Page 21 of Pucking Around

It’s all true, but it makes me sound cooler than I am. The operating room isn’t my favorite place to be. I prefer to work on athletes before and after the surgeons take their turn. But Doctor Halla demands a holistic education for all his residents, so I clocked hours observing hip and knee replacement surgeries whether I wanted to or not.

“Based on your records, you’ve worked with everything from Olympic swimmers to golf pros to—I believe it wastwelveof the Cincinnati Bengals?”

I sigh, frustrated with myself that I let self-doubt creep in. “Yes, sir.”

“Well then, Price, I don’t think there’s really much else to say,” he says with a shrug and that same kindly smile. “You’re qualified. Hell, you’remorethan qualified. Our guys are going to be in good hands. And I need everyone pulling their weight. You ready to grab an oar?”

I nod. “Yes, sir. More than ready.”

“Perfect. Then let’s go. The exhibition game starts at eleven, and I want you to see the guys in action. I’ll have Hillary get the players signed up to do physicals with you starting on…oh, let’s say Monday? Give you the weekend to settle in. Sound fair enough?”

I smile, standing as he stands. “Yes, sir. More than fair.”

He groans. “Yeah, and you can nix the ‘sir’ nonsense. Call me Scott, call me Tyler, anything but ‘sir.’ It reminds me too much of my father,” he adds with a suppressed shiver.

I laugh. “Got it. And you can call me, Rachel.”

He leans over his desk, offering out his hands again. “Welcome to the Rays, Rachel. Now, let’s go meet the team.”

10

The practice arena is buzzing with activity. Tyler takes me through to a restricted section of the stands right on center ice behind the plexiglass. The chill of the ice raises the fine hairs on my arms. A few other people are already seated in this section, tablets and clipboards in hand. We do a quick round of intros, but it’s hard to hear over the blasting sound system.

Avery I already know. He’s a big guy, built like a linebacker. He keeps his hair shaved close and his brow is furrowed with lines. He’s sitting next to a young guy I saw in the PT room earlier. I think he might be an intern. He’s super handsome—tall and lanky, with deeply tanned skin dusted with freckles across his face. His eyes are a piercing green and his black hair is thinly locked, pulled away from his face with a sport headband. When he sees us, he gives a smile and a wave at Tyler.

On the far side of the rink, the arena seats are full of excited fans eager to watch the exhibition game. The music thumps through the loudspeakers as the guys skate around.

“Is that the Bear?” I say at Tyler, pointing to the goalie.

Tyler chuckles. “Kinnunen? Heck no. That’s Kelso, the third string guy. He’s fighting it out with Davidson for a bench seat. Trust me, when Kinnunen is on the ice, you’ll know.”

I spot Caleb, back bent over a guy’s skate, jerking a blade loose. He clicks a new one in, giving the guy’s ankle a tap. In moments the player hops the barrier and he’s back out on the ice.

Caleb glances around, spotting me, and I wave. He gives me a cool guy nod and turns away. I roll my eyes, but in moments my phone dings.

CALEB (11:03AM): How’s the first day going, Hot Doc?

I huff a laugh, glancing towards him, but he’s gone.

RACHEL (11:03AM): Hot Doc? Seriously? What happened to Hurricane?

The buzzer goes off and all the guys clear the ice.

CALEB (11:04AM): To me, you’re Hurricane. To the rest of the guys, you’re Hot Doc.

To my horror, my phone pings with screen shots from a group chat. Apparently, the guys have been tracking my whereabouts for the last hour like I’m an escaped cheetah loose in the building. It’s beyond embarrassing.

“Oh god,” I groan, tapping out a reply.

RACHEL (11:04AM): How much is it gonna cost me to get you to help me squash the Hot Doc nickname?

My phone is quiet for a few minutes, and I settle in with my tablet, ready to take notes as the guys start hitting the ice to the cheers of the fans. It’s just an exhibition, so it’s Rays on Rays. Half the guys are wearing white practice jerseys, half are wearing teal. Kelso, the third string goalie is in a white jersey.

The crowd roars as a new goalie takes to the ice wearing teal and my breath catches. He’s massive. The goalie pads already make a regular guy look like Optimus Prime. This man could swallow Kelso whole.

“Thaaaat’s Kinnunen,” Tyler says with a grin. “Two-time Stanley Cup winner, star of the Finnish Liiga. That’s the Bear.”

“Yeah, I caught that,” I reply. My phone dings but I can’t take my eyes off him. How can a man that big play goalie? He can’t possibly have the agility needed to move fast enough. Right now, he’s ambling towards the goal like an unbothered grizzly, twice as big as the next closest guy.

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