Page 3 of One Pucking Heart

The worst thing to be is desperate. One will sacrifice their soul to rise out of that state. I should know.

The guy looks at me with an obnoxious grin. His eyes are focused to the point of not blinking. It’s unsettling. I’ve been working for the Crane organization for an hour, and I’m already questioning my choices. Is this a dream job for a sports medicine doctor fresh out of residency? Absolutely, and I’m grateful for it. Will it kill me to work in a culture of toxic masculinity? Not all at once, no… but I’ll slowly die inside, little by little, each day.

Because of assholes like the one staring at me right now.

Beckett Feldmore is an attractive man; there’s no question about that. In fact, everyone knows it—most of all, him. I researched the team and everyone on it before the game today. It’s not hard to figure out who Beckett is. Yes, he’s one of the starting forwards and lead goal scorer. He has athletic talent. Yet game stuff aside, he comes from money, a golden boy who has gotten everything he’s ever wanted. He’s a man-whore, and his team nickname is Feltmore, a play on his last name.

Felt more ass?

Felt more tits?

Felt more women?

Probably all of the above.

Everything that has gone wrong in my life is because of a man who is too handsome, too powerful, and too fucking cocky for his own good. From my daughter’s father to my own, most men in my life have done nothing but hurt me.

I never saw myself working for an all-male team. I suppose I pictured myself helping women in sports. Yet a job like this, with its salary, benefits, and prestige, is a blessing. One that I still can’t believe is real.

At forty years old, it has taken me twenty-two years to get here. That’s a long time. As a single mother, I struggled to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. I worked full time, took classes when I could, and raised my daughter. Not a minute of the past twenty-two years was easy. But I’ve finally done it.

My favorite attending physician at the University of Michigan Hospital, Dr. Ameson, recommended me to Dr. Hoomeister, insisting that I was the best resident she ever had. As the story goes, decades ago, when Dr. Hoomeister was an attending physician and Dr. Ameson was his resident, she was the best he’d ever had. The two have remained close since. And, apparently, Dr. Hoomeister saved the owner of the Crane hockey team’s father from certain death years ago, a debt that got Dr. Hoomeister this job, and his recommendation for his replacement, mine.

This job is the result of a long line of luck, coincidences, and being in the right place at the right time. However, everything leading up to it was nothing but sacrifice—giving a hundred and ten percent of myself every day for two decades.

The amount of debt I carry is astronomical. There was no way I could turn this opportunity down. As stated, desperate times…

So what if I have to work with men like Beckett “Feltmore”? I’ve dealt with worse—way worse. I simply need to hike up my big girl panties, keep my head down, do my job, and cash my paycheck.

“Can you repeat that?” Beckett sits up taller in the hospital bed.

Brows furrowed, I steal a glance toward Dr. Hoomeister as he stares straight ahead, oblivious.

“I’m sorry. What part did you want me to repeat?” I question the injured player. I’ve been talking for a while and have given him a lot of information.

“Can you repeat all of it? Everything you said.” He shrugs his shoulders and gives me a cheeky grin. “I was kind of zoned out.”

“I can recap for you, honey,” a woman, who I can only assume is his mother, responds.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I want to hear it from her.” His blue-eyed stare holds mine.

I run my palms down my thighs along my black polyester pants, the fabric doing nothing to absorb the moisture on my skin. My palms sweat when I’m anxious, angry, or nervous, and right now, I’d say I’m all three. Dealing with chauvinistic men will always make me a little anxious, no matter how many hours of therapy I’ve been through. I’m nervous that I won’t keep my mouth shut and behave professionally, which would jeopardize this job. More than anything, I’m angry that I’ve just calmly and thoroughly explained everything to this man, and the prick didn’t bother to listen to a word I said. For all he knew, his career was on the line, and he chose not to pay attention to his test results. I’m not often rendered speechless, but I have to admit, I’m having difficulty forming words.

Pulling in a calming breath through my nose, I plaster on a smile. “I’m Dr. Elena Cortez. I’ve been hired by the Crane organization and will be replacing Dr. Hoomeister when he retires. Today was his last day.” My voice is sickeningly sweet and more monotone than usual, but it’s the best I can do.

“Wait, Hootie is retiring? You’re done? No announcement or goodbye party or anything?” Beckett looks at the man to my right.

“Well, due to some new health issues, I recently decided to retire at the end of the season. I thought the season would last longer, and I’d be able to make a proper announcement,” Dr. Hoomeister answers.

Ouch. There’s no mistaking the wince on Beckett’s face. The comment hit deep. I’m guessing losing to Pittsburgh was a shock for him, too.

I continue. “I’ll be in charge of your care as you recover. As I mentioned, your knee has a grade 3 MCL tear. The good news is that no other ligaments were torn. You’re especially fortunate that your ACL wasn’t injured. An MCL tear will have you out for four to eight weeks. You’ll be in pain for a few days and need to rest your knee for a month or so. After that, we’ll start rehab. So while a ligament tear is never ideal, I’m confident we can have you back to one hundred percent before next season.”

“Really?” His face lights up, and for a moment, he looks like a little boy. “I’ll be able to play next season? You’re sure?”

I smile, and it’s not completely forced. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to. As long as you follow my directions during recovery and work hard in physical therapy, you’ll be ready.”

“Oh, I will follow your instructions to a T, Doctor.” He claps his hands together. “This is awesome news!” He turns to his family.

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