Page 45 of The Goalie in Room 1

Eyes locked on Cash lying stretched out on the OR table, I stood watching the surgical team prep Cash and the room. Everything looked fine, moving along like the well-oiled machine my operating team had become over the years. As usual, they had the PA system turned on so I could hear if they needed me. Usually during this time, I reviewed the case notes and images.

Not today. Today, I listened to Cash joke with the staff. He had them all in stitches.

“Which of you Masked Avengers is the doc with the sleepy-time juice?”

“That’d be me, Mr. Benjamin. My name’s Michael Devenport.”

“So…the doc’s okay with nepotism. Good to know.”

I chuckled.

“Just so we’re clear, Mikey,” Cash said, pointing at Michael, “the last time I got stretched out on a table naked for a bunch of people in a cold room, somebody told me to count backward from ten.”

Michael laughed and said, “That sounds about right.”

“Yeah, well, I made it to seven. I’m looking for a better performance out of you today.”

“You planning to train for it this time?”

“I’ve had three surgeries in the last eleven months. I’ve been training all year.”

After the long conversation he and I had on the patio of Halo House, I knew what he sounded like when emotion hovered just below the surface. Unable to stay away, I headed into the OR.

Cash’s voice carried over the sounds of surgery prep. “I was promised that anything I say after the drugs start doesn’t leave this room.”

Everyone chuckled, but it was Evan, our resident Breakers fan, team clown, and my physician assistant, who said, “Nobody promised you shit, Money. That would ruin all our fun.”

“That’s bullshit. I wanna speak to management.”

“They’re supposed to be working, kid,” I said with a smile, patting Cash on the shoulder.

“Oh good. Management. You gotta rein these fuckers in, Doc.”

Everyone laughed, used to brash, foul-mouthed professional athletes. Especially hockey players.

“Yeah, I’m not pissing them off for you, kid. I’ve got to work with them day in and day out,” I responded and caught a few eyes sliding my direction.

“I’m seriously questioning your hiring standards, Doc,” Cash said, pointing at Rochelle’s, my surgical nurse, scrub cap.

A diehard hockey fan, Rochelle wore one of her many team-branded caps. But she hated Vancouver, and the Breakers as their affiliate. Rochelle rooted for San Jose and didn’t give a shit what anyone had to say about it.

“You’ll get over it,” Rochelle said with a laugh, moving away to help Luis gather the items needed to create the sterile field.

I usually left when the field started getting set up. I looked at the door and back at Cash before I pulled a stool close to sit near his head. The moment my ass hit the stool, everyone faded away, and I asked, “You doing okay?”

His eyes bounced away from mine, flitting from person to person and surface to surface before he said, “Yep. I’m an old hat at this by now.”

The words were meant to be yet another joke, but I hated that he’d gone through so much over the last year. Giving him a minute to collect himself, I let my eyes wander around the room, checking over the team and their prep work.

“Nina, do we have what we need?” I asked, watching her work at the graft prep table.

“Yes, Dr. Vale. Everything looks good here.”

“Hey, Doc?”

I looked down at Cash. “Yeah?”

“Odds?”