Page 7 of Vital Blindside

As soon as she’s gone, I gesture to my office and release a tight breath when one of Canada’s best and most well-known female hockey players walks inside. Scarlett maneuvers around me swiftly and stops behind the chair Lilliana was just sitting on.

“I’m sorry about that,” I say.

She cocks a brow. “For what exactly? Making me wait outside your office for twenty minutes or for Lilliana?”

“Both?”

“Thanks.”

Swallowing, I nudge my chin toward the chair in front of her. “Please, sit. It’s nice to formally meet you. I know we’ve briefly spoken in passing.”

She hesitates but after a few silent moments nods her head and rounds the chair, sitting stiffly. I follow suit in my own chair but don’t hesitate to flash her another warm smile. There is no way I’m letting Lilliana Adino’s catty behaviour ruin this interview before it’s even begun. If you can even consider it an interview at this point. It’s more a formality than anything.

I clear my throat. “How long have you been back in Vancouver? When I ran into your mother, she mentioned it was a recent move.”

“A little over a month,” she replies.

Her blue eyes skate curiously over the shelves on the walls and the countless framed pictures and sports memorabilia that line them while I rub at my stubbled jaw, trying to form an estimated timeline in my head.

Scarlett Carter’s career is one that I’ve followed over the years, having watched her win an Olympic gold medal in 2018 with our Canadian women’s hockey team, and I trained a few of her friends before and after that. However, my knowledge only goes so far, and I can’t help but let my curiosity get the better of me.

We have only met once previous to this interview, at a charity game put on by the national league a year ago, and it was more of a passing greeting than a Q&A opportunity. She was playing her second season with the Calgary Blaze and was set to hit a record number of goals that year. To no one’s surprise, she hit that record and then some.

“You only injured yourself at the beginning of last season, correct? A grade III AC joint separation on your left side?” I ask, hopping right in and poking at the elephant in the room.

Her stare snares mine, guarded but not afraid. “So that is a kinesiology degree on the wall.”

I huff a laugh. “Yeah. It pays to have that knowledge around here.”

“Do you work a lot with sports medicine?”

“Not as much as I used to.”

She hums, considering me before saying, “Yes. It was a grade III AC separation. My third one.”

I hiss through my teeth and sit back in my chair. That’s shit luck. The recovery time for an AC separation isn’t the “end of the world” type, but a reoccurring separation would require surgery and a hell of a lot of rehab afterward. Not to mention being labelled injury prone in the eyes of the suits signing your paychecks. Her sudden disappearance from the Blaze and missing attendance at the Olympics this year starts to make more sense.

“If I’m right, you should still have another month or two of physiotherapy to go with that shoulder if you intend on ever playing again. You had surgery, right?”

Scarlett ever so slightly rolls said shoulder, and my eyes latch onto the movement, refusing to look away. My eyebrows pinch with concern.

“I had surgery six months ago. I feel fine now,” she says tightly, and when I finally look away from her shoulder, I’m met with an icy glare.

“Fine?” I release a tight breath. “So if I asked you to stand and do a shoulder extension right now, you’re telling me you wouldn’t feel any pain? Not even a slight twinge?”

If looks could kill, Scarlett would be my executioner.

“Is this a job interview or a clinic visit?” she snaps, digging her nails into the leather arms of her chair. I should stop pushing, but I won’t.

“Right now, it’s both.” I try to keep my tone level, easy. “If you ever want to play again—”

“I can’t play again. I’m done.”

Just like that, the frustration building inside of me depletes, leaving my tank empty of anything but a slight brush of surprise. I should have seen that coming.

“The odds of another injury are too high. It’s too risky,” I confirm. She jerks a nod.

“I’m here for my mom now. My shoulder is good enough the way it is to live with every day.”

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