Page 6 of Goalie Secrets
“Look, I know I was a jerk when I made assumptions about what you were doing here. But it’s not because I’m sexist, OK? You can stop with the complicated medical vocabulary. I get it. You’re a big deal.”
He doesn’t exactly apologize, but I hear the regret and decide to take his words as an olive branch. There’s no point holding a grudge when my research requires his cooperation. The sooner we get started, the sooner I can collect data and leave—this room, this practice, this city.
Eyes on the prize, Vanya. He’s just another obstacle.
Documented treatment of a high-profile NHL goalie would generate interest in Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. In the world of sports medicine, interest equals funding for research that benefitsallEDS patients.
At his prime as an elite athlete, Jeremy Lopez is the final piece of a complicated puzzle I started building half a decade ago. I’m not stupid enough to let a bad attitude—obviously,his—muddle the direction and impact of my research. Swallowing my pride in order to secure his cooperation isn’t a big deal when I consider everything else I’ve sacrificed.
“Your hypermobility has a lot of positive effects, especially as a goaltender,” I begin with a more amenable tone. “My guess is that you also have heightened proprioception. I mean a sense of position and movement in space. Objects move slower for you, in other words.”
“Sometimes, sure, when I’m in a certain state of mind.”
“Like during a hockey game, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Here’s the thing, Jeremy. While your reflexes are triggered quickly, your muscles and skeletal system are enduring the strain of erratic and abrupt movement. What I’m proposing to do is ensure your rigorous training is balanced with preemptivepain management. Before your discomfort becomes chronic…” I pause because he noticeably flinches.
“What?” Jeremy asks irritably. Maybe I imagined his reaction.
“We should integrate osteopathic, hands-on manipulation alongside the other interventions.”
“Is that what Kyle meant? That you’ll work on my spine?”
“Yes. As well as ligament stability, joint strength, and training supervision.”
“I don’t have time for all that,” he says, shaking his head like I’m the one who didn’t understand the assignment.
I’m tempted to tell him he’ll change his mind as soon as something breaks down. Season-ending injuries tend to open up one’s schedule, after all. Instead, I voice what I know is an athlete’s catnip.
“You’ll be stronger and more agile, Jeremy. This goes beyond preventing an injury. It’s turning your EDS into a strength instead of a weakness.”
“I’m already doing that.” Athletes are more confident than most people. This guy is just smug. Bratty and smug.
My fingers tighten around the stethoscope in a death grip. Only my pride keeps me from storming out of this room. Trying not to roll my eyes, I pivot to another approach.
“How about this. Give me thirty minutes today. If your hamstring pain and knee discomfort do not improve, I’ll take your twenty bucks and be on my way.”
He snickers and shakes his head. “You think you can help my leg pain in thirty minutes when I’ve been living with it for decades? Good luck with that.”
“Put a timer on it,” I snark.
The man is pushing my patience to the brink.
“Sure. Why not? I’m already here.”
And because he’s an obnoxious, spoiled jerk, Jeremy Lopez starts his timer.
I’m not an asshole. That’s not to say I’m some kind of benevolent creature. But being an asshole takes too much energy and draws too much attention. The only thing I want to put effort in or be known for are my goalie stats.
The Vezina Trophy for the best goaltender of the season will be awarded to me one day. If all goes well, the trophy will be the cherry on top of a Stanley Cup.
Which means continuing to aggravate this snarky, conceited, know-it-all doctor is out of character for me. I can’t help it, though. Watching her struggle to keep her features pleasant even as her face flushes and eyes widen is surprisingly entertaining.
“On your stomach, please,” she says stiffly. “I’ll start with some measurements and go from there.”
I lay down shirtless, my face scrunched into the massage table hole. Hearing her wash her hands, I try to settle in. Massages are usually the relaxing part of my routine, but the gauntlet thrown keeps me alert and aware.