Page 29 of Offside

Declan stepped in front of me while Vicki helped me back into the jersey. His hands didn't touch my shoulder again.

"What?" I asked.

"You heard the limits." Declan held my eyes.

"Every one of them."

"I'm asking whether you're going to follow them," Declan said.

"I will."

He stepped aside. We were up three-two with nine minutes left when I returned. Garrett met me at the bench door.

"Wall's mine," he said.

"I know." I went over the boards behind him.

On our first shift, the winger sent the puck deep on my side again. I didn't race him to the glass. I stopped at the bottom of the circle, gave Garrett the corner, and watched the play develop around the net. Garrett took the contact and moved the puck behind him. I was already where the pass arrived. One touch sent it up to Eriksson without a reach or a fight. The puck left the zone before their second forward could close. I looked at the bench. Vicki held up one finger for the first report.

I moved the right hand once on my stick and shook my head. Nothing had changed.

The next shift started with a defensive-zone draw. Luca tied up their center. The puck went to the wall. Their winger tried to pull it into the slot, but his hips opened before the puck moved. I stepped into the lane and forced him back outside. My stick stayed low and my shoulder stayed quiet. After thirty seconds, I changed.

With two minutes left, they pulled their goalie. Six skaters spread across our zone. I held the space in front of Kieran and let Garrett chase the puck below the line.

Their point man looked for the backdoor pass. I couldn't take the whole lane with my reach. I took the half that mattered and made him send it through two bodies instead of one. The puck hit Luca's skate and kicked toward the boards. Garrett cleared it.

The horn sounded with the score still three-two. The building got loud. I tapped Kieran's pad and joined the line at center without lifting my right glove above my shoulder.

The next afternoon, active elevation stopped at my ear. Declan measured it twice. Zoe stood at the next station with her tablet, watching the second attempt. Vicki moved through the room behind us. Our corner was no longer private.

"Same point," Zoe said.

Declan entered the number. He said it aloud before he wrote it like he always did.

"Strength is down from Monday," he said. "Passive range is preserved compared with last night. Pain is six at the top and three at rest."

"Four at rest," I said.

He looked at me.

"It changed."

He nodded, then finished the note without softening it or turning the night into a permanent forecast. When he reached the assessment, he angled the screen toward me.

"You want to read it?"

I stood. There were two chairs beside the station. I didn't use either. I came around behind him and read over his left shoulder, close enough to see the fields without taking the tablet from his hands. The door stayed open. The uncovered window looked into the corridor.

The note said the joint had sustained a new loss after contact. I'd finished within physician restrictions through adapted positioning and early puck movement. Preservation of passive motion didn't erase the reduction in active function. A new physician review and a revised load plan were recommended.

"That's going to contract evaluation," I said. I read the assessment again. "That's the first honest thing anybody's written about what it costs."

Declan's hand stopped over the screen.

"The September note was honest."

"It said what I couldn't do. This also says what I can do instead."