Page 2

Ruben Franklin

I stood in the box and watched as the team streamed out onto the ice. The stands were already nearly full, this being the first game in the new arena, and everyone was on edge, including Coach.

“Doc, make sure you have everything you need. I don’t want any other injuries this season,” he yelled over to me from where he stood on the edge of the ice.

I’d been hired by the Titans to be the team doctor when the other team doctor quit and moved out of state. While I’d worked for another team, it wasn’t hockey, and I wasn’t the lead doctor like I was with the Titans. It was a job I knew I was more than qualified for in experience and education, but I couldn’t help the nerves that bubbled up in my stomach.

“Don’t worry, we have everything we need,” Brian Jones, one of the athletic directors, said as he walked into the box where I stood.

“Plenty of smelling salts and ice?” I asked, making him pause a moment before laughing.

“Hopefully. The Blades are pretty good, but I think we can beat them,” he said referring to the team from Canada we were playing tonight. They wanted it to be a big deal with it being the opening night of the arena, but I wasn’t sure inviting a team from Canada was a great choice. Even if they were in the same farm league we were.

“I just want to get through the night with no major injuries.”

“Leon loves to fight, and he doesn’t give a shit who he hurts or what penalties he gets. Hopefully our guys are ready for that,” Brian said.

“Their center?” I asked and was amazed I’d remembered that.

“Yeah, he’s as big as a defender but fast.” Brian watched as the other team took the ice and pointed out the mountain of a man that was currently taunting some of our guys.

Both teams were now skating in a circle on their side of the ice and every time Leon got to the center point, he’d shove his stick toward whoever was unlucky enough to be close to him. “He seems pleasant.”

“More like the neighborhood bully who never grew up.” Brian went on to point out different injuries the players had been nursing; there was quite a list.

“What about the new goalie?” I asked and watched as he made his way to the net and started stretching.

“I don’t know much about him. He’s third-string, and he’s only been here a few months. No injuries that I know of.”

“Well, that’s good. You know about Dexter?” I asked him while meeting his eyes.

“Yeah, but I think Coach said they’d keep him on the roster until next season. There’s every possibility he could be healed enough to play by then.”

“Maybe,” I said. I knew he had sciatic pain that had been flaring up and he couldn’t seem to get under control. He also had a list of other injuries that didn’t help which included an injured hip and a broken collarbone that was still not fully healed. Even with the surgery to fix it, it would be a while before he could play without the possibility of breaking it again. “Second-string?”

“Vanel, he’s still recovering from a wrist injury. He should be better within a week but if he plays now, he won’t be playing for a while,” Brian said. We’d only just started working together, but so far, we worked together very well. He kept me up on everything and trusted my judgment on injuries, which I appreciated not being second-guessed.

The horn sounded signaling the teams should move off the ice and get ready to play. The goalie was the last one off, which seeing his hulking figure up close I could understand why. Where every other player was padded just enough to protect themselves but still have speed, he was protected to take a beating which after knowing about the other two goalie’s injuries, I now had no faith in.

“Over here, Doc,” Coach yelled—he always yelled—and I hurried over where he indicated at the end of the box where there was more room to treat a player. “I don’t want to risk any injuries. If you don’t think it’s okay to go into play, then speak up. There are too many ways things can go bad playing this team. They play for keeps.” He gave me a hard look and narrowed his eyes. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, because that fucker was intimidating as hell. I stood close to the edge and watched the Blades in their box just past the tunnel to the locker room. Where our guys were excited, theirs were amped up. But it wasn’t just to play, they were ready for battle. Some of them slapped their sticks across the barrier and yelled at fans that heckled them from the stands. All of them except the big center I’d been warned about. Leon. He sat there with his eyes closed and earbuds in having a moment of silence in all the chaos around us.

“Don’t let him fool you, he’s a mean motherfucker,” I heard one of our guys, Griffin, telling Hofstedder, the new goalie. He was focused intently on the other box and didn’t look away when a few of the Blades players took notice, like he was just hoping for a reason to bash one of them with his stick. He glanced my way, and I noticed his intense brown eyes that while very focused, weren’t cold. He didn’t look like the type that would like busting heads. The national anthem started, and I wondered when the people who were now in the middle of the ice singing had gotten there.

“Here we go,” Brian said as we stood together. On the final note, both teams were out of the box and on the ice lined up for introductions. The mayor and some other officials were there to celebrate the opening of the new arena and finally after all the fanfare the game was about to start.

Randall stood face-to-face with Leon, neither of them giving an inch and both pressed as close to the center line as they could get without crossing it. The ref dropped the puck, and after a multitude of attempts Randall slapped the puck out and guided it to their goal. Our defense covered him, and they passed back and forth but Leon was on them, and after shoulder-checking Griffin and muscling his way in, Leon had possession. He slid behind the goal, turned on the speed, and sprinted to our goal. Everyone shifted and went from offense to defense as players hurried into the box while others slid over the edge and right onto the ice.

Griffin kept shoving his stick at the puck, making it harder for Leon to take a shot but nothing slowed him down. Leon’s wing slid into position and assisted him moving the puck with a quick pass that set them up for a shot.

“Come on,” I said under my breath, and hoped the new guy was good because he was about to get bowled over if he wasn’t. Suddenly Randall appeared from the left and stood in front of the net with Stanton on his right. The goalie’s skates shuffled as he held his stick out on the ice and got ready to block the shot. With a loud crack the shot rang out; it moved just in front of Randall and was about to go into the net when the goalie dropped into a split completely blocking the shot to a roar from the crowd. He scooped up the puck and handed it off to Randall while Leon skated behind the net and shouted something. Whatever it was, the goalie slapped his stick against his own chest and shuffled around again as the play moved to the other end of the ice. His show of strength surprised me as I remembered those warm brown eyes. He might be a rookie, but it was obvious he wasn’t afraid, and I wasn’t sure if it was bravery or a death wish. Either way, I hoped he could handle more than the one shot as I tore my attention away from him and back to the other players.