Page 37 of Dump and Chase

“I crashed into the net and my knee blew up. Simple as that.”

“All right. Tell me a bit about your recovery. I’ll be taking notes along the way, but I can assure you I’m listening to everything you say.”

His expression didn’t change from surly as he told me about his delay in getting surgery and how it had “pissed off” Kodiak management. He’d considered a non-invasive approach that a few other players had tried with varying degrees of success, but after speaking to a few doctors and other players, he’d finally opted for surgery. He’d been working diligently for months, and according to his doctors, he was ahead of schedule in his recovery. I wasn’t sure about that, but I’d check into it.

“I’m doing a lot of training in the water and I’ve started doctor-approved exercise. I’ve been told I can start doing some light lower body training and get in some skates in a few weeks.”

I had no idea if he was full of shit, but I wasn’t going to let him bamboozle me.

“I don’t have your file yet, so I can’t really comment. I know you’ve probably been told this a million times, but you don’t want to speed up your return. You could damage your leg permanently.”

“I know,” he said, giving me a cold stare.

“Give me time to review your file and we can start on your next round of physio treatment then. I’m sure Allan will have some suggestions as well, along with the Kodiaks training team. Does that sound like a plan?”

He shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Is there anything else other than the ACL injury that you would like to discuss?”

“No. Right now, that’s the only thing ruining my career.”

Yeah, he was a happy little camper. It was time to put on my sympathetic face. “I know you want to be back on the ice ASAP, and I want that for you too. You’d probably rather be starting the season with the Kodiaks, but getting some ice time with the Ravens is a good start. Think of it as part of your rehab program to ensure the best return possible to the Kodiaks.”

His jaw tensed, and I thought he was going to spit at me. Thankfully, he was more interested in giving me a lecture.

“Look, you don’t need to be all sunshine and rainbows with me, okay? I can’t stand that kind of shit. All I want is for you to be straight with me. I’m tired of the fake promises and phony professionalism. So can we agree to cut that shit now?”

I think I would have preferred if he’d spit at me, but I also respected his honesty. Now it was my time to be real with him, and it started with the no-nonsense version of Tangi. “Fine, I’m happy to be one hundred percent real with you. There is no way you are going to be in skates in two weeks. Forget that idea. And don’t even argue with me about it. I can tell just by the way you shuffled in here that you’re at least a month away. My guess is that one or both of your legs are giving you grief. So stop kidding yourself, and stop pushing yourself too hard. You ruin that knee and you’re done. You won’t play hockey again. If you want to be playing for the Kodiaks in three months—yes,threemonths—you’re going to follow the orders of your doctors and trainers. You won’t go rogue. That’s the reality. No sunshine. No rainbows.”

His expression was neutral, and he took in a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m guessing you’ve been dealing with a lot of bullshit?”

That almost felt like an olive branch. I offered a smile. “Some. And I’ve worked with a lot of people who have pushed themselves too hard, too fast. I think you’re a prime candidate for that. And I have to wonder if your attitude is the reason you’re here with me and not with the Kodiaks PT.” He didn’t need to know they were sixty-five-year-old pickleballers.

He scratched at the scruffy beard on his face. “I’m not difficult, but I have clashed with the coach. And some of my teammates.”

I arched a brow, then had to stifle a laugh when I saw his expression. “Whodoyou get along with?”

The smallest of smiles crept up on his face. “Not everyone, but then, I’m a competitor. I want to win, and you won’t believe how many guys play this game for the paycheck and the women. They don’t even care about winning or losing.”

I pulled a bag of mini peanut butter cups from one of my drawers and handed it to him. “Have a couple,” I said. “I find they make me happy when everything around me is pretty crappy.”

“I don’t really like peanut—”

“Eat one,” I said.

He pulled off the foil wrapper and popped one in his mouth without further comment.

“Don’t gobble it. Enjoy it.”

I could see him taking his time, and eventually he cracked another smile. “It’s not bad. A bit sweet. I don’t usually eat sugar—”

“I’m not a therapist,” I said, interrupting him again, “but I’m someone who’s been through a lot of shit. So here is advice you didn’t ask for: don’t take it all so seriously. Enjoy the game, enjoy your life, enjoy it all, because you know this career doesn’t last forever.”

“Are you telling me to stop and smell the flowers?” he said as he grabbed another peanut butter cup.

“I’m telling you to cut yourself some slack.”

He thought about that for a second. “I get what you’re saying. I’ll try to be less uptight about things.”

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