Dylan lifted his shoulders. "I'm fine."
Blair leaned around Peter as he asked the standard concussion questions and checked Dylan's pupils. He was coherent, but that didn't mean he was completely fine. "You should go in the back so we can properly evaluate you."
He raised a single brow. "Did the league concussion spotter say that I had to go?"
"No."
"Then I'm not going." Mouth set in a firm line, he faced the ice.
Discussion over.
Speechless, Blair looked at Peter. The concussion spotters sat in the press box at every game, equipped with a two-way radio to communicate what they saw with the training staff on the bench. They would properly notify a team of a player demonstrating possible signs of a concussion. Peter's radio had stayed silent. He hadn't received any communication. Frowning, he stepped away, toward the tunnel, and spoke into the radio.
Blair followed him, glancing back at Dylan every few seconds.
With a sigh, Peter put away the radio. "The spotter said he doesn't have the authority to have Dylan pulled because his fall didn't fit the guidelines for removal. Protocol states a player must be removed if a spotter sees symptoms in a player who takes a blow to his head or upper torso from another player's shoulder, his head hitting the ice or from a punch to the head. A head-first collision with the boards is not a "mechanism of injury" that allows removal under their guidelines. Being slow to get up does not trigger mandatory removal. The protocol has to be interpreted literally so his hands are tied. They are leaving it up to the medical staff."
"So we have to wait until intermission and have Dr. Bisson look at him then."
"Dylan won't go willingly now, and he isn't exhibiting any signs of a concussion so I can't make him go back now for further testing."
The horn sounded, signaling the end of the period. The players trooped past Blair. She caught Dylan's sleeve. "We want Dr. Bisson to take a look at you."
"I'm fine. I just had the wind knocked out of me for a second. That's all."
She didn't back down. "Then let him check you out."
Peter patted Dylan's shoulder. "Come on, D. I can't force you to go, but I recommend that you do."
"Then Doc better make it fast." He strode down the hall to the training room and disappeared into the doctor's office.
She glanced back at Peter. He lifted his shoulder and headed to the training room. Blair followed him, taped up Slater's wrist, and then returned to pace outside the doctor's door.
When it opened, Dylan emerged with a scowl on his face.
She resisted the urge to pounce on him. "Well?"
"I'm fine. I need to get back to the locker room. The second period starts in a few minutes."
Her mouth dropped open. The doctor had seriously cleared him? "You can't go back out and play."
He shoved his hand through his hair and huffed out a sigh. "I'm not staying out of the game because you think I have cartoon birds flying around my head."
"It's a little more serious than cartoon birds. You know concussion symptoms can take a while to show up. Repeated mild concussions occurring within a short period of time, like hours, days, or weeks, can be catastrophic or fatal. You're playing with fire."
"Blair. I need to go." Shaking his head, he stepped around her and headed into the locker room.
Dr. Bisson came out of his office just as Peter arrived from the training room.
Blair stepped in front of the doctor. "Did you even see what happened on the ice? How Dylan's head slammed into the boards? Why didn't you put him in concussion protocol?"
He ran a hand through his silver hair and peered at her through his glasses. "He didn't need to be in it. I checked him out, but he didn't exhibit any concussion symptoms."
She should have expected this from a man who'd cleared Dylan to return to the game mere days after sustaining a concussion. "You know as well as I do that symptoms don't always appear right away. Given his history of head injuries, letting Dylan return to the ice is a reckless decision."
The doctor's face turned red and he puffed up his chest. "I'm not going to stand here and listen to some kid tell me how to do my job. I didn't feel a concussion evaluation was warranted. You're not being objective, Ms. Proch. Your personal relationship with Dylan is making you overprotective."
"Overprotective? The man has had three concussions, two of which were serious, within the past few months. The last one was only a few days ago. I'm not overprotective. I'm taking his medical history into consideration. Like a professional would. Dylan's head slammed into the boards a few minutes ago. He was slow to get up, visibly disoriented, and holding his head. A professional would have pulled his ass from the ice and entered concussion protocol. I've been here long enough to prove that I'm damn good at what I do, to be trusted. My feelings for Dylan aren't getting in the way."
Peter swept in between them. "Guys, that's enough."
The redness in Dr. Bisson's face extended to his ears, burning deeper as the rash worked its way to the tips. He glowered at her. "You're hardly qualified to criticize me. I've been at my job longer than you've been alive."
She glared right back. "When I treat an athlete, I see them as a whole person. All you see is a symbol on a uniform. You're way too cozy with this team. You're more concerned about being associated with a Cup winner. You can't even back up your decision with anything more than a veiled insult at my age."
A shrill blast startled them both into jumping back. Peter dropped the whistle hanging around his neck. "That's enough. We don't need a shouting match in the middle of
