She's Not a Fan

Chapter 4

Sarah glanced out into the dressing room.  Whoa – the smell was awful, the ripe culmination of pungent sweat and body odour for twenty guys over what, decades?  Someone could make a killing inventing a way to freshen up hockey gear. 

The room was fairly spacious with generous stalls lining the walls.  Each had various hooks for equipment, a small locker to one side and a vent at the bottom for circulating air.  The names of the players were printed above each stall.   Holding her breath, Sarah hurried across to the door.  She was halfway across the room when someone called out.

“Hey, doc?” hailed the goalie, sitting at one end of the room, half dressed. 

How can they stand to inhale?  Sarah thought.  “Yes,” she replied and glanced over.  She tried not to stare.  Told herself to be professional and focus on the face.  Try not to wander over the sculpted torso that was bare and the six-pack that was beautiful.  

“How’s Bleeker?” he asked anxiously.  This was the goalie whose skate had slashed across the defenseman’s neck.  The name above the stall was Mike Wallace.

“He’s doing OK.  The artery in his neck was severed, but they took him up to the operating room and the surgery went well.”  Focus on the face, the beautiful blue eyes, the chiselled features and wavy dark hair.  Maybe focusing on the face wasn’t such a good idea.  

He breathed a sigh of relief.  “Thank god.  It happened so fast.  I can’t believe I caused that.”  His voice was deep and smooth.  An image of yummy dark chocolate popped into Sarah’s head.

“It was a fluke accident.  You shouldn’t blame yourself.” 

“Yeah I’m trying to convince myself of that,” he said.  “Would I be able to visit him?”

“He’ll be in the Intensive Care Unit overnight, but they’ll probably move him to another room tomorrow.”  She hoped she sounded coherent and professional.  She could hardly be blamed for being distracted considering what she was up against. 

Just then Ben popped his head into the dressing room.

“Mike, how’s the chest?” he asked quickly.

Mike quickly glanced over at Sarah, and then back to Ben.  “Fine,” he responded curtly.  Ben nodded as if this was the answer he expected, and left.

Sarah thought Mike’s chest was more than fine, but that’s probably not what Ben meant.  She looked over at Mike.  “What happened?”

“Nothing.  I caught a puck in the ribs in the third, but it’s fine.”

“Against your chest pads?”

“No.  I must’ve twisted and it found a hole.”

“Is it still painful?” she asked wondering if he bruised or fractured a rib.

He gave a short laugh with a shake of his head.  “I’m a goalie.  It would be unusual not to have pain after a game.”

“Maybe I should just examine you quickly.”

“No.  It’s fine,” he replied with a hint of anger and a whole lot of impatience.

Sarah cocked her head to one side and looked at him.  Why wouldn’t he want her to check it, to make sure it wasn’t something more serious like a fracture?  From the little she watched today, the players didn’t hold back when they shot at the goalie.  It wouldn’t take much to fracture a rib.  She grabbed a towel off the bench and threw it at him.

“Hey,” Mike said, startled, and instinctively reached for the towel.  He twisted as he threw out his arm and winced, missed the towel and grabbed his right side.  His face was a study in pain and he scowled at her.

If looks could kill, she wouldn't be standing there.  She set down her bag and pulled out her stethoscope.  “Sit still,” she ordered.

Mike scowled.

She ran her fingers gently over the side of his chest and back and watched him wince when she palpated a small bump on the right side.  It was already starting to bruise.  She lifted her stethoscope.  “Can you take deep breaths?”

“Of course.”

Sure, she thought.  He barely moved the air in and out, he was splinting his chest so much.  But it sounded normal.  She looked him in the eye.  “You know, there’s a pretty good chance you’ve fractured a rib.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

She couldn’t help it, she laughed.  “And where is your medical degree from?” 

Mike’s anger flared.  “Is this some joke to you?  I cannot have a fractured rib.  I’ve worked my butt off to become the starting goalie and I intend to stay that way.  I’m NOT giving it up for a fractured rib.  You doctors think you know everything.  Well, you don’t.  Fuck that.  This is not a fracture.”

Sarah removed the stethoscope from around her neck and folded it to put away.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have laughed.  You’re right.  And you may be right about the rib too, but you need an x-ray to make sure.”

“No.”

Sarah stood up.  “Mike, I’m sorry.  But you need an x-ray.  I can’t let you play if your rib is fractured.  It’s too dangerous.”

“No.”

“Mike, you can’t play until I’ve seen the x-ray result,” Sarah said quietly.  She felt uncomfortable insisting, but knew she was right.  Danni always worried about players who insisted on playing through an injury, but Sarah never quite understood how it felt to be in the position of deciding their fate.  It didn’t feel very comfortable.

“You can’t do that,” he said.

They both knew she could.  She just looked at him.  She watched him draw himself up and pull in the anger. 

“I’ll transmit the requisition to the hospital,” she said.

“Fine.”  He didn’t look at her.  Yikes.  That sounded a lot like “Fine. Bitch.”

“As soon as I hear the result, I’ll let you know.”  She picked up her bag and headed out. 

That went well, she thought ruefully.  Man, she hated hockey.