Playing To Win Read online

  And shit, my knee hurts.

  I turn to my side on the couch which is nearly impossible due to the brace I still have to wear. I also have this machine that I need to strap around my leg throughout the day. It keeps the blood flowing so I don’t get clots or anything, but it’s a pain in the ass like all the rest of this.

  I want to skate and score goals. It’s consumed my life since I was nine. Before that, really, considering my brothers all play pro hockey and my dad used to. I’ve never known a day in my life without hockey, but I didn’t fall in love with the sport until I was eight. There was never any pressure to love it like he did, either. It’s just in our blood. Our souls. Now when I think of playing, there’s this dark void that’s turning me into an asshole because if I’m not Jude Taylor, the hockey player and best damn player in the league… who in the hell am I?

  I refuse to think about it, and thankfully, Mom returns to my living room in the rented apartment and she sits down on the chair next to me.

  She’s writing a list on a notepad, whistling softly. My mom’s always singing. She and my dad met when he was at a bar after a game and she was on stage at some open mic night. Dad says she has the lungs and voice to be famous. I’ve never known her to not regret going after it. But now… does she?

  “You ever think about what your life would have been like without hockey taking it over, Ma?”

  I’m tired, so I lay back on the couch and throw an arm over my face. I don’t want her to see me upset like this. Broody. Full of self-doubt.

  Her whistling pauses and I’m sure she’s looking at me. My family is loud and rambunctious and slightly insane when we’re together, but we rarely dig into life’s deep questions. If we do venture there, it’s quickly covered with a smart-ass response and we move on.

  “Where’s this coming from?” I hear the rustle of paper and know she’s set down whatever list she was probably making for the house manager the team hired to come in and cook and clean and run my errands for me. Mom said she could do it. I took the house manager. Mom has a life and I know she wants to help me, but she tends to smother.

  “Just thinking about you singing. Dad always said you could have made it big. Said once that he wonders who you would have become had he not chased you down, gotten you all swung up in him and his career.”

  “Did he?” She sounds surprised, so surprised, it makes me remove my arm from my face and turn to her.

  “Yeah. He never said that to you?”

  “Maybe at the beginning.” She shrugs, picks at the sleeve of her cashmere sweater, and shakes her head. “I loved singing. Never thought much about it though, it was just this thing I could do well. Plus, it helped me earn free drinks at those open mic nights.” I chuckle. She was wild back in her twenties. I’ve heard plenty of stories. “Your dad… man. He walked into that bar and I almost forgot the words to the song he was so good-looking.” She leans forward and squeezes my wrist. Her hands are soft, cold because she’s always cold, but her smile is as soft as her hand and she smells like Chanel perfume. She gets this dreamy look in her eyes when she talks about my dad like she’s always done. After forty-five years of marriage, it’s impressive. “I don’t regret a single thing about giving up my life and following your dad. I loved him so much, there was no other choice but for me to help him make his dreams come true. And in return, he gave me mine.”

  “What were they?”

  “You. Your brothers. A family. That was all I ever really wanted, Jude.” She pats my hand and picks up the notebook. “Now, you shake off whatever fear you’ve got going behind those eyes of yours. You’ll be all right. Back out on the ice before you know it and I’ll be annoying the hell out of you with my daily texts. Got it?”

  Her voice wobbles at the end, which means she’s hoping that’s what will happen as much as I am, equally scared it won’t.

  Still, I like her dream.

  “Yeah Mom. I got it.”

  She scribbles down a grocery list for Gina, asking me what I need, what I want, if I need toothpaste and I’m getting so tired of answering her questions, I’m almost asleep when my phone rings.

  “This is Jude,” I say, and my voice is thick with sleep and from the drugs. Also, my head is starting to thud.

  “Hello, Mr. Taylor. This is Natasha from Lake View Physical Therapy Offices.”

  “Oh. Yeah, what can I do for you?” I adjust myself on the couch and rub the sleep from my eyes. Mom has one eye on me as she gathers her things. It’s late, well after eight. I’m surprised they’re calling.

  “We received your records from the surgeon and the notes detailing your therapy plan after your post-op appointment earlier. He wants you to come in Wednesday so we can check you out, get you started. Will that work for you?”

  “Wednesday? That’s two days away.”

  “The sooner you start rehab, the faster you heal.”

  “Yeah, that’s…” Sooner than I anticipated and something cool pierces my chest, carrying the smell of fear. Mom took me in for the appointment the woman on the phone mentions this morning. The surgeon claims everything went well and my X-rays look great. But what if something went wrong? People miss shit on X-rays all the time, right? I have cable. I’ve seen those crazy medical shows.

  “Mr. Taylor?”

  Shit. Focus. “Yeah, I’m here. Wednesday. Time?”

  She schedules me for ten o’clock in the morning with some guy named Logan and says we’ll discuss further treatment at that appointment. We end the call and as soon as I do, Mom’s tapping the pen to her now filled notebook paper.

  “I start physical therapy on Wednesday.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  Her pen goes tap tap tap and I can feel her eyes on me, worried, hopeful… scared. Crazy how you can feel your mom’s emotions when she says nothing. Maybe it’s just mine. It might be possible she thinks as loudly as she laughs.

  “Mom?” I turn my head in her direction and open one eye.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Go home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She sighs and then her lips brush against my forehead, and her hand runs through my hair. It’s settling, and I almost apologize for being a jerk to her. I love her.

  “You’re right. I should go. I think I need another back rub tonight.”

  “Oh my God, you suck!”

  She leaves my house laughing and me fighting against the urge to shove hot pokers into my ears to burn away what I’ve heard.

  3

  Kate

  “Katie!”

  “Whoa.” On instinct, I reach out and grab hold to the force of nature who’s slammed into me.

  I’ve barely stowed my purse and laptop bag into my locker in the break room before I’m accosted by a bright red chunk of hair in a ponytail, long thin arms, and the scream that comes from my co-worker and friend, Avery.

  Her hands are curled around my biceps and she shakes me so hard my teeth snap. “Holy cow! Katie! You won’t believe this! You won’t believe who’s coming in today!”

  We work with one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the country. His patient list is some of the best professional athletes in the country as well as most of the ones in Chicago. Because of this, it’s not that uncommon for us to treat professional athletes. I’ve had my fair share of football players and baseball players, but I spent so much time around athletes in college, I always try to not only be professional but remember they’re simply people.

  Avery, however, carries a more… flamboyant… personality. Which is why she’s never allowed to work on the athletes. I’m pretty sure our boss is too afraid of ending up with a lawsuit on her hands.

  “Avery.” I peel her tight grip from my arms and try to smooth out the wrinkles she’s caused on my shirt. “Control yourself, woman.”

  Her behavior would be funnier if she was my age or younger. The woman is forty-two. Married. Has three little kids, two boys and a girl. I swear she’s still a fourteen-year-old teenage girl a
t heart—what with all her shrieking.

  “I can’t!” She claps her hands together. Her lips are painted a bright red that almost matches her fiery red hair and her ponytail swishes back and forth behind her like a pendulum as she bounces on her feet. “Guess! No wait. You’ll never guess. Let me tell you.”

  I shut my locker door and sigh. If I don’t let her get all that noise and energy out now, she’ll terrify the patients. And I have Herman McDowell coming in soon. He’s eighty-five and recovering from hip surgery. One wrong move and the sweet old man might be down for the count.

  “Who, Avery? Who’s coming in today that has you so excited?”

  “Jude Taylor!” She screams his name, shrieks, but I’m now hearing it all through a tunnel, the roar of water rushing into my ears. My skin turns clammy and I swear the room jolts before I stumble back into the row of lockers.

  “Who?” I had to have heard her wrong. I had to, but she’s too busy prattling on about his brothers and his looks and his stats in Charlotte and how she used to love going to Chicago College games when he played here that there’s no doubt of the name she spoke.

  “Avery.” She ignores me, patting down the small stray hairs that fly away at her temples, so I call her name louder. “Avery!”

  “Oh, yes? Isn’t that wild? I mean, he’s here from Charlotte. Crazy, right! And did you see the game where he was hurt? He’s lucky it’s only his knee, frankly. His brain could be oatmeal after that smash into the boards.”

  Yeah. I saw it. I saw it on the news that night I first heard and then I re-watched the game once the hockey channel replayed it. Then I watched it again. And maybe a tenth time. I cried, too. She’s not entirely wrong. Nikos Selkin should be dropped from all pro teams after the stunt he pulled. It’s not the first time he’s almost killed someone on the ice.

  “Jude is coming here?”

  I still can’t wrap my brain around this. He lives in Charlotte. Not Chicago. They have Duke and UNC, two incredible medical areas and colleges filled with great rehab centers. Why is he here?

  “At ten o’clock this morning. Logan is his therapist, but I’m thinking of begging him to let me have him. Hmm… what I wouldn’t give to get my hands on those thighs. Or those abs…”

  “If you touch his abs, you’ll be slapped with a lawsuit, Avery. His injury is in his knee.”

  She laughs like she doesn’t care. Normally, this is why we all love her. There’s something fun about being around someone who’s eternally young at heart and completely inappropriate.

  But now I’m thinking about Jude’s abs and I’m not doing much laughing at all. I think I might puke. After five years, after weeks of him hunting me down on campus and convincing me to give this guy a chance, I did. One night. One incredible night we had together and then he was gone.

  He slipped through my fingers as soon as I realized I’d started falling for him, and I’ve tried to tell myself it’s for the best. All my life I’ve craved stability, and being involved with an athlete, especially a hockey player who is constantly on the road or traded frequently, is the exact opposite of what I want in life.

  It’s better he left before I fell too hard for him.

  At least that’s what I’ve told myself.

  But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten him. I’ve been a stupid idiot and have compared every guy I’ve been with since Jude to him—news flash, they don’t measure up… in any way.

  Now he’s here. He’s back. On my turf.

  I’ve seen the news. I’ve read the articles. He had an ACL tear. That kind of injury and surgery could cost him his career if he doesn’t heal right. He has to be worried.

  It also means he’ll be here for weeks rehabbing it, and while our office is large, with two dozen therapists specializing in a variety of areas and expertise, it’s still one large open room.

  There will be no way to escape him.

  How in the hell am I going to play this one?

  The clock is currently sitting at 9:56 a.m. Avery dropped a bomb of epic proportions in my lap without realizing it at shortly before seven-thirty this morning. For almost two-and-a-half hours, my eyes have fought to stray from the clock, counting down the minutes, while waiting for Jude to walk… or hobble, as it probably is, back into my life. I’m sweating like I’ve finished ninety minutes of my equally loved and despised Bikram hot yoga class. And now, the second hand on the wall clock ticks by, echoing in my ears. I numbly wait for my patient to check out and schedule two more patients. I should be in the back, grabbing a protein bar before my next patient, but Eloise likes to chat about her grandkids who live in Minnesota and Iowa and sometimes it takes awhile to shoo her out the door.

  I do not want to be behind this desk when Jude arrives. I want to be halfway to Tahiti, but since I can’t hop on a plane in four minutes, I’ll take hiding in the back.

  “Okay, so we’ll see you next Tuesday, Eloise. And remember to work your hips.” I give her a little shimmy because at sixty-three, Eloise still has it. She pulled her groin in a tango class a few weeks ago and I’ve been helping her stretch it and get her body back into dancing form. She says the dance floor is where all the hotties are.

  I’ll take her word for it.

  “Give my love to Harper and Hannah.”

  “Oh I will, dear.” She gathers her papers. Her granddaughters are five going on twenty-two. I suspect they take after their grandmother. “I’ll make sure I bring that video of them at their school recital. They can belt out lyrics like Pavarati.”

  “I bet they can.” I smile so much my cheeks ache. The second hand is still ticking like a time bomb to my side and finally, finally, Eloise scoots out the door, tucking a chunk of her hot pink hair behind her ear.

  Once she’s gone, Avery pops up next to me and squeezes my arm. Logan is in the back, most likely prepping for the appointment. He’s been off kilter all day today but who can blame him. He’s only a few years older than us and like most of the population in Chicago, he’s a huge hockey fan. Apparently, we’re all a jumble of nerves over this upcoming appointment for all different reasons.

  “He’s almost here,” she squeals in my ear. At least it’s erased the sound of the clock.

  “I know.” I pry her fingers off me again and step back, putting my back to the entryway. “I have a client coming in at 10:20, so I’m going to go grab a quick break.” I narrow my eyes and point my finger at Avery. “Do not, please, for the love of God, do not assault the patient, Avery.”

  “But—”

  “No.”

  “He might need help—”

  “That’s Logan’s job.”

  “Just a squeeze?”

  I don’t even ask where she wants to squeeze. There are few places on Jude not squeeze worthy. “Avery.”

  “You know, for someone so young, you’re no fun.” She pouts and then like a light bulb has popped in her brain, she smiles. “Hey, you’re about his age. Didn’t you go to Chicago College? Wait… did you know him?”

  There’s no good answer for that, but I’m surprised she’s been so quick to put two and two together.

  “Everyone knew of Jude.” It’s not a lie. I remember a night at the library when I was trying to study for finals and he slipped into the chair next to me. Dozens of eyes stayed on him the entire time I spent trying to ignore him and not studying.

  “So you knew him?” She’s reaching squealing levels again.

  I can’t handle this. My hands are already shaking from nerves, my mind is blanked. I’m not sure I’ve been able to help my patients all morning or if I stared at them with a stupid expression on my face. And I haven’t even seen him yet.

  “Avery, please, calm down.”

  “You did. You did know him, didn’t you?” She grabs my wrist and tugs. “Tell me everything!”

  “I’m going to tell your husband he married a psycho,” I mutter. She tugs again, and she reminds me of dogs who go stupidly happy over seeing their owners after being separated for five minutes
. This time when she grasps my hand, it’s as I’m reaching for my coffee mug.

  Bad idea. She pulls my hand, and the coffee sloshes over the rim of my cup.

  “Avery,” I growl, and she lets go, but I’m still mid-motion trying to correct the sudden move with my mug and when she lets go, my arm flies up. Coffee flies out of the opening, the lid falls off and I end up with coffee on my face, my hair, my shoulder, and behind me…

  There’s someone laughing.

  Low. Rough. So masculine, I’m sure my panties go wet.

  “So, it appears you’re still clumsy.”

  I freeze. I haven’t even seen him. How did he know it was me? My back is to him and if memory serves me correctly, Jude Taylor didn’t spend a lot of time seeing my back when we were together, at least except for the many times I was walking away from him.

  The first time we met, he literally grabbed me out of the air, an accident caused by one of his mostly naked teammates and a patch of ice.

  But this. After five years, seeing him when I’m covered in coffee and a splash of cream?

  Too bad the spilled coffee didn’t burn a hole in the floor for me to fall into.

  I turn reluctantly. Avery’s eyes are so wide it’s a miracle her eyeballs aren’t bouncing on the wet carpet.

  “Jude,” I say, and I hate myself a little bit that it comes out sounding breathy.

  And the guy smirks at me.

  4

  Jude

  Kate Carter.

  I thought I was prepared for this. It’s not the first time in my life I’ve been dead wrong. After my mom left the other night, I couldn’t sleep, so I pulled up my laptop and decided to do some research into the physical therapy center. I hadn’t forgotten that’s what Katie wanted to do with her life, but I was still surprised as hell to find she’s working in the very same office where I’ll be spending an extensive amount of time over the next few weeks.

  I’d call it fate, but seeing her again has me feeling way too many emotions clearly not numbed by the pain meds for my knee.