Page 4 of Offside

I had. I remembered at seven-thirty while I was writing up my end-of-day notes, then forgotten again before I left the building.

"I'm sorry," I said. I should have apologized sooner.

"I know." She opened her eyes. There was no accusation in them, which made the apology feel thinner. "Tonight?"

"Your place or mine for dinner?" I asked, picking up my lunch.

"Mine. Your refrigerator has ingredients, not food."

"We can turn said ingredients into food," I pointed out.

"That's why I keep dating you. The romance." Her mouth twitched at the corner.

I smiled. She came close enough to kiss me, one hand flat against my chest.

We'd been together for eight months. I knew which side of the bed she chose, that she hated pulp in her orange juice, and that she would leave a paperback open facedown no matter how many bookmarks I bought her. She knew I left before dawn and that my lunch break rarely occurred at lunch time.

It worked. We were comfortable together.

"Tonight," I said again. Anna pushed away from the counter.

"Go. Vicki will sense you're three minutes late and fine you."

"Vicki doesn't fine staff. She makes them wish she did."

The facility was bright against the gray sky when I pulled into the parking lot just before dawn. Vicki's car occupied its usual space near the staff entrance, and Zoe's was two rows back. Inside, I set my mug under the shoulder chart at the corner station and opened Bishop's assessment before I took off my coat.

His active elevation had dropped thirty degrees from July. Passive external rotation had lost twelve. The strength had returned after the initial contact, but not to his baseline, and the joint's end-feel had changed. He could compensate through his shoulder blade and upper back well enough to make the arm look functional from across a rink. That didn't make the joint functional under a normal load, though.

I said each number aloud before I entered it.

Vicki came out of her office carrying a tablet and her reading glasses.

"Reyes reviewed the overnight note," she said.

"What did she say?" I asked.

"No contact until she examines him and reviews the imaging history—after morning skate. He can skate and handle a puck. She wants your full assessment attached to the order."

"Already done," I said.

Vicki checked the screen. "Good. This season's notes route to medical, hockey operations, and the contract group. Park's office asked for access yesterday."

I looked at the routing line above the form. Bishop's name appeared there, then the season, then the three groups who would be able to read the reports.

"Does Bishop know the contract group will see it?" I asked her.

"It's a contract-year for him. He knows his file isn't private from the club. Let him know today, though." Vicki put on her glasses. "Don't let it change your notes."

"It won't."

"I know." She studied me for a moment, then nodded before moving on to Zoe.

I returned to the assessment. I documented the loss; it wasn't permanent. I documented the strength that had returned already. Under his plan, I entered an individualized progression of pain-limited mobility, rotator-cuff and scapular strength within his current range, controlled loading below the point where compensation began, and staged hockey work after Reyes reviewed the images.

The plan included education and self-management because Bishop needed to be able to manage the shoulder at home, on the road, and in the ten minutes after a game when nobody's hands were available.

Manual work was one part of it, useful for pain and guarding, but it wasn't a cure and wouldn't be enough to tolerate contact again. At the bottom, I recommended physician review before return to contact, plus consideration of further imaging based on the change in range and load response. I read the note once from the top.