Page 74 of Gloves Off

“I can’t talk about the program without highlighting the efforts of one person.” A photo of the woman beside me appears behind Dr. Joshi on the screen, wearing a lab coat, working with a teenager on crutches. It looks like she’s saying something encouraging to him.

“Georgia volunteered to make this speech, but I knew she’d leave out all the nice things about herself.” A few people laugh, and at my side, the doctor rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.

“I had the pleasure of meeting Dr. Georgia Greene when she fractured her lateral malleolus—also known as a broken ankle—at sixteen. She was sent to the sports medicine clinic where I was a new physician. We worked together for six months so she could return to playing soccer with her high school team.”

She played soccer?

The photo behind her changes. It’s a younger Dr. Joshi and the teenage version of Georgia. Same whiskey eyes, same auburn hair. Big grin, with braces.

A fewaws rise around the room. People smile at her.

Dr. Joshi wears a fond expression. “That’s us. Even back then, Georgia was a joy to work with. Smart, curious, and enthusiastic. Incredibly dedicated. Very interested in my shoe collection.”

The room laughs and she flicks to the next photo. It’s Georgia on a soccer field, mid kick. Ponytail flying, a look of concentration on her face. Legs strong and toned.

“Georgia went on to get a full scholarship to the University of British Columbia Women’s Soccer team.”

I turn to her, shock written all over my face. To play on a university team, you have to be good. I didn’t know she was an athlete. She ignores me.

The photo changes, and it’s my wife and Dr. Handjob. My shoulders tense. I hate that she seems to genuinely like him.

She’d never smile at me like that.

“Fast forward fifteen years, and she’s Dr. Greene, applying for government grants and convincing me to start our own athlete injury recovery program at the hospital. She has lured orthopedic surgeons, internal medicine physicians, physiotherapists, and other specialists from all over the world, and I am proud to say we run one of the most advanced programs in the country.”

The room breaks into loud applause.

“Is that all true?” I ask, even though I know the answer. I want to hear her say it, though.

She doesn’t meet my eyes. “Mhm.”

“We can’t talk about the program, though, without mentioning Dr. Greene’s favorite part.”

The photo changes to the doctor with a group of teenage girls on a soccer pitch.

“One goal of our research is to speed up recovery, and Dr. Greene’s hypothesis is that being part of a team environment is a critical part of rehabilitation. Participants have the option to play on a team of other injured athletes within the program. They have weekly practices tailored to their current ability, where they can reap the community and motivational benefits of a team environment under medical supervision. The teams are organized based on age, gender, and skill level.” She smiles at the photo of Georgia and the teenage girls, the one I can’t stop staring at. “This is Dr. Greene’s team, the Vancouver Devils.”

I turn to my wife, who’s still ignoring me. She coaches soccer?

That’s where she goes at night, I realize. She’s either at this hospital program she clearly puts everything into, or she’s coaching soccer.

Dr. Joshi talks more about the program, the other doctors, and some success stories, before she beams at the audience.

“And now, the part we’ve all been waiting for—the doctor auction.”

A ripple of interest moves around the room. My gaze cuts to Georgia. “What is she talking about?”

“We’ll start with the lovely Dr. Greene,” Dr. Joshi says.

“Hellfire,” my tone is sharp, low enough so only she can hear. “What is she talking about?”

“Fucking relax.” She smiles as everyone looks over at her. “They’re auctioning off dates with the doctors.”

Dr. Joshi sends a cheeky grin our way. “We roped Dr. Greene in for this portion of the evening before she was married, but hopefully her new husband doesn’t mind.”

“Someone gets to go on a date with you?” I don’t like that idea. Not one bit.

“We’ll start the bidding at a thousand dollars.” Dr. Joshi points to Dr. Handjob, who has his hand in the air. “We’ve got Dr. Handley for one thousand.”

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