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CHAPTER FIVE
Ally
My first day officially begins now—meeting Dr. Martin in person.
And he doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Dr. Perry,” he says as I step into his office.
He doesn’t even look up from the chart in his hand, his voice flat and uninterested. “Welcome to your fellowship. I’d have retired by now if I hadn’t agreed to this damn thing. Don’t expect me to hold your hand.”
His bluntness catches me off guard, and I fumble for a response. “Uh, thank you for the opportunity. I’m looking forward to learning from you.”
He finally glances at me over his glasses, his expression skeptical. “We’ll see.”
The interaction leaves me a little deflated, though I do my best to shake it off.
I’d known this wasn’t going to be easy, but hearing outright that he’d rather retire than deal with me is a blow I wasn’t expecting. Still, I’m determined to prove myself, no matter how ornery he is.
I shadow Dr. Martin through his first two appointments of the day. The first is with Reggie MacDonald, the Co-Captain and center of the team.
Reggie is built like a brick wall, with a thick Scottish accent and an easy grin that lights up the room.
“Ah, Dr. Perry, welcome to the madhouse,” Reggie says as he shakes my hand. His grip is strong, but there’s a warmth to it that immediately puts me at ease.
“Thank you, Mr. MacDonald.”
“Reggie,” he corrects. “None of that formal nonsense. We’re all friends here, aye?”
Dr. Martin clears his throat pointedly, his irritation palpable. “Let’s get on with it. Reggie, sit.”
Reggie chuckles as he sits on the exam table, shooting me a wink. “The old coot doesn’t like too much chatter during appointments,” he says, clearly enjoying the chance to annoy Dr. Martin.
As Dr. Martin runs through the usual checks and adjustments, Reggie keeps the conversation alive, asking me about my background and how I ended up here.
I can feel Dr. Martin’s disapproval like a weight in the room, but Reggie’s friendliness makes it hard not to respond.
When the appointment ends and Reggie leaves, Dr. Martin turns to me, his expression dark. “I don’t like too much talking during appointments.”
Annoyance flares in my chest, but I bite back a response. It’s going to be a long day.
The next appointment is with Adan Thomas, the team’s left wing. Adan strolls in with an easy confidence, his movements fluid and relaxed. He greets Dr. Martin with a nod and me with a curious glance.
“Dr. Perry, this is Adan,” Dr. Martin says, his tone perfunctory. “Adan, sit.”
Adan raises an eyebrow at the curt order but complies, settling onto the exam table.
This time, I stay quiet, determined to avoid irritating Dr. Martin further. I watch as he starts the adjustment process, observing his techniques and filing them away for later use.
As Dr. Martin works, I notice something slightly off about Adan’s posture.
Tentatively, I speak up. “Dr. Martin, have you tried adjusting his scapula from a lateral angle? It might help with the tension here.” I gesture to the area near Adan’s shoulder blade.
Dr. Martin pauses, his eyebrows lifting slightly. Without a word, he shifts his position and applies the adjustment I suggested. Adan lets out a relieved sigh, his shoulders visibly relaxing.
When the appointment ends and Adan leaves, Dr. Martin turns to me. “Impressive,” he says gruffly.
I know it’s the best compliment I’m going to get.
By the time lunch rolls around, I’m desperate for a moment to collect myself.
The hallway leading to the breakroom feels endless.
Meeting Dr. Martin had been as awkward as I’d expected, but somehow even more exhausting than I’d prepared for.
As I walk, my thoughts stray to the appointments I’ve shadowed. Reggie’s easy camaraderie and Adan’s quiet poise had been refreshing in the middle of the day’s chaos.
But now, an entirely different realization hits me like a freight train: I’ve chosen a career where I’m surrounded by prime physical specimens every single day.
It’s almost funny. Most of my classmates from med school have settled into roles where their patients are older or less mobile.
Me? I’ve landed smack in the middle of a world-class hockey team.
Elite athletes, all of them in their physical prime, and I’m the one responsible for helping them stay that way.
My cheeks flush as I think about how close I’ll have to get to these players.
Adjusting their shoulders, assessing injuries, feeling the tension in their muscles, it’s going to take some serious professionalism to keep my cool.
I pass a framed photo of the team, their smiling faces frozen in celebration after a big win.
My gaze lingers on a few familiar ones, the twins with their cocky smirks, Brooks with his intense stare, Reggie in mid-laugh.
My chest tightens slightly as I wonder if I’ll ever feel like I truly belong here.
Lost in thought, I almost miss the turn for the breakroom.
Shaking my head, I adjust the strap of my bag and steel myself. First days are always chaotic, I remind myself. I just need to take it one step at a time.
I’m so lost in my thoughts, staring at the polished floors as I walk, that I don’t see what’s in front of me until it’s too late.
I crash into something, or someone, and stumble back, my bag slipping from my shoulder. The hallway fills with a sudden, frantic caw, and a blur of red feathers flutters past my face.
My heart leaps into my throat as I realize I’ve run into a woman who’s now sprawled on the floor, her black hair fanned out around her like a halo.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” I stammer, crouching down to help her up.
The woman blinks up at me, her chocolate-brown eyes wide with surprise. “It’s fine.”
I glance up and see the source of the commotion. It’s a large macaw perched on a nearby railing, its vivid red and blue feathers shimmering under the fluorescent lights.
It flaps its wings furiously, letting out another loud screech.
“Is that…?” I start, but the woman waves me off as she pushes herself to her feet.
“It’s fine, really,” the woman says, brushing off her pants and holding out her arm. With an expert calmness, she clicks her tongue and extends her hand toward the macaw.
The bird hesitates for a moment before hopping onto her forearm, still ruffled but visibly settling down.
I lean down and pick up her hair clip, watching her swiftly tie her hair back up with one hand, clipping it in securely.
“Sorry about that,” she says with a sheepish smile. “I wasn’t paying attention either.”
“No, it’s completely my fault,” I insist. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
She adjusts the bird on her arm, stroking its feathers gently. The macaw eyes me warily, its sharp beak clicking as if it’s deciding whether or not I’m a threat.
“I’m Ally Perry, the new sports medicine fellow.”
The woman grins, her brown eyes warming. “Kenzie Wood. I’m the veterinarian in charge of managing the macaws.”
I blink, glancing at the bird on her arm. “Wait, macaws? As in plural?”
Kenzie laughs. “Oh, you’ve got a lot to learn about this place.”
I feel like an idiot, but I can’t help apologizing again. “I’m really sorry about the whole…crashing into you thing.”
Kenzie waves it off. “Don’t worry about it. Just watch where you’re walking next time. You don’t want to scare the birds. They’ve got long memories.”
I glance at the macaw, whose glare seems to confirm her words.
Kenzie adjusts the macaw on her arm and grins at me. “You’re not off the hook, though. You owe me a drink for almost traumatizing poor Finn here.”
“Deal,” I say, relaxing slightly. “Though I’m not sure Finn’s going to forgive me anytime soon.”
Kenzie chuckles. “He’ll come around. But in the meantime, you should come out with me tonight. There’s a local hangout, Surf’s Up. Ever been?”
I shake my head. “What’s Surf’s Up?”
Her grin widens. “It’s this beach-themed bar run by a couple of local gay guys who love hockey. They do player discounts, karaoke nights, and all kinds of fun events. It’s a bit ridiculous, but that’s part of the charm.”
“Sounds like a blast.”
“You’ll love it, be there at eight. First round’s on me.”
“All right,” I agree, grinning back.
Kenzie gives me a quick wave as she heads off down the hallway, the macaw perched regally on her arm. I adjust my bag, still feeling a little flustered but glad I’d run into her, literally.
After grabbing a quick lunch in the breakroom, I head back toward my office, feeling slightly more grounded.
The quiet halls are a welcome reprieve from the noise and chaos of the morning, but the peace doesn’t last long.
I hear footsteps behind me, followed by a muttered curse. Turning, I spot Nick Porter coming down the hallway, still in skates, with his twin Tyler supporting him.
“Nick, are you—” My words cut off as I notice the blood soaking through the towel wrapped around his hand.
“Doc,” Nick says, his voice tight with pain, “I think we’ve got a situation.”
Tyler grins despite the blood. “Don’t worry, Doc Perry. He’s not dying. Just bleeding a little.”
Nick shoots his brother a glare. “It’s not just a little.”
I gesture toward my office, stepping quickly to open the door. “Come on in. Let’s take a look.”
They shuffle inside, and Nick carefully sits down in the chair I motion to, still cradling his injured hand.
“You’re lucky you found me and not Dr. Martin,” I say, trying to keep my tone light as I grab gloves and supplies.
“No kidding,” Nick mutters. “We figured he’d just bite our heads off and send us back to practice.”
I roll my eyes, already focusing on unwinding the towel from Nick’s hand. “All right, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
In my office, Nick sits in the chair, his injured hand resting on a sterile pad. I put on gloves and start cleaning the wound, careful and methodical, while Tyler leans casually against the doorframe, watching with a mischievous grin.
“Try not to screw it up, Doc,” Nick teases, wincing slightly as I dab antiseptic on the cut.
“Maybe if you’d stop moving…” I reply, raising an eyebrow.
Tyler chuckles. “She’s got you there, Nick. Honestly, you’re lucky she’s not Doc Martin. He’d probably stitch you up with fishing line.”
“Or duct tape,” Nick mutters, shooting his brother a glare.
As I begin stitching the wound, Tyler leans closer. “So, Doc,” he says, his tone playful, “got a boyfriend?”
I blink, my hands pausing for a fraction of a second before resuming. “No, I don’t,” I say, focusing on the needle and thread.
Nick smirks. “Good to know.”
Tyler grins. “You know, there are plenty of great spots in the city to go out. If you need a tour guide, we’re available.”
I feel my cheeks warm, and I scold myself for letting them get to me. “I think I can manage.”
Nick grins, clearly enjoying my reaction. “You’re blushing. Careful, or Tyler might think you’re interested.”
“Nick,” I warn, shaking my head, though I can’t stop the small smile tugging at my lips. “I already have plans tonight,” I say, tying off the last stitch and cutting the thread.
“Oh yeah?” Tyler asks, his interest clearly piqued.
I nod. “Kenzie invited me to Surf’s Up. She said it’s a fun place.”
Nick laughs softly, flexing his fingers as I wrap his hand. “We go there all the time. Great drinks, decent food, and karaoke. What’s not to love?”
Tyler leans a little closer. “Maybe we’ll see you there, Doc. Just don’t forget to save us a dance.”
I roll my eyes, though my blush betrays me. “You’d better not be drinking too much if you’re going,” I say, pointing at Nick. “I can’t give you pain meds if you’re planning to mix them with alcohol.”
Nick waves me off. “I don’t do pain meds anyway. Jinx has me scared straight about that stuff. She says they mess you up more than they help.”
I glance up. “Jinx?”
“Jinx is the PT,” Tyler explains, grinning.
“She’s the one who fixes us up when we’re really messed up,” Nick adds.
I nod, curious. “Why’s she called Jinx?”
The twins exchange a look, their matching grins widening. Tyler finally says, “You’ll get it when you meet her.”
“That’s not cryptically vague at all,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“Trust us,” Nick says, standing as I finish wrapping his hand. “She lives up to the name.”
Tyler moves just a little too close as he adjusts his jacket, his shoulder brushing mine. “See you later, Doc,” he says, his voice low and teasing.
“Maybe,” I reply, giving him a pointed look.
The twins leave, Nick shaking his head as Tyler throws me one last grin.
Shaking off the close encounter, I take a deep breath and step out of my office. The air feels cooler in the hallway, but my cheeks are still warm from their flirting. I fan my face for a moment, then look at the time.
I made it through the day , I think with relief.
Going back into my office, I log out of my computer and pack up my stuff to leave for the day.
Still, as I walk to my car, my mind keeps drifting back to the men I met today. Nick’s easy grin, Tyler’s playful smirks—it’s all distracting, to say the least. The way they joked and bantered with me felt natural, like they were trying to draw me into their world.
I slide into the driver’s seat and pull out of the parking lot, heading toward the bar. But even as I focus on the road, my thoughts keep circling back.
I know better than to let myself get swept up in this. They’re patients, teammates, and nothing more.
Still, the memory of Tyler leaning a little too close and Nick’s teasing about my blush has my mind wandering down paths it shouldn’t.
Which one would be more fun?
I shake my head, trying to dismiss the thought. They are my work . That’s all they can ever be.
The drive to the bar isn’t long, but there’s a thrill in it.
The city lights of Minneapolis shimmer overhead, the glow of the skyline reflecting off the Mississippi River as I cross the bridge.
It’s been years since I’ve driven these streets, and the city feels both familiar and foreign at the same time.
The last time I was in Minneapolis, I was barely eighteen, still figuring out who I was and getting ready to head off to Notre Dame. I wasn’t even old enough to drink, so it’s no surprise I don’t remember a bar like Surf’s Up.
As I approach downtown, my GPS chimes, directing me to a smaller side street just off the main drag. I feel a flicker of curiosity, and maybe a little apprehension, about what Kenzie has dragged me into.
When I pull up to Surf’s Up, I have to blink to make sure I’m in the right place.
The bar looks like a fever dream come to life, a cross between a cheesy Vegas lounge and a Florida dive bar.
The exterior is painted in bright pastel colors, pink, turquoise, and yellow, with fake palm trees flanking the entrance. A massive, neon sign juts out over the sidewalk, flashing “SURF’S UP” in alternating waves of hot pink and electric blue. Beneath it, a cheeky slogan reads, “Where the drinks are strong, and the vibes are stronger!”
The campiness doesn’t stop there. The front windows are plastered with posters advertising karaoke nights, drag shows, and drink specials like “Mai Tai Madness Mondays” and “Tiki Tequila Thursdays”.
Rainbow flags hang proudly alongside surfboards mounted to the walls, and a giant plastic flamingo stands sentinel near the entrance, its wings outstretched as if it’s welcoming everyone inside.
For a moment, I wonder if Kenzie is pranking me. The place looks so outlandish, so unapologetically over-the-top, that I can’t imagine her taking me here in earnest.
But then again, Kenzie did say it was fun. With a sigh, I grab my bag and step out of the car.
The tiki theme hits me full force as I step inside. Surf’s Up looks like it was decorated by someone with a deep love for tropical kitsch and absolutely no restraint.
Bamboo-lined walls are hung with fake ivy and strings of colorful lights shaped like pineapples and flamingos. The bar itself is a carved wooden structure with a thatched roof, complete with tiny plastic hula dancers twirling along the edges.
Tiki torches glow softly in the corners of the room, their flames thankfully fake, and paper lanterns dangle from the ceiling. The air smells of coconut, rum, and something citrusy, like a permanent happy hour in paradise.
Despite the kitschy decor, the place is surprisingly clean and well-kept.
The polished floors gleam underfoot, and the bartenders behind the counter are dressed in matching Hawaiian shirts, their movements efficient as they mix drinks and chat with patrons.
The crowd is a mix of people, some in business casual attire, clearly stopping by after work, and others who have fully embraced the theme, wearing Hawaiian print clothing and leis.
I walk up to the bar, scanning the cocktail menu written on a chalkboard shaped like a surfboard.
After a moment, I order a pina colada. It feels like the most appropriate choice. The bartender gives me a cheerful smile as he sets to work.
“First time here?” he asks, pouring the drink into a tiki-shaped glass.
“Is it that obvious?” I reply with a laugh.
“Naw,” he says immediately, then he glances up at me as he dumps ice into a glass. “Yeah,” he says with a laugh. “We get a lot of regulars. I would have remembered someone as pretty as you.”
“Don’t even think about it,” I say with a laugh, shaking my head. “I’m not here for a hook-up.”
He laughs with me and holds up a hand in surrender. “Hey, had to shoot my shot right?” he says ruefully.
I giggle and nod. “Sure, why not.”
“Let me know if you need anything else,” he says to me and moves to the other side of the bar to work on more drink orders.
I watch him go, taking a sip of my drink. Is every guy around here desperate to get laid?
Who knew that I just needed to move back to my hometown to find love? It seems like I could have unlimited options here, not that I’m looking for that kind of thing.
“Hey!” Kenzie says as she chucks herself into the bar stool next to me with a cute little flounce. “Sorry I’m late. Life of a veterinarian and all.”
“From one doctor to another, I get it,” I say with a smile.
“Pina colada?” she asks me, eyeing my colorful drink.
“Seemed appropriate.”
“I like your style,” she agrees, waving the bartender over. She orders her own pina colada, then puts her elbow on the bar and looks at me. “So, what brings you to Minnesota?”
I laugh. “Oh gosh, how long do you have?”
“Hours,” she says, smiling at the bartender as he drops off her drink before turning her attention back to me.
I grin. I like Kenzie.
“Well…” I say, and start telling my new friend all about the path that brought me back to my hometown.