Page 239 of Pucking Around

I let out a shaky breath. “Umm…I always hoped that, if I won the Barkley Fellowship, it would lead to a full-time position. Not that I ever expected it,” I say quickly. “I just know that Barkley Fellows often transition into permanent roles. And that’s what I want…wanted,” I correct.

“From what I’ve gathered, you didn’t actually pick the Rays though,” he replies. “The fellowship was all set up for some other doctor.”

I nod, clearing my throat. “Yeah, from what I understand, he fought a white-water raft and the raft won. The position became vacant, so I filled it.”

“So, you didn’t pick the Rays,” he presses. “You settled for the only open option.”

“I guess I don’t see it like that,” I reply. “I took an opportunity. A door opened, and I leapt through it. And, at least in my life, the best things to ever happen to me were always the things I never planned for. Did I ever see myself as a sports medicine doctor for an NHL team? No. Frankly, when I arrived in Jacksonville, I couldn’t even tell you the names of all the positions. But I quickly fell in love with this city and this team. I wouldn’t change my placement for anything.”

He nods, pensive as he takes another sip of his iced tea.

My eye drops to the stack of manilla folders by his elbow. “What are those?” I dare to ask.

“These?” He places his hand over the stack. “These are your files, Price.”

“My files?”

“Yeah, this top one is all your professional records,” he says, lifting the top file. “Courtesy of Doctor Tyler. It’s your resume, transcripts, your application to the Barkley Fellowship, including letters of recommendation from doctors at the LA Galaxy, the Lakers, and the Cincinnati Sport Clinic.”

“And the others?”

He picks up the second file. “Well, these have been flooding into my office for the past five days. It’s letters of support from pretty much every high-profile patient you’ve ever worked with.”

“Oh my god,” I murmur, tears stinging my eyes.

Talbot flips open the file, thumbing through the pages. “I’ve got letters here from golf pros, an Olympic bronze medalist high diver, and what looks like half the Cincinnati Bengals. All glowing in their praise. To a one, they all say I’m an idiot if I don’t hire you immediately.”

I’m floored. This was my guys. It had to be. How did they get this all in motion so quickly? “Mr. Talbot—”

“And then there’s these,” he says, holding up the last folder.

I bite my lip trying to stop the tears from brimming over.

“Letters of support from every single player on my team. Every Ray, including most of the farm team guys. The support staff wrote too. The equipment managers all rave about how nice you are, how easy you are to work with. There’s even a letter in here from the coffee cart lady at the practice complex. Apparently, Candy says you’re generously paying for her son’s trombone lessons this year because she can’t afford them. He made first chair in his middle school orchestra thanks to you. And George on the janitorial staff said you bought him a new moped with a matching helmet when his broke last month.”

They even tracked down George? Yep, I’m officially crying. I snatch my napkin off the table, dabbing under my eyes.

“If nothing else, all this drama shined a light on a festering wound,” he goes on.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It turns out most of the guys were dissatisfied with the level of care they were getting under Doctor Avery. They were just all suffering in silence. But they’re not silent anymore. I’ve had over half the team in my office this week threatening to quit if I didn’t can him. The other half has been banging down my door telling me to hireyouin his place.”

I shake my head. This is too much. I didn’t want to earn a spot this way. “Sir, I never meant to cause you this much trouble,” I say, leaning over the table. “I just wanted to do my job. I like to help people, and I’m in a position to do so. Money is nothing to me, sir. I think you might understand that better than most,” I add.

He says nothing.

“I work hard because I want to,” I go on. “I help people because I can. And I swear to you, I wouldneverjeopardize a player’s health. Everything I did with Kinnunen was to keep him safe. I pulled him from the ice, even when he didn’t want me to. I got him scans. I worked in all the PT with him that I could. Yes, we fell in love,” I admit. “But if anything, that made memorecommitted to his care, not less. And if that makes me a terrible doctor because I get emotionally invested in patient care, well…I guess I don’t care,” I say with a wave of my hand. “Sir, I don’t care. I’m a double Cancer, which means I’m an emotional fucking wreck of a human who cares too deeply and tries too hard. Maybe they shouldn’t let double Cancers go to med school. But I did, and I’m here, and I stand by my choices. I would make them again.”

My speech sucks all the wind from my sails, and I slump back in the chair, snatching up my water to take a sip.

Talbot goes on as if I didn’t just spill my guts. “Langley’s letter is four pages long. He has a real gift for writing, as it turns out. He says he hasn’t felt so good on the ice in years, and that it’s all down to your regime of physical therapies.”

His smirk falls into a decided frown when he lifts out the top paper. “This one is from Kinnunen.” He flashes it at me and I can see the brevity. The whole letter barely covers half the page. He really had so little to say about something as important as this?

“Want me to read it to you?” He looks down at the page and clears his throat. “Dear Mr. Talbot, Give Dr. Rachel Price back her job, or I’ll leave the Rays, effectively immediately. And I’ll take Jake Compton with me. And this—” He hefts out a stack of papers held together with a binder clip. “These are all the offers they’ve both farmed in a matter of days from other teams willing to take them both. Five NHL teams, three Finnish Liiga teams, a Swedish team. And I got a text from my secretary as I sat down that she has trade offers pending on four other players too.”

My heart drops out of my chest. “Sir, I’ll talk to them. They won’t do this to you, I promise—”