Page 11 of Hat Trick Daddies

His bluntness catches me off guard, and I fumble for a response. “Uh, thank you for the opportunity. I’m looking forward to learning from you.”

He finally glances at me over his glasses, his expression skeptical. “We’ll see.”

The interaction leaves me a little deflated, though I do my best to shake it off.

I’d known this wasn’t going to be easy, but hearing outright that he’d rather retire than deal with me is a blow I wasn’t expecting. Still, I’m determined to prove myself, no matter how ornery he is.

I shadow Dr. Martin through his first two appointments of the day. The first is with Reggie MacDonald, the Co-Captain and center of the team.

Reggie is built like a brick wall, with a thick Scottish accent and an easy grin that lights up the room.

“Ah, Dr. Perry, welcome to the madhouse,” Reggie says as he shakes my hand. His grip is strong, but there’s a warmth to it that immediately puts me at ease.

“Thank you, Mr. MacDonald.”

“Reggie,” he corrects. “None of that formal nonsense. We’re all friends here, aye?”

Dr. Martin clears his throat pointedly, his irritation palpable. “Let’s get on with it. Reggie, sit.”

Reggie chuckles as he sits on the exam table, shooting me a wink. “The old coot doesn’t like too much chatter during appointments,” he says, clearly enjoying the chance to annoy Dr. Martin.

As Dr. Martin runs through the usual checks and adjustments, Reggie keeps the conversation alive, asking me about my background and how I ended up here.

I can feel Dr. Martin’s disapproval like a weight in the room, but Reggie’s friendliness makes it hard not to respond.

When the appointment ends and Reggie leaves, Dr. Martin turns to me, his expression dark. “I don’t like too much talking during appointments.”

Annoyance flares in my chest, but I bite back a response. It’s going to be a long day.

The next appointment is with Adan Thomas, the team’s left wing. Adan strolls in with an easy confidence, his movements fluid and relaxed. He greets Dr. Martin with a nod and me with a curious glance.

“Dr. Perry, this is Adan,” Dr. Martin says, his tone perfunctory. “Adan, sit.”

Adan raises an eyebrow at the curt order but complies, settling onto the exam table.

This time, I stay quiet, determined to avoid irritating Dr. Martin further. I watch as he starts the adjustment process, observing his techniques and filing them away for later use.

As Dr. Martin works, I notice something slightly off about Adan’s posture.

Tentatively, I speak up. “Dr. Martin, have you tried adjusting his scapula from a lateral angle? It might help with the tension here.” I gesture to the area near Adan’s shoulder blade.

Dr. Martin pauses, his eyebrows lifting slightly. Without a word, he shifts his position and applies the adjustment I suggested. Adan lets out a relieved sigh, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

When the appointment ends and Adan leaves, Dr. Martin turns to me. “Impressive,” he says gruffly.

I know it’s the best compliment I’m going to get.

By the time lunch rolls around, I’m desperate for a moment to collect myself.

The hallway leading to the breakroom feels endless.

Meeting Dr. Martin had been as awkward as I’d expected, but somehow even more exhausting than I’d prepared for.

As I walk, my thoughts stray to the appointments I’ve shadowed. Reggie’s easy camaraderie and Adan’s quiet poise had been refreshing in the middle of the day’s chaos.

But now, an entirely different realization hits me like a freight train: I’ve chosen a career where I’m surrounded by prime physical specimens every single day.

It’s almost funny. Most of my classmates from med school have settled into roles where their patients are older or less mobile.

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