often feminize the last name when they marry.”
It was an old tradition, and some people didn’t even do it anymore. But his mother had done it, and so had Elena’s when she’d married Elena’s father. So Elena had decided to do it too. At the time, it had meant something to Vlad. It meant she thought their marriage was special. Now he knew better. And the last thing he needed besides her pity was a reminder of how naive he’d once been.
Madison strode forward next, hand outstretched to Elena. “We haven’t met before. I’m Madison Keff, the head trainer.”
Elena shook hands with both women. “Where is the coach?”
“Coach . . . ?” Madison asked.
“Yes. The coach of the team. Why is he not here?”
“Because he’s on the road,” Vlad said, failing to keep the annoyance from his voice. “They left this morning for the next game in the series.”
Because they’d lost last night. If they’d won, his team would already be on their way to the Stanley Cup. They had to win tonight, or it was over. But no matter what, Vlad would not be there.
Dr. Lorenzo, either because she was efficient or because she sensed a growing tension, interjected. “Let’s go over the surgery.”
Madison turned on the wall-mounted TV, did something on her iPad, and then the TV screen came alive with a still image from the game. It was the moment just before the fall. Vlad didn’t need to see it to relive it. He would never forget the moment his career flashed before his eyes. There was a pop followed by a searing pain, and then his vision blurred as he fell to the ice. He might have cried out, but all he could hear was the sound of his own frantic heartbeat. The game went on, but time stopped for him as he tried and failed to get back up.
A hush fell over the crowd, and officials finally paused the game. Trainers raced out. Crouched beside him. Asked him questions as they tried to locate the source of the injury.
He’d seen it play out a hundred times to a hundred different players over the course of his career, but now it was him. It was his turn to wonder if this was it. Had his entire career just ended in a split-second mistake?
They splinted him on the ice and carted him off on a stretcher. It was a blur after that. At some point, they’d peeled off his pads and cut off his pants. Thankfully, they gave him a shot of a powerful painkiller almost immediately, numbing him all the way to his toes. Then they moved him to the X-ray room, followed up with an MRI, and walked back in with a look that told him it was as bad as he’d feared. His brain could only grasp key words and phrases over the rush of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart.
Broken tibia.
A clean break, but he would need surgery.
And then they loaded him into an ambulance and brought him here, Nashville Orthopedic Hospital. He was rushed into surgery before he could even fully process what was happening.
And then he’d had the dream about Elena. She’d lulled him into a peaceful state with her gentle touch, her voice, her reassurances. Only now he knew it wasn’t a dream. She was really here. But instead of making him feel better, it made him feel worse.
The doctor approached the screen and pointed with a pen. “We think the initial break from the fall itself was probably small,” she explained. “But when you stood, you likely displaced the bone further.”
The video began. In slow motion, Vlad watched himself try to stand before falling back to the ice, face twisted in agony. “So, I made it worse,” he said.
“Yes, but also no.” Dr. Lorenzo turned away from the TV. “Ironically, your recovery would have been a lot longer with the simple fracture. We would have had to cast you and let the bone heal on its own with almost no weight-bearing activity for twelve weeks. With this kind of break, we place a metal rod into the bone to hold it in place. Believe it or not, this means you’ll be up walking and rehabbing a lot sooner.”
Dr. Lorenzo checked her watch. “I have to prep for another surgery. I’ll check back in before I head out for the day.”
Vlad didn’t even wait for the door to close before he looked at Madison. “When will