Page 13 of Golden Goal

Rebecca

I peek at Holt a few times out of the corner of my eye as we make our way down the hallway. I feel bad for the guy. I may not be a hockey player, but I can sympathize. I’m sure it would feel horrible being told you can’t do your job for a few weeks. Especially when you essentially live and breathe your job for over half the year, and it’s something you’ve worked and trained your whole life to get to do.

A job I’m sure he loves doing. So I get it.

Once in my office, we spend the next thirty minutes going through his treatment plan, including the extra hip, and quad stretches I want him to do on his own.

“No skating?” he asks, running a hand through his hair, something I’ve noticed he does often.

“Not for at least a week.”

He meets my gaze, and I realize for the first time how blue his eyes are.

Like the ocean. They’re gorgeous.

I wonder if they change color with his moods. If they darken when he’s turned on or get brighter when he’s happy. If he wears certain colors do his eyes get bluer? I shouldn’t be wondering about those things. He’s my patient.

He blows out a breath. “Okay.”

“The massage therapist is expecting you after our session tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds good.” He stands from the chair, stretching his neck. “Bye, Dr. Jansen.” He dips his chin.

“Bye. Have a good one,” I tell him before turning to my computer and getting started on a treatment plan for one of the forwards who has been having elbow and wrist pain.

I get lost in my work for the rest of the day and absolutely do not think about the injured goalie.

“Knock, knock,” Sutton says from my doorway as I’m wrapping up my day.

“Hi,” I greet her as she steps into my office. “What’s up?”

“A few of us are going out for happy hour. Are you interested in joining us?”

“Umm.” I swallow, unease flowing through me.

“It’s totally fine if you can’t—”

“I’d love to, but I don’t drink,” I blurt out.

“That’s fine,” she says without missing a beat, and I relax. “We usually eat dinner while we’re there. But you’re more than welcome to come and hang out even if you don’t want to eat.”

I’m surprised she can’t hear my exhale when she doesn’t ask me for an explanation about why I don’t drink. The number of times I’ve had to defend my choice of not drinking over the years is too many to count.

I’ll never understand why people care so much about the choices adults make in their personal lives, whether that be the food and drink they consume or don’t consume, who they love, or anything else that is really none of anyone else’s gosh darn business.

“So you in?” Sutton asks.

I contemplate her invitation. I want to make friends, and this is probably the best way to go about it. She didn’t say any of the players or their wives would be there, so it’s probably not crossing the line. I can always make an excuse and leave early if I have to.

“Yeah, I’m in.” I stand, grabbing my bags. “When and where? I’ll run home, feed my cat, and change.” I peer down at my scrubs, making a mental note to keep a change of clothes in my office in the future.

“I’ll text you the details. It’s not too far away.”

She pulls out her phone and begins typing. My phone dings with the message she sent. “We’ll probably be there around six. Does that give you enough time? Ansley is still in a meeting, and I told her she could ride with me since her car is at the shop.”

“Six works.”

“I’m so excited.” Sutton claps her hands together, before turning and all but prancing out the door.