Page 15 of Heart of a Fighter

Lauren

I watch Zach head toward the rink, a disquieting unease settling over me like I’m shrouded in darkness. Too many things have gone awry. I allowed my personal feelings to override rational thinking, jeopardizing everything I’ve worked for and possibly what Zach’s worked so hard for.

“Shut the door, Lauren.” Dr. Evans sits on the wheeled stool, and I take a chair usually reserved for patients––the chair Granger sat in the first time we kissed.

It would be a lie to say I’d take it all back, to do everything differently given the chance. Everything happens for a reason, right? Life doesn’t offer do-overs, only redemption.

“I don’t like what’s unfolding here, Lauren.” Dr. Evans’ tone leaves no room for argument or excuses. “There’s no room for personal relationships with players. Even the appearance of such is unprofessional and quite frankly a distraction.”

Even though my heart sinks to my stomach, I nod my head. I knew better and ignored the warning.

“You’ve put me in a difficult position. I have the greatest respect for your brother. When he recommended you for this position, I had no reason to believe we’d have problems.” Dr. Evans opens the filing cabinet and extracts a manila file with my name across the top. “Your transcript is impeccable.”

“I appreciate the opportunity, but please don’t blame Zach for my error in judgment. He didn’t have anything to do with any of this.” I wipe my clammy hands on my pants, my stomach bubbling with discomfort. “It isn’t Granger’s fault either. When I ran into him at the store, he was bleeding. He was there to buy a bandage, but that cut needed more than a gauze pad.”

“I specifically told you that players were not to be treated outside the facility unless it was a medical emergency.” He eyes me sternly. “Was this a medical emergency?”

I don’t mean to mince words, but that isn’t exactly what he told me on day one. He said I couldn’t treat family members. Granger’s shared plenty of dinners around our family’s dinner table, but he isn’t blood-related. I don’t think pointing out that fact will help my case, so I keep that little info nugget to myself.

“In my professional opinion, upon close examination of the wound and the subsequent stitches, this was not an emergency situation.” I take a quick breath before the doctor can cut in. “But I assessed it would be in the patient’s best interest to suture the wound properly to circumvent possible infection. Our players deserve the best care for speedy healing.”

Dr. Evans sits quietly thoughtful, which only ratchets up my nervousness. He runs his finger over his jaw as he thinks, the silence deafening.

“Though the severity of the would is a bit of an exaggeration, you make a convincing case.” He taps the edge of the file folder on the counter. “Consider this a warning. From here on out, take all of our policies to heart.”

“I understand, Dr. Evans. It won’t happen again.” I swallow hard, grateful for the second chance. The thought of losing this opportunity, of having a black mark on my record, is terrifying.

“It better not. Your future depends on it.” He’s stern and quick to the point, and I have no doubt that he means every word.

A rap on the door interrupts our conversation just in time. “Hey, Doc. Got a couple of bummed up players.” Graves' eyes dart to mine. “Zach and Granger went at it during drills.”

My heart sinks.

“Be right there.” Dr. Evans tosses the file onto the counter and grabs a medical bag. “Let’s get a move on, Brooks. We might need your sewing skills.”

He smiles briefly, and I breathe a sigh of relief. My nerves are shot, and I’d like to get back to work. Most of all, I need to talk to Granger and make it clear that what’s between us can’t go any further––at least for now.

***

Granger

The locker room is unusually quiet as we file in. Tension from the fight hangs thick in the air, suffocating any attempt at normalcy. Instead, there’s strained silence, punctuated by the metallic clang of lockers opening and closing and the low murmur of hushed conversations.

The weight of every gaze in the room falls on me. When I catch their stray glances, they quickly look away, but there’s no mistaking the disappointment in their eyes. I make my way to my locker, each step heavier than the last. My knuckles throb as I flex them, trying to shake off the lingering pain.

Zach stows his gear a few lockers down the bench. His stony expression only intensifies my unease. Teammates exchange worried glances, and an unspoken question hangs in the air–how did we come to blows? I don't even have an answer for that. We’re friends, brothers, a team.

Coach paces back and forth, frustration and anger etched across his brow. Graves slips through the door, followed by Dr. Evans. I glance past the two men, hoping for a glimpse of Lauren. I shift my gaze at the sharp slam of a locker door. Zach’s locker door. He glares at me, no worse for wear. His tousled hair flops over his brow just above a pink and purple bruise beginning to form under his eye. Dried blood smears across his cheek and chin.

Fuck. I’ve really screwed things up this time.

“What happened today is a disgrace,” Coach snaps, his voice echoing off the walls. The low murmur of conversation dissipates as if swallowed by a black hole. “We’re supposed to be a team, not jackasses going at each other.”

Lauren steps into the room behind Dr. Evans. Her eyes immediately find mine, and her brow furrows. She shifts her gaze to Zach and closes her eyes, shoulders falling as if defeated. Not only did I come to blows with my friend, but I’ve let Lauren down, too.

“I expect better from all of you. When we’re out there, you represent the team, this organization, and this city.” Coach paces back and forth, his eyes scanning the room, ensuring every player feels the severity of his words. Every single one of you should be playing with the goal of making each other better, not tearing each other down.”

He stops, his eyes narrowing in on Zach. “You’re the captain. You set the tone for this team. Your actions should inspire and lead, not incite more chaos.”

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