Page 46 of The Goalie in Room 1

We’d had this discussion a few times over the last few days, but Cash kept asking, which led me to believe he was more nervous than his joking demeanor let on.

“Three out of four make it back.”

“After their first surgery?”

“That’s right.”

“One in four. Two in eight. Three in twelve.”

“That’s right,” I said, my throat thick with how much I wanted him to be the one in four.

“Thad?”

I looked at Michael and nodded. It wasn’t unheard of for me to come into the OR before the patient was put under, but…I never stayed to talk, and I didn’t fucking joke with the patient.

“Michael’s going to start the meds now, Cash. Any last questions?”

He shook his head, and Michael asked, “Cash, can you tell me your full name?”

“Caspian Benjamin.”

“What are you having done?”

“Shit, I don’t know the name for it. Doc’s fixing the cartilage in my knee. Something condyl allo graft.”

I laughed. “Close enough. Osteochondral allograft transplantation to the right medial femoral condyle.”

“Cash, which leg?” Michael asked to confirm.

“The right one. It had to be the fucking right one.”

“Why’s the right worse than the left?” Nina asked.

“I’ve not been able to drive in nearly a year. I even sold my truck. No use making payments on something I couldn’t use,” Cash said, his voice slowing down.

I kept myself from looking at my staff. It wasn’t the worst thing we’d heard come out of an athlete’s mouth who was willing to sacrifice everything for their sport. It was just the first time one of their stories throat-punched me the way Cash’s did.

“Thad?” I looked down at Cash. His eyes slow-blinked several times. Then he said, “Don’t fuck up,” just as his face slackened and his breath slowed.

Standing, I walked out of the OR to the scrub room. I needed to get a hold of myself. The only issue with that was, I’d been trying to do that exact thing since my eyes opened this morning. The man kept drifting into spaces where the doctor should be. Needed to be. Had to fucking be.

I returned to the operating room, scrubbed, gowned, and sterile, and Cash was gone.

Or almost.

Underneath Luis’s sterile field lay the sexy, funny kid who drew me like a moth to a flame. Michael at his head, monitoring every breath and heartbeat. Evan waiting for me at the table. But the laughing man who’d told me not to fuck up was gone. All that remained of him was his right leg, prepped from thigh to foot.

As much as it unnerved me, this was good. This I could handle.

I stepped into position beside the table. Evan took his place opposite me while Luis moved the instrument table within reach.

“Ready when you are, Dr. Vale,” Rochelle said.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Rochelle called, “Time-out.”

Everything stopped. Everything but the routine of Rochelle going through the procedure.