Page 113 of The Goalie in Room 1

My phone rang again as I reached for my keys. The hospital this time.

I stopped with my hand over them.

A complication. Not one of my patients, but one of my surgeons was out of town, and the patient needed an orthopedic consult. I listened, asked three questions, and already knew how the rest of my day would go.

When the call ended, I sent Phoenix a message.

Me

Can’t make it. Hospital.

His answer came almost immediately.

Phoenix

I’ll tell Cash.

I stared at the words.

I could tell Cash myself.

Before I decided whether doing that would look as pathetic as it felt, another message appeared.

Phoenix

He said he figured.

The hospital swallowed eleven hours.

By the time I got home, Cash’s shoes were beside the door again. Laughter came from the living room, followed by the unmistakable sound of something exploding through the television speakers.

He was home.

Not there. Here.

I found him sprawled across the sectional, brace off and leg stretched in front of him. He looked away from the screen when I entered.

“Hey, Doc.”

“Hey.”

“How was the consult?”

I dropped onto the opposite end of the sectional. “Long.”

“Everything okay?”

“It will be.”

Cash paused the game. “You eat?”

I nodded.

His mouth curled. “Good, we saved you something, but Aaron ate it.”

“Of course he did.”

“You could’ve come after.”