*
“I still can’t believe you pulled this off,” I whispered, although I could’ve said it out loud and nobody would’ve heard. Not with the whole team shoved into the hospital waiting room.
Leading Round 3 by three games to two would do that. They were amped up and geared for the final push. A bitter taste rose in the back of my throat. I should’ve been part of it. Should’ve been fine by now.
Reese shrugged, looking all too proud of herself. “My plan hinged on several moving parts. First I had to convince Holly that CT scans are run-of-the-mill for an overall fitness look, and great for PR. Then I needed her to back me in that reason, and take it to McAvoy. I used me being the sole trainer as leverage. The more I know about the team, the better I can serve them on the road to the Cup.”
“Callahan.”
Hunter shot out of his seat when the tech called his name. “I hope you’re ready to see the most beautiful films of your career.”
“You’re a genius,” I said, leaning in close, and a slight flush rose in her cheeks.
She elbowed me in the ribs, laughing softly. “Glad you finally came around.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’ve earned it,” I said. “How did you manage to land me an MRI though?”
“Management knows you’re injured,” she replied, pretending to pick some fluff from her pants to uphold the image of not speaking to me while she was totally speaking to me. “I told them an MRI would be more conclusive, and help me get you back on the ice sooner rather than later.”
I sat back in my chair, mildly astounded by the lengths she’d gone to get the scan without making it seem like anything out of the ordinary. Or… how far she’d gone to get her way. She’d been on my case about this scan from the start.
“You’re something else, you know that?”
She allowed herself a furtive glance, a slight smirk. “I’ve been told.”
“We have a Bouchard for the MRI?”
Everyone went quiet, and all eyes landed on me. Reese tensed, and I gave her a reassuring smile as I got up.
"How come he gets a different test?” Shawn asked.
I turned to answer, but saw that Reese was actually following right behind me.
“Just covering the bases,” she said, and motioned for me to keep going.
“You don’t have to come with me,” I said out the corner of my mouth. “It’ll look weird.”
But her stride never slowed.
“I’m the one who’s been working with you, doing your rehab, following your fitness.” We’d cleared the waiting area, out of sight of the rest of the guys, and she took this moment to give my hand a small squeeze. “Of course I’m coming with you.”
After a quick prep and explanation that went totally over my head, they got me on the table of the MRI machine and left the room. I caught a glimpse of Reese’s hair, a quick brush of her hand on mine. “I’ll be in the booth. Watching.”
I nodded, and a few seconds later, the table slid me into the tunnel inch by inch, my bad shoulder pinned in place by molded plastic and straps that didn’t feel all that helpful. The coil hovered close, a hard shell framing the joint like a warning.I stared at the inside curve of the machine, white and too near, while the tech’s voice crackled instructions through the headset. Stay still. Breathe normal. As if my shoulder hadn’t already decided it was the only thing worth thinking about.
The first sequence started and the machine answered with a relentless knocking that shook through my bones, each pulse landing right where it hurt. I kept my eyes open, fixed on the small window of glass at the end of the tube. Reese stood in the control booth beside the tech, arms folded, attention locked on the screens. She caught my eye and lifted two fingers in a quiet sign I recognized from the bench.You’ve got this.I swallowed and held still, counting the sounds until they blurred together, telling myself that whatever showed up on those images was already there whether I looked away or not.
Afterwards, we all went back to wait for the bus. The guys had thinned into clusters, some playing cards, some on their phones… I paced the length of the breadth of one corner and tried to ignore the look on Reese’s face when I’d come off that table.
Or how she’d been avoiding talking to me since.
I could’ve been imagining it, but it all felt a little too convenient. Checking on the guys, talking to Coach, and now she was caught in an urgent battle with the vending machine down the hall.
She looked different. Not rattled, exactly, but like she’d withdrawn into her head. Which was way worse.
I’d gone into this feeling decent. Confident enough. I came out lighter, even. The scan was done. The noise was over. Whatever it was, it was out of my body now, living in images and reports and words other people would argue over.
But she’d been in that booth, and I couldn’t help thinking what she saw had something to do with this change in her mood.
