Boarding Call

The Mavericks were clinging to a one-goal lead when Beau "Brick" Leduc saw the hit coming. It wasn't pretty, the way that hulking defenseman from the division rivals lined him up against the boards. Beau braced himself, but the impact still rattled his teeth. His shoulder took the worst of it, popping out of its socket with a sickening crunch that echoed through the arena. He crumpled to the ice, gasping for air, his vision swimming.

The whistle blew. The crowd roared. Beau's teammates gathered around him, their faces tight with concern. Coach Griff Thibodeaux skated over, his weathered features grim. "Jesus, Brick," he muttered. "That looked bad."

Beau tried to sit up, but the pain in his shoulder was excruciating. He gritted his teeth. "I'm fine, Coach," he lied. "Just help me up."

Griff shook his head. "Like hell you are." He waved over the medical staff. "Get him off the ice."

As Beau was helped to his feet, he glanced up at the scoreboard. The Mavericks were still ahead, but without their enforcer on the ice, their playoff hopes were looking dimmer by the second. Beau cursed under his breath. He hated feeling helpless, hated knowing that he was letting his team down.

In the locker room, Beau sat on a training table, his shoulder throbbing. The team doctor had already confirmed the worst: a severe separation. He'd be out for weeks, maybe longer. Beau stared at the floor, his jaw clenched. He could hear the muffled sounds of the game still going on above him, the cheers and groans of the crowd. It should have been him out there, protecting his teammates, fighting for the win.

The door opened, and a young man walked in, carrying a medical kit. He had close-cropped brown hair and serious gray eyes, and he moved with a quiet efficiency that Beau found oddly calming. "I'm Dax Moreau," he said, setting down the kit. "The new athletic trainer. Everyone calls me Cash."

Beau nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Cash began to examine his shoulder, his touch gentle but firm. "This looks pretty bad," he said. "We need to get some ice on it right away."

Beau winced as Cash probed the swollen joint. "Just do what you need to do," he grunted.

Cash worked quickly, wrapping the shoulder in ice packs and securing it with a sling. His hands were deft and sure, and Beau found himself relaxing slightly under his care. "You're the new guy, huh?" he asked. "Where'd you come from?"

"The minors," Cash said. "I was with the Kodiaks before this."

Beau raised an eyebrow. "No shit? I played with them for a season back in the day."

Cash smiled. "Small world."

"Yeah, no kidding." Beau watched as Cash finished taping the sling. "Think I'll be back before the playoffs?"

Cash hesitated. "It's too soon to say for sure," he said. "But I'll do everything I can to get you there."

Beau nodded. He appreciated the honesty. "Thanks, Cash."

"Just doing my job." Cash packed up his kit. "Try to rest that shoulder as much as you can. I'll check on you again in the morning."

After Cash left, Beau leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed. The pain in his shoulder was still there, but it felt a little more manageable now. He knew the road ahead would be long and difficult, but for the first time since the hit, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be back on the ice before the season was over.

The next few days passed in a blur of pain and frustration. Beau hated being sidelined, hated watching his team struggle without him. The Mavericks lost the game the night he got hurt, and the next two after that. Their playoff hopes were hanging by a thread.

Cash stuck by him, though, always there with a steady hand and a calm demeanor. He worked tirelessly to help Beau manage the pain, massaging the sore muscles and adjusting the sling to keep him as comfortable as possible.

One morning, about a week after the injury, Cash came into Beau's hotel room to check on him. They were on the road, in the middle of a long stretch of away games. Beau was sitting on the bed, staring out the window at the gray city skyline. He felt useless, adrift.

Cash set down his medical kit and pulled up a chair. "How's the shoulder today?" he asked.

Beau shrugged, then winced. "About the same," he said. "Still hurts like a bitch."

Cash nodded. "That's to be expected." He started to unwrap the sling, his fingers careful on Beau's skin. "I know it's tough, being away from the team like this. But you're making progress, even if it doesn't feel like it right now."

Beau didn't answer. He didn't want to hear about progress. He wanted to be back on the ice, back with his teammates, back where he belonged.

Cash seemed to sense his mood. He worked in silence for a few minutes, rewrapping the sling and checking the swelling. When he was finished, he sat back in his chair. "You know," he said, "I saw you play once, back when you were with the Kodiaks."

Beau looked up, surprised. "Yeah?"

Cash nodded. "It was my first year in the minors. I was working as a trainer for the other team. I remember watching you out there, the way you protected your guys. It was impressive."

Beau felt a flicker of pride, quickly smothered by his frustration. "Fat lot of good it's doing me now," he muttered.

Cash was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I know it feels like the end of the world right now. But it's not. You'll heal, and you'll be back out there. And when you are, you'll be even stronger than before."

Beau wanted to believe him. He wanted to cling to that hope, to let it pull him through the long days of rehab and recovery. But it was hard, so hard, to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Cash reached out, resting a hand on Beau's good shoulder. "I'm not just saying that," he said. "I believe in you. I know how much this means to you, and I'm going to do everything in my power to help you get back on the ice."

Beau felt a lump rise in his throat. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel quite so alone.

The next day, Beau’s rehab began in earnest. Cash was waiting for him in the cramped hotel gym, a determined look on his face. “Alright, big guy,” he said. “Let’s get to work.”

Beau gritted his teeth as Cash led him through a series of gentle stretches, his injured shoulder screaming in protest. He hated feeling so weak, so helpless. But he knew he had to push through the pain if he ever wanted to get back on the ice.

Cash was a demanding taskmaster, pushing Beau to his limits and beyond. He never let up, never gave an inch, even when Beau was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. “Come on, Brick,” he’d say. “You’ve got more in you than that.”

Beau wanted to tell him to go to hell, to leave him alone with his misery. But something about Cash’s quiet intensity kept him going, kept him pushing through the agony. He knew Cash was only doing what was best for him, even if it felt like torture at the time.

As the days turned into weeks, Beau’s shoulder slowly began to heal. The pain was still there, an unwelcome guest from his brush with disaster, but it was becoming more manageable. He could move his arm a little farther each day, lift a little more weight.

But progress was slow, and Beau’s frustration grew with every passing hour. He hated being cooped up in the gym while his team was out there fighting for a spot in the playoffs. He hated feeling like a burden, like dead weight.

Cash never wavered, though. He was always there, pushing Beau, encouraging him, believing in him even when he didn’t believe in himself. “You’re doing great,” he’d say. “Just a little bit more.”

One night, on a long bus ride back from an away game, Beau found himself sitting next to Cash. The rest of the team was asleep, exhausted from the game and the travel. Beau’s shoulder ached, but he didn’t want to take any more painkillers. He wanted to feel the pain, to remember what was at stake.

Cash was reading a book, his face illuminated by the dim overhead light. Beau watched him for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Hey,” he said.

Cash looked up, his gray eyes meeting Beau’s. “Hey yourself.”

“How’s the book?”

Cash shrugged. “Not bad. Just something to pass the time.”