All Chapters of The Famous Hockey Star Is My Patient : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

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

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

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

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

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