Page 11 of Golden Goal

Her nostrils flare. “It’s Dr. Jansen,” she grits out.

Interesting.

I thought I saw her react earlier when I called her Doc, but I wasn’t sure. She might be pretty, but she sure seems to have a stick up her ass about being called Doc. I don’t know why. That’s what we call Dr. Walt and he doesn’t care.

“Right. Dr. Jansen, I don’t need to come in and see you. I’ll spend more time stretching, and in an ice bath, and I’ll be fine. Maybe see the massage therapist.”

She crooks an eyebrow at me, pinning me with an expression that says ‘Don’t you dare argue’. “I’ll be the one to make that decision. After I see you tomorrow morning. In my office. Eleven.”

“Fine.”

Without a word, she continues down the hallway, and I stay rooted to my spot, watching her until she’s out of my sight and I’m staring at the empty hallway.

“You ok, Holt?” Wes asks.

I blink, turning to see my friends and their partners standing behind me. “Yeah. Tired,” I mutter. “Night.”

“I’m going to suggest you be listed as day-to-day, but I suspect it will be a few weeks of rest and physical therapy,” Dr. Jansen says the next morning after she’s had me do a few exercises and stretches.

She called in Dr. Walt and had me repeat a couple of them. Then the two of them whispered together before asking Craig to come into the room.

That should have been the first sign something wasn’t right.

“Two weeks off, at least?” I sputter.

“Probably more than two, but we’ll reassess at the two-week mark and see how things are progressing. Do you agree, Dr. Walt?”

“I do. I’ll talk to Coach Weaver.” Dr. Walt turns to me. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but it’s better we get this resolved now, early in the season, instead of letting it get worse.”

“If you continue to go about your normal routine without treating this now, it could get to the point of possibly requiring surgery to correct. I’d really like to avoid that,” Dr. Jansen says.

I run a hand through my hair. Can’t argue with that, I guess.

“Fine,” I grit out, even though it’s anything but fine.

“Come back after the team meeting, and we’ll go over your treatment plan,” she says.

I give her a curt nod before walking out of the room, trying not to spiral into the worst-case scenario. Hopefully, it’ll only be for a game or two, not the couple of weeks she estimated.

I take a few deep breaths as I walk into our team meeting, and slide into a seat at the back instead of sitting with my friends in the front row. I’m not ready to face them because one of them will know right away something’s wrong. That’s one thing I both love and hate about this team—you can’t keep secrets, at least not for too long. And I’m not ready for this to get out.

It’s a shame because you have so much potential. If only you didn’t shackle yourself to the Storm. Probably why you haven’t won a Vezina yet. You’re almost to the peak of your career, and what do you have to show for it?

I scrub a hand down my face, trying to push Kat’s words out of my head. But it’s hard when she said them to me so many times while we were together, that now I wonder if she was right. She knew right where and how to twist the knife, always bringing up the fact that I hadn’t won the league’s trophy for best goaltender.

“How are you?” Sebastian asks, dropping into the seat next to me.

“Fine.”

He studies me for a second before leaning over and whispering, “we’ve got your back with whatever is going on.”

He meets my eyes before turning to face the front where Coach Weaver is talking. I’m left speechless, my mouth gaping open. What the fuck was that? He and I aren’t really close. My gaze flirts to the front of the room where my friends are sitting. Maybe one of them clued him in.

Or you’re that obvious.

I force myself to stop thinking about it, and focus on the meeting as Coach tells us about the siblings’ trip being planned for next month. A trip I’m sure Hadley, my little sister, will want to go on as long as I’m back to playing.

What happens if it takes me longer than expected to recover from this injury?