Goalie Secrets (The Columbus Mavericks)

Chapter One Vanya

“I still can’t believe you’re making me do it, Ash,” I tell my best friend.

Although the context varies, this isn’t the first time I’ve expressed the sentiment. Ashley’s second job—one she assigned for herself since we met in third grade—is pushing me out of my comfort zone.

“When you’re gray haired and wrinkled, you’ll thank me. Your grandchildren will appreciate what a hot piece of ass grandma was in the good old days.”

I choke on air at the thought. “I am not showing my grandkids boudoir photos, you sicko!” Or anyone else, if I can help it.

“Why the hell not?”

“If I have to explain why tits are not part of story time, then there’s no hope for you.”

“Tasteful pictures of you in lingerie are your line on the sand for decency? Don’t bullshit me, girl. I was in the room when you flashed—”

“Are you going to bring up New Orleans for the rest of our lives? It was before medical school, so it doesn’t count.”

“Tell that to the frat boys you corrupted.” Her cackle is so jarring, I pull the phone away from my ear.

“Dr. Kapur? May I come in?” A woman’s voice follows three confident knocks outside my office door.

“Yes, of course,” I answer before returning to my best friend. “I gotta go, Ash. I’ll call you later.”

“Fine. I have to dress for work anyway,” she says. “Are you sure you don’t want me to fly in for a birthday celebration this weekend?” Ashley’s voice turns melancholy because this is my first birthday in two decades that she won’t be celebrating with me.

“I’m sure. Gotta go!” I hang up and put on my game face.

Today, I’m starting my one-year fellowship in the most successful physical rehabilitation center in Ohio. It’s a temporary step that brings me closer to my goal of running my own clinic.

“I would have left my door open if I knew the office started this early,” I greet the woman standing by my door at seven in the morning. “Please, come in.”

“Hi, I’m Sabrina Whitby, the office manager. When I saw your light, I couldn’t wait to welcome you. Are you an early bird like me?” she asks cheerily. Her small hand is dwarfed in my oafish one. Despite a scrubbed face and the unflattering outfit of the Columbus Physiatrists Rehabilitation Center, she’s very pretty.

“I wanted to get a head start on setting up my office before everyone came to work,” I explain.

“Do you need help?” she asks.

“No, thank you. I’m nearly done.”

I can move boxes and organize my own files. However, as the office manager, Sabrina could probably help me with something else.

“Actually, there is something I’d like to ask you about,” I venture. “Did Dr. Lane brief the office on why I moved from Boston?”

“A little,” she answers hesitantly. “Although Kyle is planning to give a proper welcome speech during the office meeting at 8:30 this morning. We’re honored that you’re here.”

I blush at her praise. Nothing’s worse than an ego-inflated, self-congratulating doctor who fishes for compliments every five minutes. There are enough of them around. The last thing I want is to sound like one.

“Oh, well, that’s not, um, why I asked,” I stammer, a tad defensively. “Did he mention which files I’ll start with? I mean patients. Which patients I’ll work with.”

Her friendly smile wanes. “No, he didn’t. I thought he would do the rounds with you this week. I’m sorry, Dr. Kapur.”

“Please call me Vanya. And no reason to be sorry at all. I’m sure Kyle will have all that information during the meeting.”

A few beats of awkward silence pass.

“Well, if there’s nothing else…”

“I’m good! Everything is good,” I rush to assure her.

“Great to meet you,” she says in the tone used by people who have decided you’re a socially inept goof. I confirm her suspicion by closing my office door. It’s not that I’m unfriendly by nature, but unexpected interactions rattle me. Besides, working in this field has taught me a few hard lessons. One of them is to keep work interactions exclusively professional.

My eyes fall on the Buddha Board that my mother sent for my birthday. It’s an ethnically insulting name for what is nothing more than a blank slate on which you draw with, get this, water . To write something and watch it evaporate in less than five minutes is apparently the epitome of a Zen existence. My mother’s birthday greeting included a warning that my failure to relax will lead to premature aging and weight gain in the midriff. Like most of her advice, the message was far from relaxing.

I dip the bamboo brush in the small reservoir of water and write 30, which is my age as of today.

My conversation about boudoir pics with Ashley lingers. The session was her birthday gift. She picked a studio in my new city, located in downtown Columbus and guaranteeing “superior quality and luxury details” according to the website. I promised to go, but I never said when .

“Vanya, I didn’t realize you were coming in so early!” A man’s voice bellows. I jump and turn around as Dr. Kyle Lane peeks into my office. I slam the Buddha Board down, spilling water.

“Oh, crap,” I mutter while reaching for the box of tissues.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Straightening up, I shake his hand.

“How was your move?” he asks.

I’m renting a fully furnished place, so the effort to move was minimal. Organizing my medical books and patient notes was more complicated than setting up house.

“The drive went smoothly.” I answer amicably. Unfortunately, if Kyle is expecting me to elaborate on my trip or the move, he will be as disappointed as Sabrina. Small talk is a foreign language to me.

As physiatrists, Kyle and I have met at conferences through the years. Our expertise puts us in similar medical panels and workshops. Every conversation we’ve had started by discussing an issue or breakthrough in our profession. The best way to describe a physiatrist is that we treat an array of skeletal and neurological disorders holistically through medicine, rehabilitation, and physical therapy. The only thing we don’t do is surgery. That isn’t a shortcoming; that’s the point .

“I’d love to show you around before things get too busy,” Kyle says.

Gathering my iPad, I take him up on his offer. “What you’ve done with the practice is incredible, Kyle,” I praise in all sincerity as we walk down the hallway. His private practice is one of the most advanced, comprehensive facilities in the country.

“We weren’t always this big. It helps to work with the Mavericks.” He’s referring to the local NHL team that gives him access to high-profile events and publicity with the fanbase. “With you on board, maybe I can enjoy a vacation this year.”

He gives the lay of the land. There are two distinct sections located in an industrial park on the outskirts of downtown. Our offices, where we will consult and examine our patients, are in a smaller medical wing. The rest of the building is the rehab center comprising nearly ten thousand square feet of weights, medical tables, fitness stations, and sports simulators. The ceiling is multiple stories high in order to accommodate the climbing wall and basketball hoops. During our tour, a small army of physical therapists and staff trickle in with their clients, some heading to the massage tables while others use the treadmills and bikes to warm up.

I’m bombarded with names that I can’t remember and smiles I’m struggling to return.

At 8:35, Kyle leads me to a conference room where there’s a spread of coffee, muffins, and fruit. Six physical therapists join us, along with two physician’s assistants.

It takes Kyle nearly fifteen minutes to introduce me. By the time he’s listed my educational credentials, clinical studies, and fellowship positions, I’ve slouched my 5’9” frame to a blob at the end of the conference table.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my profession and work hard to be recognized in a field dominated by men. However, I don’t think my resume is worthy of a fifteen-minute documentary. As evidenced by a few people yawning, I’m not alone in finding the introduction overdone. When it’s time for me to speak, there’s not much to add.

“Thank you,” I croak. “I’m looking forward to working with all of you. And…thank you.”

If it isn’t painfully obvious yet, public speaking is the only thing I dread more than small talk.

Once the meeting wraps up, casual chatter rises. I’m reminded that being the new person in town will require me to talk about things other than patients and protocols. I’d rather return to my office to review files. The only reason I haven’t left the boardroom is because Kyle hasn’t confirmed my patient roster.

Speaking of patients, the sooner I can talk to him about Jeremy Lopez, the better. Mr. Lopez is the star goaltender for Columbus’s hockey team, the Mavericks, and a longtime patient of the rehab center.

If all goes as planned, my time in Columbus will contribute to my ongoing research on “Key Clinical Management Research for Hypermobility in Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS) Patients.” It’s a long title for what is the first early-intervention pain management analysis for EDS. It is also my ticket to establishing a comprehensive research lab dedicated to connective tissue disorders.

Jeremy Lopez will be the principal subject of my research. He just doesn’t know it yet.