Chapter 2
Bash
Before the doctor’s appointment, Sebastiaan Koning had seriously considered bribing Dr. Al-Tahawi (Head of Orthopedic Surgery at Bellford University Hospital), Tanner McGee (Athletic Training Director, Bellford University Athletics), and Charles Kurtzman (Head Coach, Bellford University Ravens).
He could, and would, pay whatever it took to get them to sign off on his returning to the Rink for his senior year.
He had enough money. Or, his family did. With a few calls, he could have thousands of euros wired to the lot of them. His father would not even notice it missing from the family coffers.
But that would be a scandal. Sebastiaan did not need a scandal.
He needed to get better.
“You’re better,” Dr. Al-Tahawi said.
So, no need for a bribe.
The doctor pointed to the scans of Sebastian’s shoulder, which she had pulled up on her desktop computer. “See?”
Sebastiaan leaned forward. He braced his elbows on his knees. Kurtzman and McGee looked at the screen. They were as interested in his recovery as he was. He was the star of the hockey team. A real money maker for the college.
“I see a scan of my shoulder,” he said.
“Yes. Your shoulder, which is better,” Dr. Al-Tahawi said.
She spoke slowly. Sebastiaan didn’t like it when people did that.
He was a hockey player. That did not mean he was an idiot.
He was Dutch. That did not mean he did not understand English.
Dr. Al-Tahawi pointed meaninglessly at several parts of the scans. “All healed.”
Ligaments, Sebastiaan assumed. A muscle or two. Definitely a bone in there.
The same parts of his body that had reacted so poorly when he hit the ice in the NCAA Championship last year. Total shoulder joint separation. Grade III, Al-Tahawi had said. Lucky to ever skate again, McGee had said.
Fuck that, Sebastiaan had said.
“You are saying I can play again, yes?” Sebastiaan said. He glanced from the doctor to the athletic trainer to his coach.
All three exchanged a glance.
“You can play,” McGee said. He leaned forward and adopted a genial expression. Trust me, kid, it said. I’m fatherly.
Fatherly affection did not make Sebastiaan trust someone more. He regarded McGee coolly.
“You have to be careful, though,” McGee continued. “You’ll have limited mobility for a bit.”
“And no brawls on the ice,” Al-Tahawi added.
“I am not a bruiser.” Sebastiaan kept his voice calm, even though he was insulted by the doctor’s suggestion that he fought on the ice. He was a starting center and co-captain of the hockey team. Others could fight. Not him.
“You’re the Basher,” McGee said. This earned him a look from Kurtzman.
“I did not make that name,” Sebastiaan said. His teammates thought it was cute. Bas became Bash became the Basher. “I just play.”
“And you’ll play it safe,” Kurtzman said. “Look, Bash. Our team needs you and needs you to be okay. Until we know how your body has recovered, you’re off the starting lineup.”
“No,” Sebastiaan said.
“It’s not up to you, kid,” Kurtzman said.
Sebastian thought about it for all of three seconds. He decided that there was nothing he could do to change Kurtzman’s mind except prove him wrong.
He stood. All six feet and two inches of him.
“Fine,” he said. He turned to the doctor. “Thank you.”
As he left the room, he added in a pleasant voice, “Je kan me reet likken.”
He was thankful, not for the first time, that Coach Kurtzman didn’t speak Dutch.