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The facility was always open to players. I could do some easy laps, tire myself out, then maybe, I’d actually sleep. I’d be careful. I wouldn’t overdo it. She said it would be alright for me to use the pool more than twice in one day.

When I reached the arena at 11:37, I found Ellie’s vehicle sitting in the parking lot.

I pulled into a space three rows over and stared at her vehicle, my hands locked on the steering wheel.

That was late. Way too late. What was she doing here?

I got out of the truck and headed inside.

The facility was quiet other than the hum of the HVAC and the distant sound of a janitor’s cart rolling somewhere on the upper floors. I checked the treatment room first but found it empty.

She wasn’t in the gym or the break room either.

Fear trickled through me. She was alright, wasn’t she?

Her office light was on at the end of the hallway, spilling through the crack along the bottom of the door.

I walked toward it, my footsteps echoing on the polished floor.

When I knocked, she didn’t answer. I pushed the door open.

Ellie slept at her desk, her head pillowed on her arms, surrounded by papers and charts. Her tablet glowed beside her.

I stepped closer, careful not to wake her, studying an article, Advanced Groin Strain Recovery in Professional Athletes, lying on her desk with notations along the margins in her neat handwriting. Sticky notes in three different colors marked specific pages.

She’d been researching for me at 11 PM on a weeknight.

My throat closed off.

The office was cold, the AC running too high. She wore a cardigan over her blouse, which couldn’t be enough.

I pulled off my team hoodie and draped it carefully over her shoulders, tucking it around her to keep the warmth in. She burrowed into it without waking, and heat flooded me, though not from embarrassment. Something worse. Hope.

I needed to wake her and tell her to go home. She couldn’t sleep here all night. But she looked tired, and I didn’t want to disturb her.

I grabbed a sticky note from her desk, purple, with the team logo and wrote, Go home, Dr. Lundrig. I’ll still be broken tomorrow.

I hesitated, then added a small smiley face. I stuck it to her tablet where she’d see it when she woke up.

I left before I did something stupid like kiss the top of her head.

Back in the parking lot, I sat in my truck, staring at her office window.

Her light was still on.

My hip still ached, but that didn’t matter. She’d been researching treatment options for me at 11:30 at night.

Twenty minutes later, her light went dark. She exited through the side entrance, wearing my hoodie now, so big it almost hung to her knees. She held the purple sticky note and was looking down at it.

A hint of a smile curved her mouth.

After she’d driven away, I started my truck. I followed her to her condo and waited on the road until she’d made it inside safely.

Only then did I let myself breathe.

A week after I’d reinjured my groin, I started in the locker room at 7 AM, the smell of sweat so familiar it felt like home.

Except my skates felt strange. I’d been off the ice for too many days.