2nd Intermissions

I ran back to the training room from the coach’s office, where I sat in the theater seats watching the game on the flat screen TV.

Almost tripping when I ran around the corner in my heels, I heard noises outside the main stainless steel door that lead out into the arena from the locker room and offices.

I huffed into the training room and turned on the little TV in there to the game, sitting down and acting like I was in the room the whole time.

Seeing a bleeding and smiling hockey player turn the corner into the room I stood and gestured towards the examination bench.

I had run from the coach’s office because I saw that one hockey player had gotten into a fight and left the ice with a five minute fighting penalty, to get stitched up while the period ended.

“I was expecting you.” I smiled.

“Watching the game in the coach’s room again?” He got comfortable on the bench.

I was surprised, I didn’t know anyone knew. My face obviously looked shocked and he quickly added, “Every time I come in, your face is really red and you’re breathing heavy. Plus, when I walked past the room, I saw you left the TV on.” Adam Burish finished.

I sighed. I had given myself up. Damn.

“Well, can’t get anything past you, Burish.” I grabbed some antiseptic from the cabinet on the other side of the room and some gauze.

“Jersey off.” I motioned.

He smiled and complied, careful not to touch his eyebrow, where the gash was.

I got closer and examined it. “Stick or fist?” I already knew the answer.

“You know. You were watching.” His smile only wavered when I poked around the wound.

I shrugged and knew it was a fist. I opened a package of sterile gauze and dabbed some peroxide on it.

“Get ready.” I smiled at him.

Even with him sitting on a bench, he was still taller than me, and I was wearing heels, too. I glanced down at his gray blue eyes and he started small talk- or, his version of small talk.

“Did you see the massive stain on his jersey?” He chuckled through the stinging pain of the peroxide in his wound.

“Of course- there is no way that stain is being removed completely. Great- you ruined his wardrobe with your blood.” I joked and Adam laughed.

“Okay, it looks like I can just put a butterfly bandage on it and it will only scar a little bit; but be warned: you’re going to have a nasty looking black eye. Its already started to swell and bruise.” I walked over to the cabinet again, putting the peroxide back and dumping the gauze. I grabbed a wound closure and returned to the table.

The angle sucked so I asked him to lean over a little bit so I could get a better look and angle to put the sucker on.

Opening the package, I looked up at him again and he looked at me.

“Where did that scar come from?” He asked.

I surprised me, because I had thought it was mostly faded.

“Where?”

“Under your eyebrow.” Adam replied.

“Oh. Bar fight.” I said, completely serious, as I placed the bandage on his eyebrow.

“Liar!” He accused.

“Yeah, I got it from the corner of a car door.” I told the truth this time.

“Oh really?” He dawdled with putting his jersey back on.

“Yeah. It bled a lot, like head wounds usually do.” I elaborated while I threw out the wrapping for the package.

I glanced at the TV and the guys were coming back into the locker room for the 2nd intermission.

“Hey Doc?” Burish called, as I could hear the other guys coming closer to the main door.

“Yes Burish?” I replied.

“Its Adam- would you like to go grab a drink with me after the game?” He stood up and righted himself.

“Are you sure that’s professional?” I joked.

“It is if I casually run into you at Freddie’s in Wrigleyville.” He played.

“Oh, is it nice there?” I played back.

“Yeah, it is, you should check it out sometime.” Adam gave me a smile and left to the locker room where all the guys were loud and rowdy, retelling events of the 2nd period to all the guys that were there.

I heard Coach Q (we all called him that) quiet them down and then I heard the familiar Tuesday afternoon squeaking of the white board marker on the playboard in the main locker room. Coach Q and Haviland (We called him Havi, instead of his full name) making comments and pointing out mistakes and strong points of different plays they made.

I was kind of attracted to Burish, I mean- who couldn’t be attracted to him? His rough hockey player look and awesome sense of humor could win anyone over. I felt a little flare of self-esteem because he asked me to have a drink with him.