“Four weeks,” I replied. “October fourth.”
“Did it happen during a game, or practice?”
“Bar fight,” I said.
June’s eyes darted up to meet mine. Like she was trying to decide if I was joking or not.
She sighed and shook her head. “You hockey players and your fights.”
“He started it.”
“Sure.”
It was true. I was sitting at my favorite bar, enjoying a beer while watching a soccer match, when a man came in. The bar was mostly empty, but he sat on the stool right next to me. He ordered a beer, took a single sip, then started shouting at me. Insisting that I had looked at him wrong. Before I could ask what his problem was, he was throwing punches.
I won the fight, but not without cost.
It sounded unbelievable, even though it was the truth. So I didn’t elaborate to June.
She made me move around, twisting one way, then the other. Poking and prodding me while I raised my hands above my head.
“I’ve got good news: it’s not a cracked rib,” she said while removing her gloves. “It’s a strained oblique muscle.”
I stared at June, waiting for her to tell me the next part. I could tell she didn’t want to.
“You should go on the IR list,” she said slowly. “Two weeks, minimum.”
“No,” I immediately said.
“Can I ask why not?”
I was terrified of losing the starting goalie position. I had worked my entire life to get there, and I knew it could be taken away from me in the blink of an eye.
But what I told her was, “Johnson is our backup. He is already on the injury list. Our third-string goalie would have to play. He is not good.”
“I saw that tonight after Jay pulled you,” she muttered while bending over her desk to type something into her laptop. My gaze automatically went to her ass, pressed tight in her khaki pants, but I tore my eyes away.
Hockey was my life. I had no room for other things.
“If I go to Coach Jay with this, he’ll force you onto the IR,” she said, turning back around.
I stared at her.
“My job is to do what’s best for the team,” she explained, crossing her arms under her breasts. “But I also have to build trust among the players. That trust is important, because it means you’ll come to me whenever something is wrong, rather than trying to hide it. I’m glad you came to me, Elias. I’ll help you.”
The tension in my chest lessened. “Yes?”
“A cortisone shot will help with the pain and reduce inflammation,” she explained. “That, paired with a rehabprogram of resistance exercises and stretching, should keep you on the ice.”
I was not a man who smiled, but I very nearly did. “Thank you.”
“No,” she snapped. “I’m not done yet. I have some demands.”
I stared at her.
“You have to do everything on the rehab program. No shortcuts, no half-assing it, no excuses.”
I stiffened. “I do not take shortcuts.”
