Between the Pipes

Chapter 3

Sarah paused as she entered the dressing room. Whoa – the smell. It was the ripe culmination of the pungent sweat of twenty hard-core athletes combined with musky equipment over, what, decades? Or was that just one game's worth of stink? Whoever looked after the equipment needed a raise.

The room was spacious. Numerous stalls lined the walls with the name of a player printed above each one. Each had several hooks, a small locker to one side, and a vent at the bottom for circulating air. Holding her breath, Sarah hurried to the door. She was halfway across the room when someone called out.

"Hey, Doc?"

How can they stand to inhale? "Yes." She glanced over at the goalie, who was sitting at the far end of the room, half-dressed. She tried not to stare. Told herself to be professional, focus on the face, and ignore the sculpted torso, impressive six-pack, and beautifully muscled arms.

"How's Bleeker?" he asked, frowning. The name printed above the stall was "Mike Wallace."

Sarah cleared her throat and silently debated how much to say. The concern in his eyes had her relenting. "He's doing okay. He went straight up to the operating room and the surgery went well." Focus on his face – the sea-blue eyes, chiselled features, and dark wavy hair.

Maybe focusing on his 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, reminding her of decadent dark chocolate melting on her tongue. "It was a fluke accident. You shouldn't blame yourself."

"Yeah, I'm trying to convince myself of that," Mike said. "Can I visit him?"

"He'll be in the intensive care unit overnight, but they'll probably move him to another room tomorrow." Coherent and professional. So far, so good. She could hardly be blamed for being distracted, though, considering what she was up against.

Ben popped his head into the dressing room. "Mike, how's the chest?"

Mike's gaze darted to Sarah and then back to Ben. "Fine," he responded curtly.

Ben nodded as if that was the answer he'd expected to hear and left with a salute.

Sarah thought his chest was more than fine, but that probably wasn't what Ben had 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 painful?" she asked, wondering if he could have injured a rib. From the little she'd watched of the game, it didn't appear that the players held back when they shot at the goalie. It wouldn't take much to fracture 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 take a quick look."

"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 than a bruise? She grabbed a towel off the bench and threw it at him.

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

If looks could kill...yikes. She set her bag down and pulled out her stethoscope. "Let me listen to your chest."

He pressed his lips together, and his eyes darkened, but he stood and turned around.

"Can you take a deep breath?"

"Of course."

Sure. He splinted his chest, barely moving air in and out, but it sounded normal. She ran her fingers gently over the side of his chest, feeling the ribs. He winced when she palpated a small bump on the right side. It was already starting to bruise. She looked him in the eyes when he turned back to face her. "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. "Where's 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 that up. I know my own body. This is not a fracture."

Sarah watched his face. There was more anxiety than anger behind those words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound flippant." She removed the stethoscope from around her neck and folded it to put it away. "You may be right, but you need an x-ray to be sure."

"No."

Sarah's heart pounded. "I can't let you play if your rib is fractured. It's too dangerous," she said quietly. She willed her hands to stay steady. She was right, she knew it. Danni always worried about players who insisted on playing through an injury. Sarah hadn't understood how it felt to be in the position of deciding their fate until now. It didn't feel very comfortable. "You can't play until I've seen the x-ray result."

"You can't do that."

They both knew she could. She stayed silent. He drew himself up and pulled in the anger.

"I'll transmit the requisition to the hospital," she said.

"Fine." He didn't look at her. Yikes. That had 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.