“…when you got into a fight with the Mammoth’s defenseman,” I finished for him. “I saw. Didn’t I tell you not to get into any more fights?”
His lips curled in a small grin. “That’s like telling a chili pepper not to bite.”
The moment I took his arm and moved it, he hissed in pain. That was a bad sign. “Where are you from?” I asked to distract him. “I can’t quite place your accent.”
“Savannah,” he replied.
“Ahh,” I said. “I’m from Charleston.”
“Right up the beach.”
I moved his arm in a circle. “We used to say Savannah is like Charleston, but without all the culture.”
“That hurts,” he said.
“Your shoulder?”
“The Savannah insult,” he replied. “But also my shoulder. Everything you’re doing hurts a little, but it’s really sharp when you extend it like that.”
“I’ve never been to Savannah,” I admitted while I worked. “I’m just passing on what I’ve heard.”
“It’s a great little beach town,” he said. “Humid as hell as soon as you go inland, though.”
“How’d you get into hockey?”
“I wasn’t good enough to play football,” he replied with a laugh. “I tried little league baseball for a few years, but wasn’t much good at that, either. Then a Canadian transplant moved to town and opened a youth league right up the road. Mom was afraid I would get into trouble after school if I didn’t play a sport, so she made me sign up. I’d been roller blading my whole life, so I took to the ice real quick. Traded my baseball bat for a hockey stick and never looked back.”
“I was expecting a story about your dad forcing you to play or something.”
“If only,” he muttered. “Dad disappeared before I was old enough to wear deodorant. Hence my mom tryin’ to find ways to keep me out of trouble.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Not lookin’ for sympathy, just answering your question.” He flashed a smile, as if that made it all okay.
But now my heart was aching for him. It made me appreciate how loving my parents were, even if it felt smothering sometimes.
“What do you think?” he asked, glancing at his arm.
I lowered it to his side. “Rotator cuff. I don’t think it’s torn—probably just strained. You should only be out a couple of weeks.”
Rhett flinched like a bomb had just gone off in the next room. “You’re joking.”
“Afraid not. I’d still like to get you scheduled for some scans, just to be safe. But you’re lucky it’s just a couple weeks. I’ll write up a rehab program for you.”
“No, no, no,” Rhett began pleading. “I can’t miss a single game, let aloneweeks. There’s got to be something else you can do.”
I grimaced. “Sorry, but it’s not up to me. Your shoulder’s injured. You probably shouldn’t have gotten into that fight.”
Even though it felt good to sayI told you so, I immediately regretted the barb. Rhett looked like he was about to cry.
“I’ll get the scans scheduled,” I said more gently, touching his shoulder.
He jumped off the examination table and left without another word. I watched as he went into the next room, violently kicked a locker, then sat on one of the benches and held his head in his hands. One of the other players walking by glanced at the locker, then made a face to another teammate who had witnessed the entire thing.
Coach Jay came into my office and let out a long sigh. “Give me the bad news.”
For the first time since I started here, I disliked my job.
