Chapter 15 Jack

T he roar of the crowd is deafening as I skate out onto the ice, my teammates flanking me. The arena is packed to the rafters with rabid Firebirds fans, and their cheers fuel my determination as I take my position at center ice for the opening faceoff.

The ref drops the puck, and the game is underway. Bodies collide as both teams battle for control. I dig in, fighting through checks and using my size to shield the puck. Spotting an opening, I send a crisp pass to Paulson on the wing. He winds up and rips a slapshot that beats the goalie high blocker side. The red light flashes, and the crowd erupts.

The first period is a physical grind, with both teams trading chances. I take a couple of big hits along the boards but shake them off, focused solely on putting the biscuit in the basket. With time winding down, I win an offensive zone faceoff cleanly back to Jacobsen at the point. His blast gets tipped in front by Sam for another Firebirds tally. We head to the locker room with a two to zero lead.

Coach Reginald is all business during the intermission. "Don't let up, boys. Keep your feet moving and finish your checks. This series is far from over."

His words ring true in the second as our opponents storm back, tying the game on a couple of unlucky bounces. The physicality ratchets up even further. I take a high cross-check that goes uncalled, jarring my shoulder. A dull ache settles in, but I grit my teeth and keep skating.

The third period is a war of attrition with both teams leaving everything on the ice. With five minutes remaining, I win yet another faceoff back to the point. Paulson winds up, and I deflect his shot past the screened goalie for the go-ahead goal. The building is pandemonium.

We lock it down defensively, and I'm able to run out the clock, icing the three to two victory by winning the final faceoff cleanly into the corner. As the final horn sounds, my teammates mob me on the ice in celebration. I should be elated, but something feels…off.

I scan the crowd, hoping to spot Elyse's smiling face and sparkling green eyes cheering me on, but she's nowhere to be found. A pang of disappointment hits me. She's not here tonight, but I shouldn't expect her to be after telling her we can't be seen together in public. What did I expect?

My gaze continues roving the stands when I suddenly lock eyes with a too-familiar figure. Karina. My blood runs cold as I take in her icy glare and cruel smirk. What the hell is she doing here?

The sight of her dredges up a torrent of memories I've tried to suppress. The lies, the betrayal, the stalking, and the harassment of any woman who dared get close to me. My fists clench unconsciously as white-hot anger bubbles up.

In that moment, I decide I'm done letting Karina control me through fear and intimidation. I won't let her twisted obsession ruin yet another relationship, especially not with Elyse. I tear my gaze away and rejoin my teammates for the handshake line, accepting their congratulations with tight smiles and nods. My mind is already looking ahead, formulating a plan of action.

Back in the locker room, I make a beeline for Coach Mathews' office and shut the door behind me. The gruff old coach looks up, clearly surprised by my abrupt entrance.

"Everything all right? You played one hell of a game out there tonight. Told you that shoulder injury wouldn't slow you down."

I ignore that. "Coach, I need to take out a restraining order against my ex-girlfriend, Karina Musgrave. Immediately."

Reginald's eyes widen slightly but he keeps his poker face. "I'm aware of the…history there, Jack. You sure this is what you want to do?"

"Yes, I've never been surer of anything," I say firmly. "She was in the crowd tonight, just staring me down like she always does. I can't live like this anymore, walking on eggshells, and afraid of who she might go after next. It has to stop."

The coach nods slowly. "All right, if you're certain this drama won't do anything to ruin our season, I'll have the team lawyer start the paperwork first thing in the morning."

"Thank you, Coach." I turn to leave and exhale heavily. No more hiding, and no more fear. Karina doesn't control me anymore.

As I exit the office, Sam falls into step beside me. "Hey, man, hell of a game. That was an incredible individual effort."

I manage a tight smile for my teammate and friend. "Thanks, Sam. Just doin' my job."

Sam evidently picks up on my preoccupied demeanor. "Something on your mind, bro? You seem…off."

I sigh. "I spotted Karina in the crowd tonight. I went to Coach right after and told him I'm taking out a restraining order against her, effective immediately. She's had too much control for too long. Maybe I can even convince Elyse to forgive me—"

Understanding dawns on Sam's face. His brow furrows and jaw clenches as he processes what I've revealed about Karina. "You broke things off with Elyse because of that psycho ex of yours?"

I give a tight nod, unable to meet his piercing green gaze. Sam's hands ball into fists at his sides.

"Are you kidding me, man? Elyse is crazy about you. She's been walking around like a lovesick puppy ever since you two hit pause."

"I know, and I hate that I've hurt her," I say, running a hand through my damp hair, "But you have no idea how manipulative and vindictive Karina can be. I couldn't risk her going after Elyse."

Sam scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. "So instead of standing up to that bitch, you just let her win? By pushing away someone you obviously care about?"

His words sting because they ring true. I open my mouth to respond, but Sam cuts me off, his voice rising in anger.

"Don't even try to justify this, Ford. My sister deserves better than to be collateral damage in your bullshit drama with the ex from hell."

Before I can react, Sam lunges forward, driving his shoulder into my chest. The unexpected force slams me back against the concrete wall. A searing jolt of pain lances through my injured shoulder on impact.

White-hot agony radiates outward as I crumble to the floor, clutching at the throbbing joint. I grit my teeth, refusing to cry out as waves of nausea wash over me.

"Shit, Jack…I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to hit you that hard," Sam's voice cuts through the haze as he crouches beside me, concern etched on his face.

I try to wave him off, but the simple motion sends another stab of fiery torment through my shoulder. Sweat beads on my forehead as I fight against the blackness creeping in at the edges of my vision.

"We need to get you to the doc, bro." Sam slides an arm under mine to help hoist me to my feet.

I lean heavily against him, gritting my teeth as every jarring step further aggravates the inflamed joint. The short trek to the exam room feels like an eternity of suffering.

Dr. Kleiner looks up sharply as we enter, taking in my pallid complexion and the way I cradle my right arm protectively against my body.

"What happened?" He ushers me over to the examination table as Sam takes a step back.

"Took a bad hit during some…horseplay," Sam says vaguely as I ease myself onto the padded vinyl surface with his assistance.

The doctor wastes no time in probing the area around my shoulder with deft fingers, applying strategic pressure. I can't stifle the groan of agony that escapes my clenched jaw.

Dr. Kleiner's brow furrows as he continues probing the inflamed area around my shoulder joint. Sharp stabs of agony radiate outward with each press of his calloused fingers.

"Easy there, doc," I grit out through clenched teeth, sweat beading on my forehead from the searing pain.

The physician grunts, stepping back to regard me with a grave expression. "I'm afraid this injury is more serious than we thought, Jack. That shoulder is in rough shape."

I let out a humorless chuckle, shaking my head ruefully. "You don't have to sugarcoat it, Kleiner. I know my body, and this shoulder has been a ticking time bomb for months now."

Sam shifts uneasily beside me, guilt etched across his features. "Shit, man…I'm really sorry about that hit earlier. I never meant to make things worse."

Waving off his apology, I turn my attention back to the doctor. "So, what's the verdict? Am I gonna need to go under the knife?"

Kleiner lets out a weary sigh, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Based on my examination, I'd strongly recommend immobilizing that joint and getting further imaging—an MRI at minimum. I suspect you're dealing with a severe rotator cuff tear and maybe even some fractures in there too."

A knot forms in the pit of my stomach as the reality of his words sink in. Surgery would mean an extended recovery period, months of rehab and missed games. My mind flashes to Reginald's gruff countenance, the vein throbbing in his forehead when he gets riled up.

"You know as well as I do that Reginald won't sign off on that, doc," I say flatly, meeting Kleiner's sympathetic gaze. "Not with the playoffs just getting started. He'll demand I play through the pain, no matter how bad it gets."

The doctor's jaw tightens as he gives a solemn nod of agreement. We've been down this road before with other players' injuries over the years. Reginald's win-at-all-costs mentality leaves little room for ethics or player safety concerns.

"I could try talking some sense into that thick skull of his," Kleiner offers halfheartedly, though his tone lacks conviction, "But you're probably right. He'll just dig his heels in further."

Frustration bubbles up inside me as I rake a hand through my damp hair. I should have dealt with this nagging issue months ago instead of letting it fester, but the lure of another championship run was too strong, and the fear of disappointing my teammates and the fans too great.

Now I'm paying the price for my stubbornness. The dull, throbbing ache in my shoulder is a constant reminder of how far I've let this go.

"So, what are our options here?" asks Sam, his brow creased with worry. "Jack can't just keep playing like this, can he?"

Kleiner purses his lips, considering his next words carefully. "Well…I could give you a heavy dose of anti-inflammatories and pain medication to get you through the next couple games, but that's just a temporary band-aid, and it comes with risks of its own."

I nod slowly, my mind already made up. Gritting my teeth, I meet the doctor's concerned gaze head-on.

"Do it. Load me up, Doc. I'll take whatever I need to stay on the ice."

Sam's eyes widen in disbelief. "Jack, you can't be serious, man? That's just asking for more damage down the line."

"You think I don't know that?" I snap, rounding on him with flashing eyes. "What other choice do I have here? You heard the man. Reginald will never let me get this properly treated until the season's over."

Kleiner clears his throat, a pained expression on his weathered features. "Jack's right, Sam. With the way Coach Matthews operates, this is likely our only play for the time being."

The doctor moves to his medicine cabinet, retrieving a syringe and small vial. He makes quick work of drawing up a dose, flicking the barrel to dispel any air bubbles.

"This is a potent cocktail—heavy-duty anti-inflammatory meds plus a long-acting opiate for pain management," Kleiner explains as he swabs my bicep with an alcohol pad. "It should get you through the next couple games at least."

I give a terse nod, steeling myself as the needle pierces my skin. A dull burning spreads out from the injection site as the clear liquid is depressed into my muscle.

Almost immediately, I can feel the drugs starting to take effect. The throbbing ache in my shoulder recedes to a dull, distant murmur as an artificial calm washes over me.

"How's that?" asks Kleiner, eyeing me carefully. "Any relief yet?"

"Yeah…yeah, that's better," I say, rolling my shoulder experimentally. The pain is still present but now muted, almost as if it's happening to someone else.

Sam shakes his head, an unreadable expression on his face. "I don't like this, bro. You're just putting a band-aid on a bullet wound here."

"You got a better idea?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at my teammate and friend. When he doesn't respond, I let out a mirthless chuckle. "That's what I thought."

Pushing myself off the exam table, I wobble slightly as a wave of dizziness washes over me from the potent meds. Sam steadies me with a firm hand on my elbow until I regain my equilibrium.

"Take it easy there, big guy," he cautions. "Those are some heavy-duty drugs the doc just pumped you full of."

I shrug off his concern with a dismissive wave. "I'm good, I'm good. Just need to walk it off a bit."

Kleiner fixes me with a stern look. "Listen close, Jack. I mean it when I say this is only a very temporary solution, you hear? You can't keep playing on that shoulder for long without risking permanent, career-ending damage."

His grave words hang heavy in the air, but I've already made peace with my decision. I'll take the risk if it means defending a championship and my legacy.

"Understood, Doc, but we both know I don't have any other choice right now." I clap him on the shoulder as I move past him toward the door. "Thanks for doing what you can to keep me in the game."

As I exit the room, Sam falls into step beside me once more. An uneasy silence stretches between us as we make our way down the empty corridor.

Finally, he breaks the tension with a weary sigh. "I hope you know what you're doing here, man. Pushing your body too far has a way of coming back to bite you in the ass eventually."

I shoot him a sidelong glare. "You got a problem with how I'm handling this, Masterson?"

Sam holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Hey, I'm just looking out for you, bro. As your friend and teammate."

His words deflate my building irritation somewhat. Sam's been there for me through some of my darkest times over the years. If anyone has earned the right to voice concern, it's him.

Letting out a weary exhalation, "I know, and I appreciate you having my back, I really do, but you need to trust that I've got this under control."

The words sound hollow even to my own ears. If I'm being completely honest with myself, I'm not sure I have anything under control anymore when it comes to this shoulder issue, but I can't let that doubt show. Not with everything on the line—the championship, my career, and my future. I've come too far to let an injury derail all my dreams.

Sam seems to read the unspoken resolution in my expression. He lets out a resigned sigh, shaking his head slowly. "Whatever you say, Captain. I just hope you know what you're doing here."