My shoulder pulls as I pull the jersey over my head. Captain, it says on the back, C on the chest, Pittsburgh Penguins. It took me five years to get back to this city, and one body check to land in the treatment room.
Sarah. Dr. Lindqvist now, on the badge. Five years since I left this city on a night bus with a contract in my bag and her key on the kitchen table.
She looks up. Nothing moves in her expression. She is very good at it, or she has practised.
“Shirt off,” she says. “Sit.”
"Four weeks," she says. "At least. No contact, no shot." – "The game against Boston is in ten days." – "Then Boston plays without you." She says it without looking up, and I know she's enjoying it, and I know she hates it at the same time.
“You've been playing on this,” she says. Not a question.
“It's a contract year.”
