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The Famous Hockey Star Is My Patient

The Famous Hockey Star Is My Patient

Romance
last updateLast Updated : 2026-06-09
By:  Authoress KemiraOngoing
Language: English
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Synopsis

Fast-Paced Plot

Dark Romance

Badboy

Dominant

Goodgirl

Forbidden Love

Office Relationship

Affair

When New York Defenders’ star goalie Ronan Hale suffers a brutal knee injury that threatens to end his career, the last thing he wants is help. Bitter, broken, and determined to push everyone away, Ronan shuts out the world—until the team assigns him Ivy Summers. Bright, relentless, and armed with killer playlists and terrible puns, Ivy is the new physical therapist who refuses to quit on him. What starts as strict daily rehab sessions quickly turns into something far more dangerous when Ronan’s stubbornness lands him in even worse shape. Now, Ivy is forced to move into his luxurious penthouse as his live-in therapist. Trapped together day and night, the tension becomes impossible to ignore. Her hands on his body during therapy. His gruff commands slowly melting into reluctant smiles. Stolen touches, late-night confessions, and undeniable heat blur every professional line between them. But as rumors swirl and his comeback hangs in the balance, Ronan must decide: keep his walls up and lose the only woman who saw past them… or finally fight for the future and the woman who could heal more than just his knee.

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Chapter 1

My first day

Oliver's POV

I drove without saying a word. The silence inside the car was suffocating.

Cara Hartley finally spoke up. "Oliver, it's really not what you think. Dominic and I just run a social media account together. We film a video every now and then. That's all."

I let out a flat hum and went quiet again.

She grabbed my hand and pressed it against herself, urging me to hit her. "Smack me, scream at me—I don't care. Just please don't go silent on me like this."

I slammed the brakes. The car jerked to the side of the road.

Dominic Vale, sitting in the back seat, broke the silence. "What exactly do you want him to say? We're all adults. Everyone knows what's going on."

He met my bloodshot eyes in the rearview mirror.

"We all nearly died today, so we might as well be honest. She and I have been sleeping together for a while.

"The day your dad passed away and you flew home for the funeral, we did it in your bed. We even made a mess of the sheets. You washed them yourself when you got back."

I clamped my hands over my ears, but his voice still seeped through my fingers.

"And your last birthday, when you were sitting in that restaurant waiting for the two of us. And just now, in the airplane bathroom—"

"Shut your mouth!" Cara snapped, cutting him off.

She threw the door open and shoved Dominic out of the car, then moved me into the passenger seat.

She took the wheel, but her voice wouldn't stop shaking.

"All the things he said were just accidents. None of it meant anything. You know how we are when we drink together. They were all drunken mistakes, nothing more."

Dominic was a big personality, brash and generous, always the first to throw himself in front of trouble for me.

In college, when I was getting bullied and frozen out by everyone, he was the only one willing to call me his friend. He had my back for four straight years.

I still remembered the wedding. Cara and I were making the rounds with toasts, and Dominic grabbed a bottle and challenged her to a drinking contest right there at the table.

"If you can't even outdrink me, how the hell am I supposed to trust you to take care of my boy?"

After that, whenever there was a dinner or a round of drinks, I stopped being part of it. The two of them would excuse themselves to go smoke and come back with their arms slung around each other, laughing at some joke I wasn't in on.

It was like they already had a world of their own. And the truth was, their so-called friendship had crossed a line a long time ago.

But this time was different.

In what she thought were her final moments, Cara had reached for Dominic's hand. And the note she left behind said only one thing.

"Never forget Dominic."

That wasn't just lust. Even someone as dense as me could see it for what it really was.

I sat there listening to her ramble on with excuse after excuse. I didn't know what I was supposed to feel anymore. I just exhaled.

"Cara, I'm tired."

She froze for a second, then her expression softened. "Of course you are. You've been on a plane all day. I'll make you something to eat when we get home."

When we pulled into the driveway, she hurried out and came around to open my door. The phone she'd left on the driver's seat lit up.

It was a text from Dominic.

"I know him. If he didn't blow up, he's already over it.

"We just cheated death. Want to come over for another round?"

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61 Chapters
My first day
Ivy's POV Let me tell you something about professional athletes. They don’t break quietly. I learned that the hard way my first official day with the New York Defenders. The physio room smelled like antiseptic and regret, the kind of sterile chill that seeped straight into your bones. I’d spent the morning setting up my station—resistance bands color-coded, foam rollers stacked like tiny soldiers, my playlist already queued on low because silence made these guys twitchy. Also due to my past failure with an athlete, My career was literally on the line.“Unbreakable” by cbg was humming through the speakers when the door slammed open hard enough to rattle the glass. Ronan Hale didn’t walk in. He limped. Crutches under both arms, jaw locked so tight I could see the muscle jump. Six-foot-four of pure goalie menace wrapped in a Defenders hoodie that had seen better days. His dark hair was messy like he’d dragged his hands through it a hundred times, and those famous ice-blue eyes
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Damn it, Summers!
Ronan's POV Let me tell you something about pain.It doesn’t just sit in your knee. It crawls up your spine, settles behind your eyes, and whispers every single thing you’re about to lose.I stared at the ceiling of my apartment long after the physio session ended, counting the cracks like they were a scoreboard I couldn’t beat. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight if I squinted hard enough at the corner near the light fixture. The ice pack strapped to my knee had gone half-melted, damp against the brace, but the throbbing underneath hadn’t gotten the memo.On the TV across the room, a replay of last season’s playoffs looped silently. Me in full gear. Mask on. Dropping into butterfly, glove snapping shut as the crowd exploded. The broadcast cut to slow motion, the commentators’ voices muted but familiar in my head anyway.Unbreakable Ronan Hale.I grabbed the remote and killed the screen.Silence rushed in, thick and heavy.And then, like a penalty I couldn’t kill, a name slid into the quiet.
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You're not scared of me
Ivy's POV Let me tell you something about stubborn athletes.They test every limit you set, then glare at you like you’re the villain for enforcing them.And let me tell you something about new lead physios.We don’t get the luxury of failing quietly.I walked into the physio room the next afternoon with my bag slung over one shoulder and a fresh playlist already running in my head. Something upbeat, slightly aggressive, the kind of energy that says we are working today, whether your ego agrees or not.The room still smelled like antiseptic and cold determination. Same treatment table. Same equipment. Same battlefield disguised as recovery.I had added a few things overnight—mini bands, a balance pad, an extra foam roller. Small upgrades that made a big difference if the patient actually showed up ready to work.A message notification buzzed on my phone as I set my bag down.Coach Reynolds: Update on Hale’s mobility progress ASAP.I stared at it for half a second, then locked my scre
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Not an option
Ivy's POV Let me tell you something about routines in this job. They feel solid right up until the second they shatter. I had everything timed perfectly for our three o’clock slot. Playlist queued to a mid-tempo track that built energy without overwhelming, fresh ice packs chilling in the mini-fridge, and a new set of resistance bands laid out like colorful soldiers on the counter. The physio room smelled the same—antiseptic sharp and faintly metallic—but I’d cracked a window to let in a sliver of spring air. After yesterday’s small win with the clamshells and that accidental brush of his fingers, I figured today we could push a little further into single-leg balance drills. Nothing crazy. Just enough to remind his body it still knew how to trust itself. I checked the clock at 2:58. No crutches in the hallway. No low growl announcing his arrival. By 3:05 I was pacing the narrow space between the treatment table and the stability balls, phone in hand. Ronan wasn’t the type
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What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Ivy's POV The penthouse hit me like a slap shot to the ribs the second I stepped inside.Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Manhattan skyline, all sharp glass and steel that screamed money and isolation. Security had waved me through after a quick scan, handing over a sleek keycard and muttering something about “team discretion.” My emergency kit felt suddenly ridiculous slung over my shoulder—like bringing a band-aid to a war zone. Two Defenders staffers waited in the massive open living area, both wearing matching grim expressions. One was the assistant GM, the other a media handler whose name I’d already forgotten.“Ivy Summers?” the GM guy said, checking his watch. “Good. Ronan’s en route from the hospital. Wheelchair for now—doctor’s orders after that fall. We need you to stay put here until they bring him up. No press, no leaks, nothing. Just handle the next seventy-two hours like your career depends on it. Because it does.”I nodded, throat tight. “Understood. Elevation eve
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Stuck with me
Ivy's POV Night settled over the penthouse like a heavy blanket I couldn’t kick off.I unpacked in silence, movements mechanical—clothes folded into the sleek dresser, toiletries lined up in the attached bath, emergency kit placed on the nightstand within easy reach. Every few minutes my ears strained toward the wall separating my room from his. No sounds yet. No thumps, no muttered curses. Was he still alive?After the blow-up in the living room, Ronan had wheeled himself down the hall without another word. The slam of his door had sounded like a warning shot. I’d given him twenty minutes, then knocked softly to check vitals and set the first ice cycle. He’d barked a single “Fine” through the wood and told me to slide the meds under the gap if I had to. So I did. Then retreated.Now it was past ten, lights dimmed to a soft glow, and sleep felt impossible. My mind kept replaying his face in that wheelchair—furious, closed off, the kind of angry that came from fear wearing a mask.
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Pain level?
IVY'S POV Morning light sliced through the penthouse windows like it had a personal grudge.I stood in the kitchen at seven-thirty, coffee brewing and a couple of protein-packed smoothies already blended. Sleep had been spotty after last night’s ice pack visit. That tiny request for the playlist kept replaying in my head, small but significant. Like a single pebble cracking a frozen lake. I queued up a gentle morning mix—nothing too energetic yet—and kept the volume low.The sound of wheels on hardwood made my shoulders tighten. Ronan appeared from the hallway, maneuvering the wheelchair with one strong arm. His hair was damp from what I guessed was a careful sink wash, and he’d changed into a fresh black t-shirt that stretched across his chest. The knee stayed elevated, but his face looked tighter than before. Pain lines etched around his eyes.“Morning,” I said, sliding a smoothie across the island. “Figured you might want something easy before we start the session.”He eyed the
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Just needed some air
IVY'S POV The afternoon dragged like a penalty that refused to end.I busied myself organizing the medical supplies on the living room side table, rearranging compression wraps and gel packs for the third time. Ronan had gone quiet after the morning session, wheeling himself to the far end of the massive couch where sunlight didn’t quite reach. He stared at his phone, scrolling through what looked like old game highlights, thumb moving slower each minute.I hated the silence. It gave my thoughts too much room to wander—how his skin had felt warmer than usual under my palm during the glute bridges, the way his eyes had tracked me across the room like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t want answered.“Lunch is ready,” I called out, carrying two plates to the dining table. Grilled chicken, quinoa, and steamed vegetables—simple, nutrient-dense, exactly what the nutritionist had recommended. “Come eat while it’s hot.”He didn’t move at first. Then the wheelchair wheels turned wit
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Too tight?
IVY'S POV Evening wrapped around the penthouse like a slow, heavy fog.I dimmed the main lights after dinner, leaving only the soft glow from the kitchen island and a single lamp near the couch. Ronan had been restless since late afternoon, shifting in his wheelchair more often, his face drawn tighter with each passing hour. I knew the signs—the meds were wearing off, and the swelling always liked to flare up when the day cooled down.“Time for another round,” I said, carrying the ice pack and compression sleeve over. “You’ve been favoring that side too much when you move.”He didn’t fight me this time, just rolled closer to the couch and transferred himself with a controlled exhale. I knelt beside him on the thick rug, carefully wrapping the fresh ice around his knee. My fingers worked the straps into place, brushing the sensitive skin just above the brace. He stayed completely still, but I felt the subtle tremor in his leg muscles.“Too tight?” I asked.“No.” His voice came out l
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Not always
IVY'S POV The clock on the kitchen wall showed eleven-fifteen, but the penthouse refused to settle.I moved through my nighttime routine on autopilot—brushing my teeth, changing into an oversized t-shirt, setting my alarm for the next ice check. Every small task felt louder than it should in the quiet space. That moment on the couch earlier kept replaying in my mind: his thumb on my hand, the way his voice had dropped when he called this dangerous. My skin still tingled where he’d touched me.I padded back down the hall toward my room when a muffled sound stopped me cold. A sharp inhale, followed by what sounded like a curse bitten back. Ronan’s room.I hesitated at his door, then knocked lightly. “Everything alright in there?”A long pause. “It’s nothing. Go to sleep, Summers.”The words said one thing, but the strain in his voice said another. I pushed the door open anyway. He was sitting up in bed, leg propped high on pillows, one hand pressed against his thigh like he could phys
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