Page 47 of Huge Pucking Play

"How is the player’s improvement irrelevant?" The words escape before I can stop them.

Marjorie's eyes narrow to slits. "Protocol, Cynthia. This organization operates according to established protocols.Protocols that I, as head of physical therapy, establish and oversee." She jabs a finger at the treatment plan. "This is not our standard approach to hip impingement."

"But the standard approach wasn't working for Evan," I explain, trying to keep frustration from my voice. "He plateaued after three weeks. This adapted protocol breaks through that plateau by?—"

"Did Daniels complain about his treatment?" Marjorie interrupts.

"No, not at all. In fact, he's been very positive about his progress."

"Then there was no reason to deviate from our established methods." Marjorie's tone suggests this should be obvious. "You've created unnecessary risk. If Daniels were to experience complications, the organization could be liable."

Heat rises in my chest – not embarrassment now, but indignation. I’m a certified physical therapist with specialized training in sports medicine. My approach to Evan's treatment wasn't a whim; it was a carefully considered professional decision based on current research and Evan's specific needs.

But Marjorie isn't done. "Effective immediately, you will return to our standard protocol for hip impingement. You will explain to Daniels that the previous approach was administered in error."

"Let me be absolutely clear," Marjorie continues, each word precise as a scalpel. "I am responsible for the protocols used in this department. Not you. Not Dr. Katsaros. Not Daniels himself. Me." She closes the file with a sharp snap. "If you cannot adhere to this basic principle, perhaps you're not suited for this position."

I sit frozen, caught between professional integrity and self-preservation. I know my approach is sound. I know Evan isimproving. I also know that finding another position with an NHL team would be nearly impossible if I were fired.

"I understand," I finally say, the words bitter on my tongue.

"Good." Marjorie nods curtly. "You'll submit a revised treatment plan for Daniels by the end of the day. One that adheres to our standard protocols."

I rise from the chair, my legs unsteady with suppressed anger.

I walk through the door and close it quietly behind me despite the urge to slam it. In the hallway, I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The relief that this wasn't about Garrett is overshadowed by professional frustration and fear for my job security.

I can’t continue to go through this level of worry.

Chapter 15

Garrett

Iadjust my tie in the mirror and try to ignore the flutter in my stomach. It's been five days since I last touched Cyn, and the thought of being in the same room while pretending we're just colleagues makes my fingers clumsy with the silk knot at my throat.

"Damn it," I mutter, undoing the mess I've made and starting over.

My phone buzzes on the dresser. I glance over to see Cyn's name on the screen.

Cyn: Just got to the venue. Sophie's freaking out about her veil.

Me: You okay?

Cyn: All good. Looking forward to seeing you.

She adds a winking emoji that makes my body respond in ways I can’t control.

I finish with my tie and step back to assess the full picture. The charcoal suit fits well – one advantage of staying in shape after retirement. My hair is neat without looking too styled.

I check my watch. The ceremony starts in an hour. I want to give myself plenty of time to get there. Plus, I’m anxious to see Cyn.

Evan Daniels has been a good friend since I arrived in Chicago. As the team's veteran goalie, he took it upon himself to help me settle in, showing me around the city. I like his fiancée Sophie too – she's warm and genuine, and watching their relationship has made me wonder if I might be ready for something real again.

After my divorce eight years ago, I swore off serious commitment. Spent my time golfing in Palm Springs and dating women who wanted the same things I did – companionship without complications. It was fine. Easy. But empty, if I'm being honest with myself.

But Cyn...Cyn is different. She's challenging and direct and passionate about her work. She doesn't care about my former NHL status or the money I've made.

I grab my phone, wallet, and keys and head out of my condo. In the elevator, I straighten my tie again and rehearse how I'll greet her at the wedding. Casual. Professional. "Hi, Cyn, nice to see you." Maybe a brief hug if others are hugging too. Nothing that would raise eyebrows.

---