บททั้งหมดของ The Hockey Captain’s Curvy Obsession: บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

The private transport plane reached its cruising altitude over the gray mountains of British Columbia.​Inside the narrow cabin, the hum of the engines was a continuous, vibrating noise that filled the silence.​Rhys lay on the physical therapy table along the bulkhead, his right leg extended fully. I stood at his side, my hands moving in slow, rhythmic patterns to clear the remaining fluid from his knee.​"The air pressure is stable, Rhys," I said, checking the telemetry monitor on my tablet. "The lateral swelling is down to one milliliter. The Vancouver doctors will find no physical ground for a suspension."​"My father is not going to rely on the physical exam, Sasha," Rhys said, his voice rough and low. "He knows your baseline data is clean. He is going to target your nutritional formulas."​"My formulas are patented under my mother’s maiden name," I said, my fingers applying a light, localized pressure along his quad muscle. "They are classified as dietary supplements, which do n

The visitor’s locker room in Vancouver was cold.​The air smelled of old sweat and synthetic cleaning wax.​Rhys sat in his stall near the center wall, his gray training shirt damp. The game was three hours away, but the tension inside the team was already a physical pressure.​Miller and Henderson, the two veteran defensemen, stood five feet away. They held a digital tablet, their faces serious and aggressive.​"Keller," Miller said, his voice flat. "The Vancouver sports blogs just leaked an audio recording from your Chicago rehab sessions last year. You are heard telling the team doctors that the Seattle franchise is a marketing brand that doesn't understand hockey."​"The audio is a digital fabrication, Miller," Rhys said, his voice dropping into a low, captain’s register. He stood up slowly, his massive body dominating the space. "It was generated by my father's PR division during the trade negotiations to create an internal conflict."​"We don't care about the PR, Keller," Hender

The digital monitor in my private training office displayed a series of unauthorized data access logs.​At ten o'clock on Wednesday morning, the facility was quiet.​But my terminal was registering a continuous, localized network intrusion.​System Alert: Unauthorized File Transfer.Target: Private Diagnostic Database (Rhys Keller).Origin: Executive Suite 4, Seattle Arena.​I stood up immediately, my spine rigid.​The executive suites were currently reserved for the visiting Vancouver Giants management team.​My father’s IT technicians had bypassed the arena’s primary firewalls to clone my private server files.​They were trying to steal Rhys’s real-time physical therapy logs before the Thursday night game.​"Sasha," Rhys said, walking into the room from the training wing.​He wore his gray team gear, his chest rising and falling in even cycles after his morning skate.​He stopped when he saw the red warning symbols on my screen.​"They are inside the server, Rhys," I said, my finger

The light fixtures in our private home gym were inactive.​Only the blue screen of my mobile diagnostic terminal illuminated the small space.​I sat on a low rolling stool at the foot of the training bench.​Rhys was seated on the padded leather extension seat. His right leg was elevated on a secondary foam support block.​I had his athletic trousers rolled up to the mid-thigh.​I applied the ultrasound gel to the outer lateral edge of his knee joint. I did not describe the temperature of the substance, but I monitored the physical reaction of his skin.​I placed the diagnostic transducer against his skin, moving the device in slow, circular lines.​On the screen of the terminal, the cross-section of the patellar tendon appeared in gray and white pixels.​"The localized fluid volume is currently at three point two milliliters," I said, keeping my voice flat and professional.​"Is that a failure?" Rhys asked.​His voice was low and carried a heavy, physical vibration in the quiet room.

The courier from the league compliance office arrived at the training facility at noon.​Lars Vance carried the document into my private medical office, closing the door behind him.​The folder was bound in thick red paper, indicating an emergency league mandate.​Rhys sat on the edge of my examination table, his gray training shirt damp from the skate.​He watched the General Manager place the folder on my desk, his dark eyes cold.​"It is a secondary health indemnity waiver, Rhys," Lars Vance said, his voice flat.​"What are the terms, Lars?" Rhys asked.​"The compliance director is requiring your signature before you can board the team plane for the Calgary road trip," Lars explained. "They are claiming that due to the public controversy surrounding your marriage, the league needs a secondary guarantee."​Rhys stood up from the table.​His massive frame dominated the room, his posture tall and completely straight.​"I already signed the standard medical clearance, Lars," Rhys said,