Maybe I should just surprise her tomorrow, but before I can overthink it, I hit send. The message whooshes away.
I stare into the phone, hoping she reads it, but I’m left on unread for several minutes.
Witt leans over my shoulder. “What did you say?”
I read it out loud. “Looking forward to our appointment tomorrow night. I think we have a lot to talk about.”
Witt nods. “Yeah.”
“What?” I ask as I shove my phone into my pocket.
“That definitely sounds like something that could terrify a person.”
I can’t help the smirk forming on my face. “Good.”
Because if Annika or Anna thinks I won’t find out what she’s hiding?—
She’s about to find out how wrong she is.
ELEVEN
ANNIKA
Parker: Looking forward to our appointment tomorrow night. I think we have a lot to talk about.
I read Parker’s text for what must be the millionth time since last night, and still have no idea what we have to talk about other than his fear or the expectations he places on himself.
Hockey?
The way we collided on the ice and he caught me with cat-like reflexes and twisted me before my back slammed into the ice?
The way his hand brushed mine a few times as we skated side by side around the edges like we were two people who didn’t irritate each other more often than not?
Or maybe this is his version of calling a truce.
That thought is the most dangerous of all. Because skating with him was… nice.
Too nice. Too easy.
And that shreds every bit of power I hold.
Now the sun is long gone and darkness presses against the clinic windows while I sit in my office. I’ve never liked being inside with the light on when it’s dark outside. It makes you a prime target. People can see in, but you can’t see outside.
I sit in my office wearing a slate blue blouse and black, wide-legged dress pants and a pair of black heels. I open my laptop once again and finish going over my notes from the day and making sure everything is input into the system.
Taking a peek at my watch, Parker O’Ryan will never learn what irritates me most of all—being late. But I can’t say that I don’t value the extra few minutes to think about his text.
However my brain works best in daylight. Most athletes do as well. Nights are for recovering, resetting, and pretending your thoughts aren’t louder in the dark. I canceled on Parker so when Jenna asked to move him to an afternoon slot because another patient was sick, I told her no.
The irony isn’t lost on me. I make an exception for Parker knowing his Tuesdays are full from morning until night. Seven minutes. He’s seven minutes late.
Maybe he’s in his car working up the nerve to talk to me about whatever. He has been more open and comfortable with our sessions at practice and the call from the press box during the game. He seemed at ease at the rink, like all his worries disappeared while he was skating. We have that in common.
Still, Parker is at his most dangerous when he softens. It makes me forget all the ways he gets under my skin.
Jenna taps on my door, opens it, leans in with her coat already on and purse over her shoulder. “Your celebrity just walked in.” She chuckles, “You want me to tell him you charge $500 for every late minute?”
“No, send him in.”