Page 6 of The Goalie in Room 1

At the house, I nodded at the driver, said, “Nice to meet you,” and got out. Inside, I walked through the living room and dining area to the kitchen, skirting furniture I refused to admit was no longer there. I sat on a barstool at the counter with my laptop, trying to make a plan.

Two hours later, there was clearly no plan. There were no options. Nothing would keep me from leaving this place behind. Covering the rent for the month was not possible.

Although there was always the option of pulling a Benjamin family trick out of the hat and overstaying the lease. Depending on what the laws were…

No! Fuck that. I’d raised myself to be better than where I came from.

Unable to face reality anymore today, I stumbled through the house— thanks to overdoing it when I stormed out of the doctor’s office— and fell into bed.

2

THAD

Five hours.

Five fucking hours spent bent over the blown-out knee of the reigning Olympic gold medalist and current world champion alpine skier looking to stay on the slopes for another Olympic cycle. The first several made me seriously reconsider every life choice that led me to orthopedic surgery.

Not the surgery.

That had gone beautifully.

It had been the knee itself. It had been a damned mess. Scar tissue everywhere. Like candy being tossed to kids along a parade route. The scar tissue even had scar tissue. It encapsulated the hardware from one of the previous surgeries, of which there had been many. Hardware intended to remain with the man through death and whatever came after. Only that wasn’t the case. The instability that brought the world champion snowboarder to me and that looked questionable on imaging had turned into a “Holy fuck! What the hell did they do in here?” once I got inside.

The case was complicated, messy, and right up my alley.

I liked difficult, but I fucking loved complicated.

Give me the knee three other surgeons had already messed with. The shoulder nobody could get right. The athlete who’d been told good enough when good enough meant giving up half the shit they loved doing.

Routine paid the bills. Funded charities and college scholarships.

Difficult piqued my curiosity. Kept me interested.

Although at that moment, difficult and complicated could kiss my thirty-nine-year-old ass.

I rolled my shoulders as the OR doors swung closed behind me.

Something popped.

“Fuck, that felt good,” I moaned.

The nurse standing at the desk nearby laughed.

“Getting old, Dr. Vale?”

Slowly I turned my head. Mariska grinned like a hyena. Brave woman.

“Would you like me to remember you said that the next time one of you needs an orthopedic consult in the middle of the night?”

“Nope, because with my luck, it will be my oldest forcing me to make the call.”

I laughed. “How’s Levi doing?” I asked, bracing my forearms on the raised desk around the surgical unit’s nursing station so I could step away to arch my back. More cracking and popping filled the space between us.

“The season’s going great. The kid is going to be the death of me. I sit through practice after practice, watching him skate like he’s invincible.”

“He is. All hockey players are. No matter the age.”

“Even thirty-nine-year-old former NCAA Frozen Four champions?”