Broken Ice

Chapter 3

Brady

I really don't want to be here. I tried to tell coach I was fine, but he wouldn't hear it. It had been an awful practice, but that was more of the norm recently. It was like skating in circles sometimes. I felt like I was always out of position or a few beats behind on the play. I was just missing passes. My defense had gone to shit right along with my shooting. Losing my spot on the second line sucked. I had developed a great chemistry with Calder, but even that was a struggle. Hockey was as much mental as it was physical, I knew that better than anyone, but that didn't seem to help my situation.

After I had emptied my stomach of lunch in the locker room in front of all the guys, they called in the team doc to take a look.

"He took a hit to the right side during one of the drills." Nick, the head athletic trainer, had reported to doc after he had arrived in the training room.

I am certainly more comfortable now out of my equipment and after a hot shower. Regardless, the training staff insisted I get checked out.

"I keep telling everyone I'm fine. I think it was just something I ate." I tried to stand, but the grimace I attempted to conceal didn't go unnoticed.

"Looks like I will be the judge of that." Doc Reinhardt was a no-nonsense kind of guy. He was easily in his late 50's, but he had this large, bushy gray beard that made him look like a skinny Santa Claus. His bushy eyebrows pulled down slightly in the middle as he walked toward the training table I had been confined to.

"Seriously, the hit wasn't that hard. I just lost my balance. I actually feel better after I threw up in there," I said, gesturing over my shoulder to the locker room.

These tables were meant for a quick exam during an injury evaluation, not long-term rest. I was starting to get incredibly uncomfortable just lying here.

"I think I just need to go home and get some rest." I continued to make my case for leaving as Dr. Reinhardt stood over me, petting his long beard. I have always wondered why people did that. Why do they pet their beards? It's not an animal, I don't pet my hair like that. I assume it is somehow soothing to them or like a fidget toy, but honestly, it's kinda gross. I was almost afraid that something would eventually fall out of it. Who wants to be suddenly showered with the remnants of someone's dinner or a bug? Just the thought made me want to throw up again.

"I don't know. You do look a bit pale, Mr. Rossi." Doc pulled on black exam gloves from the side table. "But I don't see any bruising."

After my shower, I had only put on a pair of Storm athletic pants. I had balled up my shirt and jacket as a pillow.

"I really don't think it had anything to do with the hit," I continued to argue.

Doc started to push on my stomach, and I have to admit that it didn't feel great. I was dying to go home, so I tried to keep a placid expression.

"Well, Mr. Rossi, despite your best effort to conceal your discomfort, I can see that you are clearly in pain. It seems to localize to the right side of your abdomen." Doc took off his gloves and turned to Nick. "Does he have a fever?"

"No fever. Just the vomiting and stomach pain." Nick confirmed from the end of the table where he stood with his arms crossed. "I gave him some fluids after practice, thinking it might help, but he still seemed to be having the pain."

"Any more vomiting?"

"Only the once." Nick and Doc continued to talk over me, which I also found quite obnoxious.