HANDS OFF CAPTAIN

Chapter one Tessa's POV “Callahan, if you ignore my instructions one more time, I'll personally make sure you spend the rest of practice sitting on the bench.” My voice carried across the hockey rink. Several players turned their heads. Blake Callahan didn't. He was too busy skating toward the goal with the puck balanced on his stick, moving past two defenders as if they were standing still. The crowd of teammates watching practice erupted when he sent the puck flying into the net. “That's my captain!” someone shouted. Blake lifted his stick in celebration. Then he turned toward me. Even from across the rink, I could see his grin. That man was going to be the death of my patience. I stood beside the boards with my clipboard pressed against my chest, watching him skate toward the bench. His black practice jersey clung to his broad shoulders, and his dark hair was damp with sweat. He looked completely satisfied with himself. Of course he did. Blake Callahan was the captain of the Boston Falcons, one of the most recognizable players in professional hockey, and a man who seemed to believe that rules were suggestions created for everyone except him. Unfortunately, I was the team's physical therapist. That meant his health was my responsibility, whether he liked it or not. He stopped in front of me and leaned his elbows against the boards. “Did you see that, Monroe?” “I saw you ignore the medical restrictions I gave you this morning.” His grin widened. “But did you see the goal?” “I saw a player who was supposed to be taking it easy.” “That's not an answer.” “It's the only one you're getting.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “You're breaking my heart.” “Wonderful. Now we'll have two things to examine.” A couple of players nearby burst out laughing. Blake looked over his shoulder at them. “Enjoy yourselves. None of you could score that goal.” “Keep talking, Captain,” one of them called. “Maybe she'll finally send you to the hospital.” Blake looked back at me. “You wouldn't do that to me.” I raised an eyebrow. “Would you like to test that theory?” For the first time, his smile faltered. Then he pushed away from the boards and skated toward the bench. “Fine, boss. I'm coming.” I watched him go, already regretting the fact that I had agreed to work with the Falcons for another season. Not because I disliked hockey. I loved my job. I loved the challenge of helping athletes recover from injuries, the discipline required to get them back into shape, and the satisfaction of watching someone return to the ice after weeks of hard work. What I didn't love was a captain who treated every warning as an invitation to prove how invincible he was. And Blake Callahan was the worst offender. He arrived at the bench, pulled off his helmet, and ran a hand through his damp hair. “Happy now?” “Not particularly. Sit down.” He dropped onto the bench. I placed my clipboard beside me and crouched in front of him. “Any pain?” “No.” “Blake.” “A little.” “Where?” He pointed toward his right shoulder. I stopped moving. “How long?” “Not long.” “That isn't a measurement of time.” “Since the last drill.” I looked at him. “You felt pain during the drill, and you continued playing?” “We were almost finished.” “That wasn't what I asked.” He sighed. “Fine. Yes.” I straightened. “You're done for today.” His head snapped up. “Come on, Tessa, you can do that.” It was the first time he had used my first name that morning. I didn't know why I noticed. I wished I hadn't. “No.” “We were doing fine.” “Your shoulder is hurting, and you ignored the restrictions I gave you. You're done.” “But..” “Captain's orders don't apply to medical decisions.” His mouth closed. For a moment, he simply watched me. The usual amusement was still there, but something else had slipped into his expression. Interest, perhaps. Then he stood. “Are you always this bossy?” “Only with men who refuse to listen.” “That's a very specific category.” “You make up most of it.” He laughed, and I turned away before I could be distracted by the sound. “Treatment room. Ten minutes.” “Can I have fifteen?” “Five.” “Cruel woman.” “Ten minutes, Blake.” He followed me without another complaint. That worried me more than his jokes. Because Blake Callahan rarely gave up an argument without planning another one. And I had a feeling he was already planning his next move. The treatment room was quiet when I entered. I washed my hands, prepared the assessment equipment, and opened Blake's file on the computer. He arrived a few minutes later, carrying his water bottle and wearing an expression of exaggerated suffering. “I've been thinking.” “That sounds dangerous.” “I'm starting to believe you don't like me.” I didn't look up. “Now you're beginning to understand the situation very clearly.” He laughed and set his bottle on the counter. “Most people like me.” “Most people don't have to stop you from injuring yourself.” “That's a shame. You'd probably like me too if you gave me a chance.” I finally turned toward him. “Sit on the table.” He obeyed, still smiling. I began my assessment, checking his shoulder and asking him to move his arm through a series of controlled positions. He answered my questions, although he tried to make a joke out of every other one. Then I asked him to raise his arm. He lifted it slowly. When he reached a certain point, his expression changed. His jaw tightened, and his fingers curled against the edge of the table. “Stop.” He lowered his arm. I moved closer. “Where did you feel the pain?” “Same place.” “Sharp or dull?” “Sharp.” “Does it happen every time you lift your arm?” He hesitated. That hesitation told me more than his previous answers. “Blake.” “Sometimes.” I set the assessment sheet down. “How many times have you felt this?” “Over the last few days.” I stared at him. “A few days?” “It wasn't bad at first.” “And you didn't report it?” “I thought it would settle.” “You're not qualified to make that decision.” “Neither are you, if you keep looking at me like you want to throw me out of a window.” I folded my arms. “I'm considering it.” He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes this time. I returned to his shoulder, careful not to push the movement beyond what he could tolerate. “Listen to me. I'm not saying you're going to miss a game. I'm saying we need to understand what's happening before you make it worse.” His gaze settled on my face. “You really believe I could make it worse?” “Yes.” “And if I can't play?” “Then we find out why, treat it properly, and get you back when it's safe.” He looked away. I watched him for a moment before returning to my notes. I knew what his career meant to him. Everyone did. He had worked for years to become the captain of the Falcons, and his position came with expectations that never seemed to end. But playing through pain wouldn't make him stronger. It would only make him another patient who wished he had listened sooner. “I'm arranging a full assessment with the medical team,” I told him. “Until then, no full-contact drills or unsupervised training.” He looked back at me. “You're serious.” “Completely.” “What if the coach disagrees?” “Then the coach can speak with the medical team.” “And what if I disagree?” “You can disagree while following the instructions.” He shook his head, but there was a faint smile on his face. “You're unbelievable.” “Thank you.” “That wasn't a compliment.” “I chose to accept it as one.” He laughed again. I tried not to smile. I failed. His eyes immediately dropped to my mouth. The room seemed to grow quieter. It was only a second, but I noticed the way his expression changed when he caught me smiling. His usual teasing softened into something more focused, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he leaned back on his hands. “There she is.” I frowned. “Who?” “Tessa who smiles.” “Don't get excited. It might never happen again.” “Too late. I'll be expecting it tomorrow.” “Then prepare to be disappointed.” He hopped down from the table and reached for his shirt. I turned to update his file, determined to ignore the strange little flutter of awareness that had settled beneath my ribs. He was handsome. I wasn't blind. But handsome men existed everywhere, and I had no intention of becoming distracted by one simply because he knew how to smile at the right moment. Especially not one who flirted with nearly everyone he met. I finished typing and turned back toward him. “You can go, but make sure you report any change in the pain. Don't try to train through it.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “Yes, ma'am.” “And Blake?” He paused at the door. “If I find out you've ignored these instructions, I'll personally make sure the coach knows why you're not cleared to play.” He looked at me for a long moment. Then his smile returned. “You really don't care that I'm the captain, do you?” “I care that you're injured.” Something shifted in his expression. It was subtle enough that I might have missed it if I hadn't been watching him so carefully. “And if I weren't injured?” I stared at him. “What?” “If I weren't your patient. Would you still talk to me like that?” I wasn't sure what he expected me to say. So I gave him the truth. “Probably.” He laughed softly. “Good to know.” Then he walked out. I remained where I was, staring at the closed door. That conversation had been completely unnecessary. And yet, for reasons I didn't want to examine, I found myself replaying it. By the time I finished my paperwork, practice was over. The players were leaving the rink, their voices filling the corridors as they discussed the drills and argued over who had scored the best goal. I gathered my notes and headed toward the medical office. I had barely reached the hallway when I heard Blake's voice. “Monroe!” I stopped. He was standing near the entrance to the locker room, his gym bag hanging from one shoulder. “What now?” He approached with that familiar, infuriating smile. “I wanted to ask you something.” “If it's about returning to practice, the answer is no.” “It's not about practice.” “Then ask.” He stopped in front of me. Up close, I could see the faint crease between his eyebrows. He seemed to be considering his words, which was unusual enough to make me curious. “Are you seeing anyone?” I blinked. Of all the questions I had expected, that wasn't one of them. “Why?” “I'm asking a question.” “And I'm asking why you're asking it.” He tilted his head. “Do I need a reason to be curious about you?” “Yes.” “That's unfortunate.” “Blake.” He laughed, but his gaze remained on mine. “Fine. I wanted to know.” I should have ended the conversation there. I should have reminded him that I was a member of the medical staff and that his personal interest, if that was what this was, had nothing to do with my job. Instead, I heard myself say, “My personal life isn't part of your treatment plan.” His grin returned. “So that's a no?” “That's a boundary.” “Those are different things.” “I'm glad you can count.” He laughed, shaking his head. “You're going to be difficult, Monroe.” “I learned from the best.” For a moment, he simply looked at me. Then he stepped aside, allowing me to pass. “Have a good evening, Tessa.” I walked away without looking back and not giving him reply. But I could feel his gaze following me down the corridor. I told myself it meant nothing. Blake flirted because he enjoyed the attention. He liked challenges, and I had made it clear that I wasn't going to fall at his feet because he was handsome and famous. That was all. It had to be. By the time I reached home, I had almost forgotten about our conversation. Almost. I changed into comfortable clothes, warmed up my dinner, and settled on the sofa with my phone beside me. I had a few treatment notes to review before tomorrow's practice, and I wanted to finish them before bed. My phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen. Unknown number: You forgot to tell me something today, Monroe. I frowned. Me: Who is this? His reply came almost immediately. Unknown number: The captain you threatened to bench. I rolled my eyes. Of course. Me: How did you get my number? Blake: I'm the captain. I have my ways. Me: That isn't an answer, Callahan. Blake: Fine. It's on the team's staff contact list. Don't look so disappointed. I shook my head, unable to stop the small smile forming on my face. Me: What do you want? For once, he didn't reply immediately. I was about to put my phone away when another message appeared. Blake: You never answered my question. I stared at the screen. Are you seeing anyone? He was still thinking about that? Me: Goodnight, Blake. His reply came before I could lock my phone. Blake: Goodnight, Tessa. And I will still continue to ask. I set my phone facedown on the sofa. It was ridiculous that two simple words could make me pause like that. He had probably sent the same message to half the women in his contact list. I wasn't special. I wasn't going to let myself believe otherwise. Still, as I got ready for bed, I caught myself wondering why Blake Callahan, a man who could have the attention of almost anyone he wanted, seemed so determined to get mine. I had no answer. And I wasn't about to ask him. Not yet.