. He studies me, appears to want to say something else, but then silently bends down to start unlacing his skates.
I take a deep breath but blow it out silently.
This should be fun.
Chapter 3
Hawke
I quickly shed my gear from the waist down, actually a bit self-conscious of getting seminaked in front of Vale. No clue why, because that woman has seen parts of my body up closer than even I have. But I guess there's something about this tension and the cool vibe radiating from her body that has me feeling off-kilter around her.
I should have just fucking waited for Goose to finish up with Sutherland. I suspect he's in here getting his back worked on not because it hurts but because his face is fucking green as hell. His parting words to me last night when he stumbled into a cab were, "Dude...I hope I don't puke before I get home."
Still, the guy did an admirable job of keeping pace with me last night, and even though I could have kept on partying, I knew I had to be up early for practice today. Didn't stop me from collecting the phone number of a really hot waitress from the bar we were at last night, and I think I'll give her a call this weekend.
Vale keeps her back to me until my ass is on the therapy table and the towel is covering my lap. I take a moment to watch her as she lays out her supplies on the table beside us, her slender fingers using a pair of scissors to open a new package of tape. She then cuts off uniform lengths of tape and attaches them to the table.
Fuck, but she's still gorgeous. Even in her "uniform" of khaki pants and her tidy, black Cold Fury shirt, she still rocks sexy. Her face is devoid of makeup, but she was never the type that needed it. Oh, she wore it, back in her days of frenzied punk style. Thick, dark eyeliner that made her eyes pop and dark red lipstick that left streaks on my dick. Her hair is conservatively pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Not a single piercing to be seen, not even in her ears. So different, yet so damn hot still.
Her body is different though, I notice that. Her arms seem more toned...defined. Her stomach flatter and her hips flared more. It's like she filled out and shrunk down in certain places, but not those tits. Nope, they are still spectacularly big and full and were my favorite part of her body before.
I shake my head and chase away those thoughts before I get a boner. Vale still may be one spectacular knockout of a woman, but there's no extinguishing that tiny flame of anger that continues to burn over the way she ended things with me. While it's true I haven't thought much about her over the years, it's not from antipathy. No, I forced myself to let her go and block what we had, otherwise my anger would be burning deeper and hotter, and I don't have time in my life to get sucked into that shit. What's done is done and all that.
Vale turns to face me and asks, "Left knee?"
"Yeah," I say with surprise.
"I looked up your medical chart while you were getting undressed," she says by way of answer to an unasked curiosity. "Arthroscopic medial meniscus repair two years ago."
"Yeah. Sometimes it feels a little loose. A good taping is all it needs."
She nods and steps up in between my legs that
dangle over the table. She's not wearing perfume, but a subtle floral scent hits me...must be her shampoo. I look down at her as her fingers go to the inside of my knee, pushing in firmly.
"Any soreness?" she asks.
"Nope."
"Clicking or popping?"
"Nope."
"Locking?" she inquires as she lifts her face to mine.
Clear, green eyes on a perfectly polite and professional face.
"Nah," I tell her, suddenly wanting her to step back and away from me. "Just feels a little loose."
"Okay," she says, laying a soft pat on my thigh. It's nothing but a move of reassurance, but I feel it all the way through to my gut.
What the fuck?
Vale grabs her supplies and gets to work taping my knee. I watch her with narrowed eyes, wondering how she got to be here. How did she go from supremely fun party girl with absolutely no aspirations all the way to the athletic training department of the Cold Fury...my new team?
Why in the hell have our lives collided again?
"So how are you?" I find myself asking without the foggiest clue why. I mean, do I really care?
Apparently, I do, because when she doesn't answer right away, I almost bring my fingers under her chin to make her lift those eyes to me. But she clears her throat and says, "Fine. Happy to be here and all that."
She starts an elastic bandage, holding it deftly to the inside of my knee with the thumb of one hand and starts a practiced, tight wrap. I wait for more but she stays silent.
So I prod. Because...well, fuck if I know why.
"What made you decide to go into athletic training?" I ask.
She gives a nonchalant shrug. "Just thought I'd follow in my dad's footsteps, you know?"
I don't buy her blase tone for a minute. "You never wanted to do that before."
Vale finally lifts her face and looks at me intently. "Well, things change, don't they?"
"Yeah, sure they do. But why?"
Why the new career path? Why did you dump me all those years ago? Why did you refuse to tell me why?
Why, why, why?
She finishes the wrap, holding the end while taping it with the precut pieces. "There you go," she says, stepping back.
Clearly, she's not in a sharing mood, and while I need to get back on the ice, I still press her in a roundabout way. "How's your dad?"