Page 75 of Pucking Around

“I’ve had several in the past,” he replies. “It’s one of the most common injuries in hockey.”

“Especially for goalies,” I add.

I’ve been doing my research since the moment I was first offered the Barkley Fellowship. All the major joints take a beating in ice hockey. For goalies especially, it’s the hips and knees that end careers. Meniscus and ACL tears, strain on the hip flexors, groin pulls. It’s brutal.

“So…how would you treat one?” he murmurs.

I know I’m pushing him out of his comfort zone by making him talk to me. But it struck me as I’ve watched him over the past several weeks that I might just be theonlyone pushing Ilmari Kinnunen. The coaches push him in practice, sure, but it’s also clear they think the sun rises and sets out of his ass. Hard to argue the point when he makes a shutout look as easy as breathing.

“So, groin pulls,” I begin. “You say you’ve had them before?”

He nods.

“How bad?”

“With one, the whole inside of my groin and upper thigh turned black and blue, tender to the touch for weeks. I lost almost three months of my season before they cleared me to skate again.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a bad one. Unless there’s a total tearing of the muscle that requires surgery, it just has to clear up on its own. I always hate feeling like my hands are tied, but it’s really on the athlete to put in the work—or in this casenotwork—and let the body heal itself.”

He nods, listening intently.

“What did your team doc prescribe at the time?” I ask. “What was your treatment plan?”

“I was benched,” he replies. “Ice for twenty minutes every four hours for the first week until the inflammation went down, compression bandage on my thigh during the day.”

I take a sip of my Diet Coke. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Do you have a good stretching and core strengthening regime in place? You like the work Doctor Avery is doing with you?”

He goes still, his expression turning placid, wholly unbothered. I have a feeling this might be an Ilmari-ism. Something about Avery or this line of questioning is bothering him.

I glance around. Most of the guys wear big, noise-canceling headphones and either sleep or play games on their phones. No one is paying attention to us. “Do you wanna talk about it?” I murmur, leaning closer.

“No.”

“Mars—”

“I said no,” he repeats, his expression now cold as ice. “Avery is fine. Everything is fine.”

“Ilmari, you don’t have to—”

“You made me do this,” he growls, pointing a finger in my face. “Youmade me ask you a question, and now we’re finished. Move seats if you must.”

I know what he’s doing. He’s in full goalie mode, shutting me out. But I’m not a puck he can just bat away with a flick of his wrist. Oh no, I am soooo much worse. I’m Doctor Rachel Watch-me-beat-this-dead-horse Price. And this conversation is not finished. Not even close.

We’ve got a prettygood system in place for when we return from away games. We all mingle in the big multipurpose room that doubles as a sort of cafeteria. The chef service preps a big brunch for all the players and staff with egg bake casseroles, fresh fruit, and pancakes by the stack. It’s cheat day for the guys, so they stuff their faces with double and triple helpings of everything.

Meanwhile, PT and medical staff stay on hand to do check-ins. We’ve set up in the corner with a massage station. Several of the guys start a rowdy soccer circle close by, and more than once I’m forced to duck from a flyaway ball.

“Oops—sorry, Doc!” Langley yells, chasing after the ball with one of J-Lo’s little girls hard on his heels.

I try to keep my eye on Ilmari as I examine a few bruised knees and help the PT intern strap an ice pack to Karlsson’s shoulder. “Yeah, just like that,” I murmur, holding the end of the bandage down as Teddy winds it around. My gaze darts left as I watch Ilmari slip out of the room. “Yeah, then just tape it down—hey, you cool to finish up?”

“I think so,” Teddy mutters, all his concentration on his wrap job. He’s not quite over the starry-eyed, I-get-to-touch-professional-athletes magic of the job.

I pat his shoulder. “You’ll do great. Karlsson, Teddy’s gonna begin the amputation now, okay? Just breath it out.”

“What?” Teddy squawks as Karlsson huffs a laugh.

I wander off, trying to avoid making it look like I’m stalking Kinnunen. I snatch some grapes off the buffet table before slipping out the same door he went through. This is a massive practice complex. He could be anywhere. I snoop around, slowly working my way back towards the gym.

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