2nd Intermissions

The night came fast the next day and I found myself in the training room, listening to the music that the players were blasting from the player’s lounge into the locker room and bobbing my head while restocking the cabinets.

“Hey Doc.” I turned and saw James Wisneiwski outside the wide door still in street clothes.

“Hey Wiz, come on in.” I invited and James came on in and sat on one of the benches.

“What’s up?” I asked, turning the medication labels so they faced out for quick reference.

“Just wondering if you could check on my knee again?” He sounded like a lost little kid.

I smiled and walked over, ready to assess his knee injury again.

He had sprained it doing something over the summer and was in rehab until it got better. He came to me every day he was in the building and always hoped I’d find him miraculously healed and he’d be able to play the next game.

I gave him the same news I had yesterday, “Not yet, Wiz, the muscles haven’t healed completely, and if you can’t walk without a limp how could you skate up and down the rink?” I put my hands on my hips and my weight on one leg.

Wiz sighed and hopped off. I grabbed his shoulder and said, “Relax Wiz. Get some sleep and slowly work off the injury. No need to rush it, when it heals you’ll have enough time to rough up some assholes on the ice.” I smiled at him and he found himself smiling at the prospect and left the room with a new hope.

Sighing, I walked back over to the cabinet and continued my work, until the game had started and I began to sneak into the coach’s room, where the big TV was.

After the game (thankfully there were no stitches or wound closures needed tonight) I retreated to the training room and awaited my patients.

Sure enough, Duncan Keith was the first one in tonight. He said he had gotten punched in the face and really needed some painkillers and an icepack. I supplied both and he thanked me and left. In came Troy Brouwer next, a rookie from the minor leagues with a sore ankle.

“It just kind of hurts on the outside. I can still skate- it’s just is sore and I don’t know if it can get worse.” I looked and prodded his ankle and said it might get worse if he didn’t stay off his feet. He looked at me with despair, because ‘off his feet’ equaled ‘back to the minors’ to him.

I shook my head and said to him, “If you don’t do any unnecessary things outside of skating and running excessively, you should be fine, and it will be sore. If it gets bad, come back and I’ll give you some painkillers.” I said, seeing Troy perk up visibly and hop of the table and kind of slightly limped his way out.

Burish came in next; he smiled a roguish smile and sat on the table, hockey pants and socks still on, lacking a shirt and pads.

“Hey Doc.” He said, looking me in the eye.

“Hallo, Bur.” I greeted, raising my eyebrow. “What are you in for?”

“My elbow is sore. I think I fucked it up a little when I checked that asshole Carcillo into the boards.” He moved the aforementioned right elbow around and then looked back up at me.

I moved around the room, first I went I grabbed an instant icepack, the kind you had to break open and some ace bandage. He unnervingly watched me move around and then when I reached the table again, his eyes met mine and made my hormones rage with a smoldering look.

He knew the effect it would have and I kind of faltered before I broke the icepack open and it started turning cold. I grabbed the ace bandage and wrapped the icepack around his elbow, purposely holding on a second to long, and touching him in a way that was just over the line of professional and ‘I want you here and now’.

He continued that smoldering gaze and I attempted to keep up that sexy thing I had going, but it was incredibly hard to do when I put the ace bandage away.

“You’re all good to go.” I said, calmly, like this whole silent exchange wasn’t freaking my hormones out.

“Don’t you want to take a look at my eyebrow?” He asked, pointing to his wound from last night.

“Sure.” I got closer and stared intently at the wound, making sure it looked clean and not infected. That was when Adam leaned up a little bit and kissed me full on. He put his hand on the back of my neck and made the kiss deeper, his tongue starting to explore my mouth, and mine his. I pressed my hand against his bicep and on an instinct which my brain yelled NO! And my nature yelled YES! I just barely flicked his nipple with my hand and moved it away as Adam moaned into the kiss and we heard a cough behind him.

We broke apart and Cristobal Huet was standing in the doorway with a smile on his face. Adam righted himself and left and I straightened myself and motioned to the table for Huet to sit.

“No worries, just wanted an icepack for Khabi.” He smiled.

I gave him the one that Khabibulin usually uses and looked at him hopefully.

He smiled again and said, “I never saw anything.” Huet left with a chuckle and I fell against my stool with a sigh.

That was too risky. If Huet was Coach Q, I would have been fired; instantly.

I decided to tell Burish later that that was a no-no, and couldn’t happen again.

Thankfully, later someone sent him in to grab some water, and he was all clean and in a suit for public relations.

“That was crazy. Thank god Huet is cool.” He said.

I agreed.

“I was wondering if I could get your number so we can make plans for the week? Our next game is Wednesday and that’s a long time.” Actually, today was Saturday so it wasn’t that long a time but I obliged and wrote my number on a prescription pad and tucked it in his inner jacket pocket.

He smiled, grabbed the water and left.