Page 58 of Body Check

twenty-one

. . .

Jason

I do know where to find her. She’s at the front of the plane on our flight to Ottawa, chatting with Joaquin and Patrice. She’s at the staff table in the meeting room, eating with Robby and Graham. She’s seven doors down from me in the hotel, consuming my every thought.

And she’s in the medical bay, the PT on staff today. I can’t avoid her forever. I almost want to skip PT, but my knee will only hurt more if I do.

I want her, but after she saw me break down… I don’t know if she still feels the same way. If she ever did.

I knock on the open door. She looks up, and her smile fades when she catches sight of me, her face going carefully blank.

“How’s your knee?” she asks.

“Fine.”

I’m lucky I didn’t get a concussion when I fell awkwardly into the boards. Tweaking my bad knee is already a problem.

Amelia crosses her arms over her chest. “If you’re fine, why’re you here?”

She knows me far too well.

With a sigh, I sag against the doorframe. “Regular maintenance.”

“Right.” She picks up her tablet, flicking through the apps. “No acute injury, no sprains. Your x-ray was fine.”

“Well, I don’t feel fine.”

She blows out a breath, gesturing me inside. “Close the door.”

I limp into the room, and heave myself onto the table. My knee throbs when I stretch out, every pulse of my blood echoing in my ears.

Snapping on a pair of gloves, Amelia approaches, her eyes sweeping over my legs. I have a bruise on my left shin and a cut on my right ankle, but my knee isn’t swollen or red. It looks normal to me. It just fucking aches.

Her hands, cold even through the latex, land on my skin, and I jump. She presses on the base of my femur, above the knee socket and below the joint, testing it. The light pressure makes my knee throb, and I let out a hiss.

“Bad?” she asks, her voice a soft murmur.

“Not great.”

“Well, it could be the osteoarthritis acting up,” she says. “There’s nothing structurally wrong.”

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I sigh. “Wonderful. Great.”

“I’ll do an athletic massage, if you think it will help.”

“I honestly don’t know what will help.”

“Rest. Take a game off, ice and elevate, and we’ll assess the day after tomorrow.”

Scoffing, I tell her, “I won’t take a game off.”

Amelia shrugs. “I can’t force you to. It’s not my call. If Derek and Doc Hudson think you can play, go for it.”

“Then, why did you say to rest it?”

“Because sometimes, they forget there’s more to life than hockey. You have another fifty years ahead of you. What will you do when you want to run around after your kids, but can’t because your knee acts up?”