Page 73 of Offside for Christmas
"Morning, Ellie!" His smile was all white teeth and practiced charm. "Big day. You ready to see how the professionals do it?"
Ellie set her bag down with more force than necessary. "I'm ready to clear my patient for play."
"Our patient, now." Matthews tapped something on his tablet. "Team effort and all that."
Coach Davis walked in, looking tired. Cole followed, his expression thunderous. His eyes found Ellie's immediately—Are you okay?—and she gave him the tiniest nod.
"Alright, let's get this done," Coach said. "Ellie, you're running the assessment. Matthews is here to observe and provide his professional opinion."
"Of course." Matthews settled into a chair, tablet ready. "I'm all eyes."
Ellie took a breath and centered herself. This was her job. She was good at it. Time to prove it.
"Cole, up on the table. Let's start with range of motion."
For the next forty-five minutes, Ellie put Cole through every test she'd designed. Shoulder flexion, extension, rotation. Strength tests with resistance bands. Stability exercises.Functional movement patterns that simulated hockey-specific motions.
Cole performed perfectly.
His strength was symmetrical—left and right shoulders matching within 2% margin. His range of motion was 100% compared to his baseline. He was pain-free through every movement, even the aggressive ones. His scapular stability was textbook perfect.
"Internal rotation," Ellie instructed, her hands guiding his arm. "Any pain?"
"None."
"Resistance against my pressure. Push."
Cole pushed. Solid, strong, controlled.
"Good." She stepped back, reviewing her notes. Every metric was green. Every test passed. He was ready.
Ellie turned to Coach Davis, her voice steady and professional. "He's ready. I'm clearing him for Saturday."
Relief flooded Cole's face. Coach looked pleased.
Then Matthews stood up, clapping slowly. "Excellent baseline work, Ms. Winters. Truly. Your thoroughness is commendable."
The patronizing tone made Ellie's jaw tighten.
Matthews glanced at his tablet, swiping through screens. "However, based on my proprietary data analysis—I've been tracking his neuromuscular velocity metrics and bio-mechanical load distribution—he actually reached these benchmarks ten days ago."
He’d read her files, her notes. How?
Ellie's stomach dropped. "Excuse me?"
"Don't get me wrong, your conservative approach is very safe. Very prudent." Matthews's smile didn't reach his eyes. "But my professional assessment is that he could have been cleared for the last two games. Your caution, while understandable forsomeone with your level of experience, cost the team a valuable asset on the ice."
The words landed like a slap. Coach's expression shifted—not quite doubting her, but considering.
"I followed proper protocol," Ellie said, her voice tight. "Rushing a rotator cuff recovery leads to re-injury rates of—"
"I'm familiar with the statistics, Ms. Winters. I wrote a paper on accelerated recovery protocols that's currently being cited in three major sports medicine journals." Matthews was still smiling, so damn pleased with himself. "But I understand—when you're working in a small facility without access to the latest diagnostic technology, it's better to err on the side of caution."
Cole's hands clenched into fists. "Ellie's protocol was perfect—"
"I'm sure it felt that way," Matthews interrupted smoothly. "But feelings aren't data. Speaking of which—Coach, I'd like to run one final stress test before we officially clear him. Something to simulate extreme game conditions. Make absolutely sure he's ready for NHL-level play."
"What kind of test?" Ellie asked, alarm bells ringing.
