Page 89 of Goalie Secrets

“You’re more than hockey,” she says, her voice breaking. “You’re more than a player.”

“You’re the woman I—” My words falter, my throat tightening. I almost said,You’re the woman I love. I’m doing this for both of us.

However, declaring the extent of my feelings right now, at the same time that I’m telling her to stay out of my life choices, seems inconsistent. I’m muddle-brained, but not an idiot.

“You’re the person who’s made me feel like I could be more,” I state instead. “Why would you threaten to take this opportunityaway from me, Vanya? Under the guise of saving me, are you actually willing to destroy me?”

Her shoulders shake as she struggles through her sobs. “You can’t see it now,” she utters, “but one day you’ll thank me. As your doctor, this is my final decision.”

Something inside me snaps. “Then you’re fired.”

Her head jerks up, her red-rimmed eyes wide with disbelief. “You can’t—”

“I just did,” I say coldly, barely sounding like myself. “Maybe I should’ve done it a long time ago.”

“You can’t,” she mumbles in disbelief.

“I can. Firing you would solve all our conflict-of-interest issues.”

She opens her mouth but nothing comes out. I fill the silence with bitterness.

“But wait, there’s the big research breakthrough you’re writing, right?” I say. “The one that’s going to launch your career.”

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“It has everything to do with this. It’s the reason you can’t look me in the eye when we’re in public. It’s the reason you’re leaving when you’re done with me. It’s why I’ll never be anything more than research to you.” Something dark and rotten suffocates me. “Maybe that’s why you want to keep me off the ice. You can’t track measurable results if I keep playing.”

The silence that follows is deafening, pressing down on both of us. I see the way her face crumples, the way her hands tremble, the way she stops breathing. When she runs out of the room, regret rips my heart out of my chest. There’s no medicine for this kind of pain.

You’re fired.The words seep under my skin and burn. I march out of Jeremy’s hospital room, each step stoked by simmering anger.

With a trembling hand, I pull out my phone to call Lionel. He’s the head trainer, surely he can see this is no ordinary injury. He’s getting a piece of my mind, whether he wants to or not. I press call, my heart pounding louder than the phone ringing against my ear.

“Hi, Vanya,” Lionel answers, his voice too cautious, too measured, like he already knows I’m coming in hot.

“Hello, Lionel,” I snap, my tone borderline insolent. “We need to talk about Jeremy.”

There’s a pause, long enough for me to fill it with the fury building in my gut.

“The way his injury is being handled is bullshit!” I spit out. “He needs advanced imaging. Tests you haven’t done. Chicago has the facilities, the specialists. Comparing the current injury to previous data is the least we can do! Why is everyone treating his collapse as a joke? How can you let this happen!”

An elderly woman stares at me with her eyebrow lifted in disapproval. My accusations sound hysterical, even to my ears, but someone has to emphasize the gravity of the situation. I rush through the lobby to avoid more curious and critical faces.

“Vanya, slow down,” Lionel placates me. His calmness is only making me grip the phone tighter. “We’ve gone through the required protocols. Besides, we can’t force Jeremy to do more tests if he refuses.”

“Refuses?” I snort my disgust.

“Kyle cleared him,” Lionel continues. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but Kyle is still Jeremy’s primary doctor and the one the organization works with.”

Fuck that. Kyle has built a great business and is competent in most cases. Unfortunately, he prioritizes his relationship with the Mavericks.

I’m the only one looking out for Jeremy.

“Let me deal with Kyle. You have to talk to the organization, Lionel. Jeremy is not in a position to refuse. He collapsed on the ice. That’s not a tweak or soreness. It’s something bigger. If you let him go back without more tests, there could be long-term repercussions.”

“This has happened before. Jeremy has always bounced back,” Lionel cuts in, sounding a little more defensive. “You think I don’t care? I do, but my hands are tied. He’s the one making the decisions, and the organization backs him.”

“Then untie your damn hands,” I hiss. “Because this isn’t only about hockey. He’s hiding something worse than what he’s letting on. I can see it.” Jeremy’s easy wit and stoic attitude hide more pain than anyone realizes.