Page 26 of Risky Move

“Especially not my husband. I told him he was acting like a caveman…one comment led to another until the whole thing got ridiculous. When I said we declined the contract, he’s like, ‘Why didn’t you say so?’ So, I informed my ‘gorgeous, hunky husband’ that had he contained his inner cave-dweller, I could have told him.” She giggled, along with Cassie and Caryn.

“So, how was the make-up sex?” Caryn teased.

“Unbelievable! If I’d known…”

“Just remember to pick a fight every so often,” Caryn replied with a wink.

“You don’t do that with Andrew?” Cassie demanded.

“My secret. Just something to store in the back of your mind for future reference.”

15

Tom’s first official action as the concussion specialist came during the Suns second homestead. Chance Gagné took a massive hit against the boards. His head crashed against the glass, then in the ensuing retaliation, he somehow got shoved to the ice where his head took another blow. The Suns’ trainer, Jim Pettit, hurried across the ice, and Tom watched on the monitor as the veteran pushed aside any offers of help and climbed back up on his skates. Gagné definitely did not want to leave the ice—his body language spoke volumes. He turned to skate away while the officials sorted out penalties, but Pettit grabbed his arm as did John Peterson. As they skated him off the ice, arguing the entire time, Tom grabbed what he needed and stood outside the dimly lit evaluation room.

“Come on, I don’t need to get checked out. I’m fine. At least I’ll be once I get back on the ice,” Gagné grumbled.

The buzzer sounded, marking the end of the period, and Tom noted the involuntary cringe cross the defenseman’s face. He caught Pettit’s eyes and nodded toward the darkened room.

“Let us do our job, and you could get back in time for the third period,” Pettit said. “Hop up on the table.”

“This is bullshit, and you know it.”

“Humor us.” Tom resisted helping Chance up on the table, wanting to prove a point.

“Fucking skates.”

Both Pettit and Tom grabbed arms before he could pitch forward, guiding, then lifting him up on the table. Tom kept his focus on the evaluation, even as Gagné resisted complying with the assessment.

“Look, you say you’re okay,” he said finally. “If you’d shut up and cooperate, maybe we’ll complete this in time to get you back on the ice.”Or to the hospital.He kept that thought to himself, although Pettit’s body language showed he agreed with the unspoken comment.

Tom knew he’d order a scan if Gagné presented at the ER. His eyes met Pettit’s, who nodded his agreement. “I’ll step out for a minute. Why not lie back and relax, Chance?”

He walked across the hallway to find Coach Harper waiting for him in the training room.

“What’s the verdict, doc?”

“I’d prefer to send him to the hospital for a scan. Precautionary, but with those two head hits in succession…”

“Do what you need,” Harper. “Cooperating, or do I need to speak with him?”

“I think he got the message.” Tom first alerted the ER, per the procedure he and Dan Forster had devised. Either a senior Neurology Resident or Forster would meet the ambulance. The paramedics employed by the Suns had already positioned a gurney in the hallway. Tom nodded to them, then re-entered the darkened room. The smell of vomit did not surprise him, and Chance’s demeanor had changed.

“What’s the verdict, doc?”

“I’ve ordered a scan at the hospital. You have a concussion—the scan will rule out any complications. We’ll monitor you for several hours, probably overnight, then hopefully we’ll release you with recovery instructions or discuss treatment options.” He watched the man’s expression darken. “Can we call anyone for you? Wife? Girlfriend? Anyone at the game?”

“No need to call anyone. Let’s just get this over and done with.”

“The paramedics are ready to transport you,” Pettit said. “Blakely has your wallet and clothes.” He referred to assistant trainer Lucas Blakely. “You want to get out of the skates and pads before you go?” When Gagné nodded, Pettit stepped to the end of the exam table and quickly removed the skates. “Let’s get you into some sweats.”

“I’ll see you either later tonight or tomorrow morning,” Tom said when they were ready to transport. “Hopefully, to sign off on your discharge.”

“I’d better hear you say that.” Chance scowled as the paramedics moved him to the gurney.

Tom touched his shoulder. “I hope that, too. Just remember, you’ll have the best doctors over at the hospital.”

“Gotcha.” Gagné finally closed his eyes as the gurney left the room.

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