And yeah, we hooked up. It was the best one-night stand of my life. Hell, it was the best sex of my life. I’ve never felt so dialed in to another human soul before. But that’s all it could be for me. One perfect night. No names. No numbers. I woke in the morning and quietly packed my bags, leaving him naked in my bed looking like my every dream.
I’d be lying if I said that missing him wasn’t feeding my depression. I regret not telling him my name. I regret not staying with him longer. He asked me to stay. He wanted me like I wanted him…want him.
I groan, dragging my hand through my messy hair again. I can’t think about Mystery Boy right now. I’ve got to deal with Doctor Halla. I glance back at my phone and see I’ve got a missed call from an unknown number. Area code 212…that’s Manhattan, right? I purse my lips, tapping the text from Doctor H.
DR. HALLA （8:08AM）： Price, call me ASAP
DR. HALLA （8:15AM）： MISSED CALL
Taking a deep breath, I lift the phone to my ear and tap the little green call button. The dial tone chirps three times before it connects.
I dive right in. “Dr. Halla, so sorry I missed your call—”
“Price, are you here? Come to my office,” he says in that posh, slightly accented voice.
“I—no, sir. I’m not scheduled to come in until this afternoon.”
“Damn. Well, I didn’t want to do this over the phone…”
I do a quick inventory of myself. A shower is pretty much nonnegotiable. And I have to put some food in my stomach. And coffee. Lots of coffee. “Umm…I can be there in thirty minutes—”
“No,” he replies quickly. “I don’t want to keep them waiting.”
Them?
“Sir, what—”
“You got it.”
My mind cranks like a pair of rusty gears as I try to puzzle out his meaning. “I—what?”
“The Barkley Fellowship. You got it,” he repeats. His delivery is so deadpan that I’m not sure what to say. Is he joking? Because it’s not fucking funny. “Price? Did you hear me?”
“Yes—what?” My heart is racing a mile a minute. “I don’t understand.”
“I just got off the phone with Dr. Ahmed from the selection committee at the Foundation,” he explains. “Apparently, you were first on the waitlist.”
“Oh my god.” I shove off the bed and stand on wobbly legs, looking helplessly around my tidy room.
“She was just informed that one of the fellows made the genius decision to go whitewater rafting and his raft flipped,” Dr. Halla goes on. “Broke both his tibia and dislocated his shoulder, so he’s out.”
“Ohmygod,” I gasp, pacing from the bed to the window. “So what does that—”
“It means you’re in,” he replies, cutting right to the chase. “Dr. Ahmed called me as a favor. She knows you’re my resident. She wanted to make sure you’d be serious about accepting. I told her you were. I hope I didn’t overstep,” he adds quickly.
“No, sir, I—” I hardly have words to speak. This can’t be happening.
“You are still serious about it, right?”
“Of course,” I all but shout into the phone. “I—this is just the last thing I expected. Didn’t the fellowships already begin?”
“They only started this week,” he replies. “That was the other reason she was calling. Usually the fellows get to have some say in their choice of placement. If not the specific team, then at the very least gender and sport. You’ll need to be willing to fill this other fellow’s place. It’s already all set up and it’s too late to change it now.”
Oddly enough, the total lack of control is giving me a kind of thrill. I feel like I’m skydiving, spiraling through the air in those moments before the parachute is deployed. “Yes,” I say. “I’ll do it. Whatever it is, I’m in.”
I’m grinning now.
“Excellent,” he replies. “It’ll be more of a physical therapy role than primary care, but they’re intrigued with your background in both. Dr. Ahmed wanted to check with me to make sure your experience at the clinic will translate well. I told her you’re the perfect candidate.”
My heart flutters and there’s tears in my eyes. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much for your support—”
“Say nothing of that,” he says brusquely. He’s not big on gushing. One of the residents hugged him at the Christmas party last year, and I thought he might turn to stone. “I believe Dr. Ahmed said she already tried to call you this morning. Call her back, and formally accept the fellowship. And don’t worry about your shift this afternoon,” he adds. “I’ll apprise Wendy of the situation.”
“Thank you,” I stammer again. My spirit must surely be floating somewhere above my stunned body.
“This is a great opportunity, Price. I’m pleased for you. Maybe you can get me tickets to a game sometime this season.”
His words register and I stop in my pacing, sucking in a breath. The fellowship started this week. Meaning I have to quit my job, pack up my life, and move, and I don’t even know where I’m moving!
“Wait—what’s the team?” I call out before he hangs up. “What sport? What city? Did she tell you?”
“Yes,” he replies. “Your fellowship will be with the Jacksonville Rays.”
My mind spins. Jacksonville. Atlantic side of Florida, I know that much. Great, I love the beach. But my mind is drawing a blank at the Rays. The Jaguars are the NFL team…baseball maybe? God, if this is a test of my fit for their program, I’m utterly failing.
“I’ve never heard of the Rays,” I admit.
He chuckles. “Well you wouldn’t. The Rays are the newest expansion team for the NHL. I don’t think they’ve even finished the new stadium yet.”
I all but shriek with excitement, which is completely unprofessional, but I don’t care.
Hockey. It’s one of the most ruthless, injury-prone sports. The men play with literal knives strapped to their feet. Lots of bone breaks. Lots of shoulder, hip, and knee injuries. Dislocations. Groin pulls. It’s my dream placement.
And a new team means all new staff, new stadium, over-eager fans. I won’t be walking in as the total new girl, trying to prove myself on an established team with a medical staff set in their ways.
“Sir—” I squeak out, unable to think of any other words.
He just chuckles again. “Have fun, Price. You’ve earned this.” Then he hangs up.
I stand there with the phone in my hand, utterly speechless. I won the Barkley Fellowship.
Well, you slid into the empty spot left by a winner—
No!
I shut down the negative thoughts. Getting in off a waitlist is just as good as winning it outright. Any of the guys on the team would agree. Your place in the draft doesn’t matter so long as you get to put on that jersey. Winning is winning. Playing is playing.
I’m smiling so hard my face hurts. I’m moving to Jacksonville, Florida. I’m about to start a ten-month sports medicine fellowship, all expenses paid. I get to work with a professional hockey team.