Page 7 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

"I'd rather walk."

"I know."

"You're not very agreeable."

"I'm very agreeable when patients make smart choices."

"And when they don't?"

Her mouth barely moves.

"Sam, please bring the gurney."

Somewhere behind her, Liam gives a strangled laugh.

Coach doesn't.

Coach is crouched untying my skates now, face drawn tight in a way I don't like. Our trainer, Mark, drops beside him and leans closer.

"Jamie."

I know that tone. I've heard it in locker rooms, tunnels, hotel hallways, and after games when the cameras are gone and nobody needs to pretend anymore.

"Same shoulder?"

His eyes flick to my left side. Not surprised. Worried. Too worried.

I nod and swallow. "I'm good."

The woman stills.

Not much.

Just enough.

Her gaze moves from me to Mark.

Mark doesn't argue. He only lets out a slow breath through his nose.

That is worse than arguing. Because it tells her everything. This isn't new. This isn't one bad hit. This is a body that has been making deals with pain for months and finally ran out of things to trade.

"Define good," she says.

"Still conscious."

"For now."

"That's comforting."

"I'm not here to comfort you." She checks something near my left side, gentle but firm. "I'm here to get you off this ice without making this worse."

I want to answer.

I want to say something sharp enough to make Liam laugh and Coach stop looking like that. I want to see Ethan breathe easier.

But the next breath scrapes wrong inside my chest.

The arena grows louder again for a second. Not cheering. Murmuring.