“Christian doesn’t need to hear about your eggs, love of my life,” Shane chuckled, leaning down to place another kiss on the top of her head. “Anyway,” he went on, looking at Christian, “we’d appreciate you keeping this to yourself for now. The only person we’ve told is Paige.”
“Sure,” Christian said, hoping he sounded natural enough. Hearing Paige’s name gave his gut a swift jolt.
“Thanks. Now, where did we land on dessert?”
“That’s a hell yes for me,” Drew said.
Christian held up a hand. “I’d better not. The PT staff is already giving me warnings about weight gain while I’m riding the bench.”
He had strained his medial collateral ligament during a game against New Jersey four nights ago and was currently undergoing physical therapy for it. It would be at least a couple weeks before he’d be cleared to return to goaltending. He had met with one of the team’s rotating physical therapists, Dr. Everly Parker, earlier that day to get an update on his progress.
“The swelling has eased some from the photos Dr. Bustillos took after the injury occurred,” she said as she completed her examination of his knee. “But I would’ve liked to see the swelling completely gone by now. You’ve been good about icing at home and keeping the knee elevated when you’re resting?”
“Yeah.”
Her sharp turquoise eyes had lifted to his. “And you’re using the crutches?”
He was sure she noticed the instinctive hunching of his shoulders. “Most of the time.”
“Let’s aim for all the time,” she said with a pointed look. “Putting weight on that leg is going to hinder your recovery.”
Knowing she was right, he sighed. “I’ll be better about it, Doc.”
Though it felt ridiculous using crutches to get to the bathroom or fridge when he was at home.
“Speaking of weight,” she had said as she read the tablet in her hand, “you’ve gained a few pounds since your pre-injury weigh-in.”
That was because he’d been comfort-eating Oreos, french fries, and pepperoni pizza since he’d hurt himself trying—and failing—to make a big save against New Jersey’s powerful All-Star center, Drake Davenport. His weight had been the last thing on his mind as he watched replay after replay of Davenport’s quick wrist shot rocketing between his knees. Having his hot physical therapist point it out to him, however, made Christian regret every extra calorie he’d put into his body.
“Guess I haven’t exactly been eating like I should,” he said. “I’m not the best cook even on a good day.”
She gave him an understanding smile. “Believe me, I get it. Cole and I have help from a cook most of the time, but there are days when only a good, greasy fast-food burger is going to cut it.”
As the wife of one of Major League’s Baseball’s top pitchers, Everly Parker understood the life of an athlete better than most. Which meant there were no excuses Christian could hide behind for failing to take better care of himself.
“There have been more fast-food days than not lately,” he admitted. “This is my second knee injury over the past couple seasons. I know they haven’t been serious and it’s nearly impossible to play this sport without injury, but when hockey is all you’ve ever done, any injury is fucking terrifying.”
Everly had nodded as she settled on the stool beside the exam table. “That’s understandable, Christian. The mental impact of an injury can sometimes be more difficult for an athlete to overcome than the physical one. It’s important that you’re recovered in every way before you return to the ice. While I’m always happy to listen, I’m afraid counseling isn’t my area of specialty. But the team has resources if you’d like to talk about it with anyone. I can also refer you to someone I highly recommend.”
The suggestion provoked long-buried memories of the months of counseling he’d participated in after his father’s tragic death, making him shift restlessly and look away from her. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll think about it and let you know. Why don’t we focus on the physical side of things today?”
“Sure.”
He was grateful she didn’t press him. He wasn’t at a point where he needed mental health counseling over a relatively minor injury, he told himself.
“Surely a single fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie won’t tip the scales,” Drew said to him now.
Christian looked at Shane, who shrugged and said, “I told her they were always your favorite when you lived with us.”
Despite his earlier conversation with Everly, Christian couldn’t resist. “One cookie.”
“I’ll just bring the plate,” Shane said, hurrying from the room before Christian could object.
The scale was definitely going to tip higher after tonight.
“How much more PT do you have ahead of you, anyway?” Drew asked while they awaited Shane’s return.
She and Shane had asked about his injury shortly after he hobbled into their family room on his crutches. They had both known about it because they watched hockey and Shane kept up with Christian’s career. Their questions had focused on how he was feeling rather than what the injury meant to the team and his career, which he’d appreciated.
“Not much,” he told her. “I’m out six games for sure. Hopefully I’ll be cleared to play after that.”
“That’s good.”
Shane returned with a plate of cookies in one hand and a stainless-steel coffee carafe in the other. “Decaf,” he said when Drew sniffed the air and stared at the carafe as he set it down. “I’ll be right back with mugs and creamer.”
“Damn, I’m glad I married you,” she said, smacking his ass as he headed back to the kitchen.
Christian laughed as Shane tossed out, “Control yourself, woman,” over his shoulder as he again disappeared.
“He loves it,” Drew said, leaning closer to the sealed carafe and inhaling deeply. “God, I miss real coffee. I haven’t wanted to take any chances with this pregnancy, so I’m going caffeine free.”
“Sounds tortuous.”
“It sure is.”
Shane returned with a tray containing three mugs and spoons, a carton of creamer, and an assortment of colored packets. He set it on the table between the three of them and took his seat at the head of the table. Christian lifted a yellow packet and gave it a curious scan.
“That’s all her,” Shane said, jabbing a thumb in Drew’s direction. “The woman rakes in nearly four hundred-K a year and she still sneaks sugar and sweetener packets into her purse whenever we go out for a meal.”
Christian shrugged. “Seems perfectly practical to me.”
Drew beamed a smile at him. “I knew I liked you, Christian.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Shane said, taking a couple cookies and handing one to his wife. “She wants to shop at garage sales and flea markets for the nursery furniture.”
“I don’t know anything about baby furniture, but you can get some great deals at those places,” Christian said as he poured coffee into his mug.
Shane groaned. “I should’ve known. You were always cheap in high school, too.”