Page 1 of Down to Puck

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Yasmín

Hockey is like medicine— exciting, challenging, and bloody.

“Things are heating up on the ice tonight, folks—” the announcer’s voice rings out over the charged roar of the crowd. “Oh! And there it is. Kai Mita and Miami Rays’ captain Sergei Balishnikoff have dropped their gloves.”

The stands are packed. Fans scream and cheer as bodies slam into the boards, spraying ice across the penalty box.

“Looks like Mita is taking matters into his own hands after a brutal attack on Snowhawks’ own number seventeen—”

The visceral play-by-play cuts off abruptly as I shove through a set of stainless-steel double doors and into the brightly lit corridor of a well-appointed triage area.

I’ve been working at The Nest since my last semester of medical school. The Houston Snowhawks’ cutting-edge stadium and training facility was designed from the ground up with hockey in mind. In addition to player housing and a sprawling workout compound, The Nest is home to the best sports injury hospital and physical therapy center in the state.

I joined the Hawks’ healthcare team at the start of my residency. Since then, I’ve worked under the careful eye of the orthopedists, athletic trainers, and PT specialists who keep the Snowhawks on ice. But tonight, everyone is looking to me for answers.

Last week I got the twenty-fourth birthday present of my dreams when Snowhawks team owner Mike Dominican offered me a permanent position as a junior team physician.

Now here I am, fifty-two minutes into my first night on the job— and racing toward an emergency.

“Hey, Doc—” Sawyer looks up as I rush into the room. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Sawyer Lawson is the best center in the league. Sharp, quick, and focused, Sawyer is usually two steps ahead of the rest of the team. He’s also the Hawks’ captain and— if the rumors are to be believed— a complete cinnamon roll off the ice.

With his blonde hair, blue eyes, and laid-back Southern charm, it isn’t hard to see how Sawyer earned the nickname Captain America.

He doesn’t look especially relaxed at the moment. Sawyer is pacing the length of the room, his long strides eating up the tile floor. There’s blood splattered across the front of his kit— mottled splotches of maroon that look nearly black beneath the fluorescent lights.

“What happened out there?” I wrench open my medical bag and tug on a pair of gloves. “I couldn’t see the fight from where I was sitting.”

Sawyer shakes his head. I’ve never seen him angry before, but there’s cold fury behind his eyes now.

“There was no fight. Two assholes took a cheap shot at Emerson.” Sawyer jerks a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the player strapped to the gurney behind him. “They hit him from behind— and they kept hitting him after he was down.”

Emerson Stone is closing in on the league record for most game-winning goals in a single season. The Snowhawks forward is popular with the press— and even more popular with the girls on social media. #HockeyHusband has been trending nonstop since the Hawks’ final roster was announced.

Emerson also spends most of his off days volunteering at the Third Ward housing projects where he grew up. He created a co-ed junior hockey league coached by several of his teammates and donates most of his substantial earnings. It’s a side of him that the media never sees. But everyone at The Nest knows Emerson Stone has the biggest heart in the NHL.

And the hardest skull.

“Tell me he’s going to be okay, Doc.” Sawyer’s jaw is clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

There’s an unwritten rule in medicine: catch feelings, people die.

A physician needs to be able to distance themselves from their patients. Staying neutral and unaffected by injuries is what sports medicine is all about.

Seeing Emerson strapped to a backboard, blood soaked into his hair and clothes, it’s impossible to remain impartial. The space between me and the rest of the team melts away. I may not be on skates, but tonight— I’m a Snowhawk.

“I’ll take care of him, Captain.” I square my shoulders and look up into Sawyer’s face. “Get back on the ice. The team needs you.”

Sawyer nods once before stalking away without another word. I turn to Emerson, his movement restricted by the cervical collar around his neck.

I’d hate to be on the other team right now.

* * *

“Mr. Stone, do you remember me? I’m Doctor Rashidi— Yasmín.” I click the penlight with my thumb, sweeping the soft beam between his pupils. “Can you tell me where you are?”

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