04 Alone Again
Harper
Cade Blackwood is the most insufferable man I've ever met.
After scrawling lacks control, prone to impulsiveness on his clipboard, he didn't even wait for me to argue back—he just turned and followed Coach Miller off the ice.
I was left standing there, watching his back disappear down the players' tunnel.
"Lacks control." Zoey glided up beside me and repeated it out loud. "Prone to impulsiveness. Requires close monitoring."
"When did you get here?"
"Just in time for the good part."
"Eavesdropping is rude."
"You two were standing in the middle of the rink. You were loud enough for the Zamboni driver to hear."
Great. By tomorrow the whole of Blackridge would know about it.
I pulled off my helmet and headed for the locker room. Zoey trailed after me.
"I'm just saying—before you make Cade fall in love with you, you should probably at least try not to give him grounds for a restraining order."
I shot her a glare and shoved the locker room door open. That was exactly when my phone buzzed.
An email from the Sports Medicine Center.
To: Harper Reed
Based on your preseason injury assessment, please report to the treatment room at the women's hockey arena tomorrow at 4:00 p.m. for further evaluation.
Sports Medicine Center
Cade Blackwood
Reading over my shoulder, Zoey slowly broke into a grin.
"Looks like he really does plan to monitor you closely."
I locked the screen. "It's a physical assessment."
"In a private treatment room," she said, her tone loaded with meaning.
"Can you not make it sound so weird?"
"If you're planning to go after him, this is a golden opportunity."
She had a point. If I wanted a man to fall in love with me, the first thing I had to do was give him a chance to actually know me.
Four o'clock tomorrow, a private treatment room, no entire hockey team watching us.
The Moon Goddess had dropped the chance right into my hands.
All I had to do was figure out how to use it.
At 3:55 the next afternoon, I stood outside the treatment room and adjusted my athletic skirt for the third time.
Nova was already getting restless.
"I'm only going in for a physical assessment," I reminded her.
But he's going to touch us.
"It's a medical exam."
He kept looking at us yesterday.
"He was watching practice."
He was watching our ass.
I glanced down at myself.
I'd deliberately picked my most flattering black tank top and skirt. Nothing over-the-top, nothing like I was dressed for a party—but enough to make Cade realize that the girl beneath all that padding wasn't quite the beast the campus rumors made her out to be.
This was strategy, not vanity.
I knocked twice.
"Come in."
Cade sat at the desk, still in the black training gear of the Sports Medicine Center. His right sleeve was rolled up to the elbow, revealing a lean, sharply defined forearm.
He glanced up at me. His gaze paused for less than a second.
Then it dropped back to his computer screen.
"Sit."
No compliment. Not even a second look. I settled onto the edge of the exam table.
"Are you this cold to every girl who comes to see you willingly?"
"What did you expect?"
"I'm five minutes early."
"How touching."
"I even changed clothes for this."
Cade finally looked up, his eyes sweeping from my tank top down to my skirt.
"You don't usually wear clothes?"
"That's not what I—"
"I know what you meant."
He shut the laptop, dragged over a low stool, and sat down in front of me.
The distance between us shrank all at once, and I caught the faint scent of him. Cedar, clean cotton, and a trace of the disinfectant that hung in the treatment room.
Still no distinct werewolf scent.
But Nova was already up on her feet, thrilled.
Closer.
I didn't move.
Cade picked up the clipboard. "Any previous injuries?"
"None."
He looked at me. "You sure?"
"I've got a werewolf's healing."
Cade set down the pen, his gaze settling on my right hand.
After practice I always tape up my wrist out of habit. Today I'd unwound it early so he wouldn't notice—but a few faint pressure lines still lingered on the skin.
He held out his hand. "Right hand."
I placed my left hand in his palm. Cade lowered his eyes to look at it.
"That's your left hand."
"I'm testing your professional competence."
He didn't bother arguing. He set my left hand back down and held out his again.
I had no choice but to give him my right.
His palm was warm and dry, his fingers steady around my wrist. The instant our skin touched, Nova let out a low, contented hum somewhere inside me.
Cade paused too. His thumb rested against my pulse, and the blue in his eyes seemed to deepen all at once.
"Your heart rate's fast," he said.
"Because you're sitting too close."
I'd only meant to tease him, but once the words were out I realized they were true.
Cade lifted his eyes to mine and gently rotated my wrist.
At first there was nothing wrong. Then he pressed my palm outward, and a sharp pain shot through deep in my wrist.
My fingers flinched back on instinct.
Cade stopped immediately. "You just pulled away."
"Reflex."
"Don't play it off. That was a pain reflex."
"Are you always this unpleasant?"
"Only with people who lie on their injury forms."
He took hold of my wrist again, far more gently this time.
The old injury dated back to high school training. I'd been trying to make a team, so I hadn't told anyone—I just taped it up myself and kept going. Werewolves heal faster than humans, but some damage, once it isn't treated properly, doesn't simply vanish because you can shift.
Later, after I joined the hockey team, the wrist would ache now and then after a shot. But I'd gotten used to it.
"It's just an old injury from a long time ago," I said. "It doesn't affect my play."
"If it doesn't, then why do you always use your left hand to unfasten your gear?"
I froze. "When did you notice that?"
"Yesterday."
He'd watched me practice exactly once and caught it—something my own teammates hadn't picked up on in a full year together.
"It hurts once in a while," I admitted. "One night's rest and it's fine."
"I'm going to recommend further evaluation. Until the results come back, cut down on strength training and high-intensity shooting."
"No."
"This isn't up for discussion."
"You're just an intern."
"Which is why the final call belongs to the head athletic trainer and Coach Miller." Cade picked the pen back up. "My job is to give them the facts."
I stood up from the exam table.
"You can't bench me over one little old injury."
"I'm not trying to bench you."
"If Coach finds out, she'll cut my ice time for sure."
"To keep you from getting seriously hurt."
"But if I'm not strong enough, she can replace me any time she wants."
The moment the words left my mouth, the treatment room went quiet.
Cade didn't answer right away.
I regretted it, too. It made me sound like I cared far too much about my starting spot.
The truth was, of course I did.
My strength was the only reason anyone at Blackridge needed me. If I lost even that, I really would be left with nothing but a useless nickname.
Cade set the clipboard down. "Harper."
He rarely used my name. Coming from his mouth, it always gave me the illusion that he was about to say something important.
"Protecting your body doesn't mean you're not strong," he said.
