Page 102 of The Goalie in Room 1

“No, you fucking don’t.”

Matteo came through the door behind me and stopped before he ran into the ends of my crutches.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“He’s yelling.”

“Excellent observational skills, but our table is over here.”

The kid shoved himself off the treatment table, coming close to landing his ass on the ground. His therapist reached toward him when he wobbled, but he jerked away before she touched him.

“Don’t.”

“Then sit down until you’re steady.”

“Stop telling me what to do.”

“Eli.”

“I said I’m done.”

He grabbed for his crutch. It tipped away from his fingers and clattered onto the floor.

He swore and tried to bend for it.

The therapist blocked him. “Don’t put yourself in a position you haven’t been cleared to manage.”

“I can pick up a fucking crutch.”

“You almost fell standing still.”

“I didn’t fall.”

“You’re right. You didn’t. Because I was here.”

“I don’t need you to⁠—”

“You planning to yell that hip into working?”

The words came out of my mouth before Matteo could stop me.

The kid’s head swung in my direction.

His eyes moved over the brace strapped around my right knee, the two crutches tucked beneath my arms, and finally my face. Whatever he saw didn’t impress him.

“Who the hell are you?”

I crossed the last few feet between us.

“Most hockey players call me Money.”

I shifted one crutch against my side and held out my hand.

“Cash Benjamin.”