Page 19 of Iowa Intellect
Usually, I focus on the puck like a dog that has recently discovered the perfect stick, but today, my mind keeps wandering back to Caroline. Even though I’ve never left a practice early before, it’s tempting to skate right off the ice and march up there to protect her.
Granted, she likely doesn’t need or want my protection, but that doesn’t stop the caveman-like urge to save her that bubbles uncomfortably in my gut.
Stoner seizes the opportunity of my lack of focus to slam me into the wall––hard. Normally, I appreciate the fact that we go full-force and refuse to take it easy on each other during practice, but right now, it’s hard to feel grateful for the reminder to keep my mind on the ice.
I shake it off and get up with renewed determination. Practice will go much faster if I focus on what I’m doing. As soon as we finish, I’ll be able to track down Caroline and find out what this morning’s impromptu meeting with the team brass was all about.
Deciding to give Stoner a dose of his own medicine, I charge after him. The two of us are what females would likely refer to as frenemies. Deep down, we like and respect each other, and we always enjoy cracking open some beers together. But that fondness is buried deeply beneath a heightened sense of competition that erupts whenever the two of us hit the ice.
“You’ll pay for boarding me into the wall, Stoner!” I shout the warning in my most menacing tone.
Never one to back down from a challenge, Stoner yells back, “Bring it on, Brick Man. There’s plenty more where that came from.”
I have no doubt about that, but I’m sure not going to admit it to him.
Wheeler passes the puck to Stoner. One good thing about Stoner is that he is single-minded when it comes to driving towards the goal. That narrow focus means that he’s easier than most to surprise. Picking up speed, I rush to cut him off.
I’m nearly there when he rears back to take a shot.
The unmistakable sound of the door to the rink closing draws my attention. I glance up at Caroline for a fraction of a second and try my best to determine if she is upset.
As I’m working to read her expression, I realize too late that I’ve skated right into the line of fire without doing any defensive maneuvers to block Stoner’s shot.
The realization that this is really bad barely has time to register before my bucket flies off my head and the world goes completely dark.
20
CAROLINE
Stupid, stupid man. Scratch that… Stupid woman.The icy fear spreading through my veins is precisely the reason why I need to maintain a professional distance from the players. I’m their doctor, and I’m obviously too attached to this particular player.
I couldn’t stop the terrified scream that emerged from deep in my throat when I saw Brock crash down on the ice after suffering a significant blow to the head.
The rink becomes eerily quiet when the other players realize that a man is down. As soon as they stop skating, the sound of Brock’s helmet spinning around on the ice echoes throughout the arena.
Finally managing to regain a tiny bit of sense, I scramble down the stairs and onto the ice to assess his injuries. Blood is gushing from a deep wound on his forehead, and he has been knocked out cold.
Forcing myself to be his doctor, rather than his lover, I take firm command of the situation. My years of medical training override my emotions as I bark out orders to the gaping players.
My commanding tone does the trick, and the men I point to all scurry to follow my instructions. Six players lift Brock’s unconscious body and quickly carry him to the edge of the skating rink.
Once he’s laid out across a padded bench, I get to work checking his vitals. The hovering men aren’t doing anything to help my already frazzled nerves, so I say, “All of you, get out.”
When they remain frozen, staring at each other and seeming uncertain what to do, I yell, “Now!”
The team coach’s whistle pierces the air just before he says, “You heard the doctor. We’ll finish up today’s practice in the weight room.”
As the players turn away to comply with his demand, I decide that I’ll have to remember to thank the gruff man later for backing me up and ending their practice on the ice early. It’s much easier to properly tend to Brock without a bunch of looky-loos. I know it’s not an ordinary thing for the coach to go easy on them, so I truly appreciate his support.
The player I sent to get Shayna must have quickly removed his skates and sprinted through the hallways because my reliable nurse is already here with my medical bag in tow. Although the woman offers to clean and dress his wound, I shake my head vehemently and get to work. Brock is too important for me to simply stand back and let someone else care for him.
The efficient woman hands me medical supplies, without me having to ask for them. We work together so seamlessly, it’s almost as if she can read my mind and predict what I’m going to want next.
Brock’s eyelids flutter open. Relief surges through my veins to see him awake, but I do wish he’d stayed out for a few more minutes, so he could completely avoid the pain of me cleaning and stitching his head gash.
His eyes sparkle with recognition as he gazes up at me. His voice is edged with grogginess when he asks, “What’s up, Doc?”
I can’t stop the smile that arises at the silly question reminiscent of Bugs Bunny, but I turn serious when I answer, “Not you. You have another serious injury to your head.”
