Chapter 6

The day went on after Logan’s Words: *Then you are going to learn why they quit.* Maya tried her best to brush it aside and concentrate. The metallic scrape of skates against the ice stopped abruptly, followed by the dull, heavy thud of a body hitting the boards hard enough to shake the reinforced glass. In the medical bay, Maya barely had time to put down her chart before the heavy double doors burst open. Marcus stepped through, half supporting a six-foot-two athlete who was clearly favoring his left side, his face tight with pain. Logan Blackwood was pale beneath his sweat covered skin. His teeth were clenched, his jaw tight. He walked with a sharp limp, his shoulder raised as he tried to protect his side. "Ribs or shoulder," Marcus said quickly, guiding Logan toward the padded examination bench. "Took a blindside check into the open bench door during five on five drills." "Sit him down," Maya said, moving into action. The tension between them disappeared from her mind the moment she saw him hurt. Her training took over. She turned to grab a fresh pair of nitrile gloves from the dispenser, but when she turned back, Dr Vance — the senior sports medicine consultant who happened to be in the adjoining office — was already approaching Logan with his hands out. "Let me take a look at that side, Logan," Dr. Vance said, reaching toward the captain's left flank. "Don't," Logan snapped. His voice came out rough and breathless. He shoved Vance's hands away with his forearm, his gray eyes flashing with anger. "Back off, Vance." "Logan, you took a heavy impact," Vance said, stepping closer. "We need to palpate the intercostals to check for a fracture—" "I said don't f*****g touch me," Logan growled. His breathing was heavy and shallow. He leaned back against the wall, keeping his body guarded and tense. Vance threw his hands up in frustration and looked at Maya. "He's being stubborn. He won't let anyone near him." Maya took a breath and pulled the gloves over her hands. She walked forward and stopped three feet away, keeping the distance Logan had always demanded. "Dr Vance, please give us the room," Maya said calmly. Vance muttered something under his breath but headed toward the hallway, leaving the double doors to close behind him. Marcus gave Maya a cautious nod before stepping back to the doorway, making sure no one else came in. Now it was just the two of them. Logan sat on the edge of the examination table, his left arm wrapped around his middle. Sweat covered his temple, and his chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. It was obvious that taking a full breath hurt. "Mr Blackwood," Maya said softly, holding his gaze. "You need to be evaluated. A fractured rib can puncture a lung if you move the wrong way or try to play through it. I'm not going to poke around unnecessarily, but I need to do a basic physical assessment." "I don't need you touching me," Logan said through clenched teeth. "I am the physician on duty," Maya replied, keeping her voice calm. "I'm going to put on my gloves. I'm going to touch only the area around your ribcage to check for displacement or flail chest. If I press somewhere that causes unbearable pain, tell me immediately. I'll move slowly, I'll tell you what I'm doing before I do it, and I'll stop as soon as the examination is complete." Logan stared at her. He was looking for something in her expression — pity, judgment, irritation, maybe even a reason to push him further. He found none. Maya simply stood there, focused on him as a patient who was in pain. After three long seconds, Logan gave one stiff nod. "Just the ribs." "Just the ribs," Maya confirmed. She stepped closer. As her hands came within six inches of his torso, she saw his body tense. Logan didn't just flinch. His shoulders and chest tightened, every muscle pulling stiff beneath his shirt. His breath caught, and his eyes followed her right hand closely. Maya stopped with her hand two inches from his shirt. She understood it now. This wasn't the usual arrogance of an athlete who thought he was above the rules. It wasn't just his fear of germs or some attitude he used to keep people away. Something about being touched frightened him. "I’m going to touch your upper left rib, over your jersey," Maya said before making contact. She gently placed her gloved fingertips against the fabric covering his upper ribcage. Logan's whole body shook. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw tightening until the skin pulled tight over the bone. Sweat ran down his cheek, but he didn't move away. He stayed where he was and let her continue. Maya worked quickly and carefully. She used light, controlled pressure along the spaces between his ribs, checking for the area that hurt the most without pressing harder than necessary. "Tenderness here?" she asked, touching the eighth rib along the mid-axillary line. Logan sucked in a sharp breath. "Yes." "Does it feel sharp or dull?" "Sharp," he gritted out. His hands were clenched at his sides, his knuckles pale. "No crepitus," Maya murmured, checking for any sign of bone movement or instability. "The structure feels intact. It's likely a severe intercostal muscle strain or a hairline contusion, not a displaced fracture." She pulled her hands away immediately and stepped back two full paces. As soon as the contact ended, Logan leaned forward slightly and took a deep, uneven breath that ended in a cough. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm, slowly getting his breathing under control. "I need to check your pulse and oxygen saturation," Maya said, picking up a small pulse oximeter from the metal tray. "It takes three seconds." She stepped forward again, holding out the small device. "May I have your hand?" Logan looked at the monitor, then back at her. He hesitated, his jaw tightening. The anger was gone now. What remained looked more like exhaustion and a guarded discomfort he was struggling to control. Slowly, he extended his right hand toward her, palm down. His arm trembled slightly as he forced himself to hold it out. Maya opened the clip, ready to place it over his index finger without touching his skin. But as she adjusted the sensor, her gloved thumb brushed the bare skin of his inner wrist. Logan reacted immediately. He jerked his arm back as if she'd burned him. His hand struck his chest, and the chair scraped two inches across the linoleum with a sharp screech. He stared at his wrist, then he looked at Maya. His gray eyes were wide, his face tense with panic.