People get nervous when they hear that word, but they shouldn’t. I’m as non-threatening as they come. I mean . . . if they only knew. My own life is kind of a dumpster fire at the moment. But I doubt that’s what they want to hear, so instead, I launch into my backstory.

“After graduating with a bachelor’s degree in sports medicine, I interned for Les—um, Les Benson, he works for the Titans.” I look to Logan, because surely he knows who Les is, but he looks completely disinterested. “Anyway, I worked for him while getting my master’s degree in psychology. And after I graduated and started working with athletes, I quickly learned that stretching and taping sore muscles wasn’t going to fix their injuries, when a lot of them ran much deeper than that.”

Jillian is nodding along, but Logan hasn’t said anything else. So I just continue.

“Sometimes they need things a physical therapist can’t provide. Like counseling, or someone to talk to. Help dealing with performance anxiety. Or overcoming obstacles to improve their performance. A lot of times those things are mental, not physical.”

I pause for a moment, letting my words sink in. I’m guessing this may describe Logan, because by all appearances, he looks normal and healthy.

“Anyway, all of this made me want to start my own business, so I did, shortly after graduating.”

Jillian’s mouth tilts up in a smile.

It may sound impressive that I started my own company, but it’s tricky. I need to win over clients—paying clients—if I want to succeed and keep a roof over my head. Now that I have this opportunity, I refuse to blow it. I didn’t fly across the country to fail. If I can get him back out on the ice, scoring goals, it will go a long way toward building my professional reputation.

Logan still stands glowering at me in the doorway, his back ramrod straight, not saying a word.

I’m off to a stellar start.

God help me.

3

LOGAN

Nothing in my life makes sense anymore, not since Dad died. And now being home, seeing the worry lines on my mom’s face, and how much slower Grandpa is at getting around, hockey is the furthest thing from my mind.

And this chick . . . Summer with her sharp tongue and inquisitive eyes, thinks she can just stroll in here and fix me? Not a chance.

Summer and my mom have been chatting for the past forty minutes, so I wandered outside to check on the firewood situation behind the shed, wanting to clear my head. It does fuck-all to help. Maybe if I hadn’t been so blindsided by this . . . maybe if she wasn’t a complete babe, I’d have a shot at acting somewhat normal. Instead, I’m acting like a dick.

But, hey . . . I guess that’s what I do best these days.