Page 75 of Offside for Christmas
"Standard for what? Showing off?" Ellie's professional mask cracked slightly, anger bleeding through. "This isn't Boston. This isn't about your papers or your reputation. This is about a patient's health. And you just compromised it to prove a point."
"Now hold on—" Matthews started.
"She's right." Cole's voice cut through the room, rough with pain but absolutely certain. He looked directly at Coach Davis. "It's my body, and I'm telling you—I trust her. I won't be doing any more 'tests' with Matthews."
Coach Davis had been silent through the whole exchange, watching, assessing. Now he turned to Matthews, his expression hard.
"Thank you for your consultation, Mr. Matthews. I think we have everything we need."
Matthews blinked. "But I was supposed to oversee his return to play—"
"And Ms. Winters will handle that. I'll have accounting send you a check for your time." Coach's tone left no room for argument. "I'll walk you out."
"Coach, I really think—"
"Now, Mr. Matthews."
The finality in Coach's voice was absolute. Matthews grabbed his tablet and bag, his face flushed with humiliation. "This is highly irregular. The board—"
"I'll handle the board." Coach held the door open. "After you."
Matthews shot one last look at Ellie—part anger, part disbelief that he'd been dismissed—then walked out, hisexpensive athletic wear and designer bag seeming absurd in the modest training room.
The door closed behind them.
Ellie let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Then she turned back to Cole, slipping immediately into professional mode. "Ice pack. Twenty minutes. Then I need to wrap it."
"Ellie—"
"Anti-inflammatories every six hours. No overhead movements for forty-eight hours. Light mobility work only—I'll write up a protocol." She was moving as she talked, getting ice, preparing a compression wrap.
"Ellie."
"After seventy-two hours, we'll reassess. If the inflammation is down and pain is minimal, we can start rebuilding the conditioning. Another week, maybe ten days depending on how it responds—"
"Ellie." Cole caught her hand, stopping her efficient movement. "I'm sorry."
She looked at him—really looked at him. His face was tight with pain, with frustration, with guilt.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," she said quietly.
"I should've listened to you. I just—he was talking about you like you didn't know what you were doing, and I wanted to prove him wrong."
"By potentially re-injuring yourself?" But her anger was fading, replaced by something softer. "Cole, you don't need to defend my competence by hurting yourself."
"I know. I just..." He looked away. "I hated him talking to you like that."
Ellie's chest tightened. She applied the ice pack to his shoulder with gentle hands. "Well, he's gone now. And you're going to heal. Again. Because apparently, we're doing this twice."
"Can I still come tomorrow? To the kids' skating event?"
"You're not skating."
"I know. But I promised Finn I'd be there. I can still show them some stick-handling, right? That doesn't use the shoulder much."
Despite everything, Ellie felt herself smile. "Light stick-handling only. And you're sitting down as much as possible."
"Deal."
