But his knee? I recognized the signs of someone trying to push through the pain. Not surprising, since he was the captain. Even just being around him, I could sense the weight of pressure that was on his shoulders. The expectation of a whole team, and a whole city.
He answered my questions professionally. He didn’t try to flirt with me or resist.
“Minor patellar tendinitis,” I finally diagnosed. “I don’t think you’re at risk of injuring it further, but I’m going to put you on a rehab schedule to strengthen the muscles around it.”
He nodded. “Sorry for trying to hide it. My defense mechanism is to put my head down and work harder.”
“I get it. I’m the same way.” I removed my gloves. “Anyone else hiding an injury that I should be aware of?”
Cole looked out into the locker room. “Not to my knowledge.”
I followed his gaze, and noticed a big, bearded guy pulling an icepack off his ribs. “What about him? The viking-looking dude?”
“Eli?” Cole shook his head. “He’s our goalie. He doesn’t talk much, and he gets a murdery look in his eyes when people bother him. I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but you should probably leave Eli alone.”
“Thanks for the advice. I’ll send you the rehab schedule when I finish up here.”
“Appreciate it.” He gave me a respectful nod, then gathered his things and returned to the locker room.
At least there’s one guy on this team with a good head on his shoulders, I thought while typing up my notes into my computer.And of course he’s the captain.
While the team continued celebrating in the locker room next door, I finished up my work, happy to have gotten through the first game of the season.
4
June
The next two weeks were a blur of activity. First, the team flew to Tampa to play the Lightning. I got to travel with everyone else, flying on the plane and staying at the same hotel. That’s when itreallysank in that I was a member of the team, and not just an outsider who showed up to diagnose injuries.
Then we had two home games in a row, against the Boston Bruins and Nashville Predators. We lost one of those in overtime, but won the other, putting us at a solid 3-1 record after four games.
I had studied the team roster before the first game, but now I was slowly learning more about the players than their names and positions. Cole was a calm leader, choosing to speak quietly to each of his teammates rather than making big speeches in the locker room. Elias Nystrom, the goalie from Sweden, was even quieter than Cole had suggested. I only heard him say one word in those first four games, and it was a firm “no” when one of the other guys asked if he wanted to get a drink after the game.
The Atlanta Reapers were a well-rounded team, with several star players who could take command of the game on any given night. But Rhett Lawson was, by far, the flashiest player. Heglided around the ice with the skill of a figure skater and struck with the quickness of a rattlesnake. He seemed to feed off the energy of the home crowd, raising his hands and gesturing for the fans to make more noise whenever he scored.
He also kept pestering me after every game, pretending like his shoulder was injured and that he needed a deep tissue massage. It was all in good fun, and I brushed him off every time with a biting comment that always made him grin wider.
Until the game against the Utah Mammoth during a road trip out west.
We lost in overtime after what Coach Jay said was a “bullshit slashing penalty.” The team filed into the visitor’s locker room, tired and unhappy. I was watching from the doorway of the trainer’s room. Elias, the goalie, was touching his ribs again. It didn’t seem to be affecting his performance,yet. But part of my job was helping the players avoid injuries that would force them to miss time.
He was intimidating, though. Six-foot-six, broad-shouldered, and with a thick blond beard, he really did look like a viking had come to life and put on a bunch of hockey equipment. Not to mention Cole’s warning that I should leave him alone.
But the way he sat on the bench and very carefully removed his shirt, as if his left side was paining him…
“June?” Rhett suddenly asked me.
I tore my eyes away from Elias. “Let me guess. You need a massage with baby oil and scented candles.”
But Rhett wasn’t smiling. He was holding his shoulder and staring at my feet like a boy who had gotten caught doing something wrong.
“Shit,” I said. “You’re not faking it, are you?”
His sapphire eyes met my gaze for a split second, then he looked down again and shook his head. He had already stripped down to his compression shirt.
I sighed. “Come on, let’s take a look. The facilities here aren’t great, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“It happened in the third period,” he offered without me needing to ask. “I was, uh, fighting for the puck behind the net…”
