Chapter 27
twenty-seven
. . .
Jason
Everything is hazy. I don’t like it.
Pain dances at the periphery of my mind, held back only by the strong drugs the IV pumps into my system. This isn’t my first surgery—isn’t even the first emergency surgery.
But it is the first time I’m not terrified.
If this is the end for me… I’ll deal with it. Eventually. After the operation, I’m sure I’ll need recovery time before starting physical therapy, and then time to regain normal function… I’ll can worry about all of that later. After I wake up from surgery. After I see the doctor.
For now, I’m taking it a minute at a time. Amelia is curled up on a chair beside me, her hand in mine while she dozes. It’s close to two o’clock in the morning, and there’s no telling when they’ll wheel me back for pre-op.
A nurse came by and helped me clean up a bit, so at least I’m not disgusted by my own stink anymore. I texted my mom the news, but she didn’t respond—it’s past her bedtime, so she’ll probably see it when she wakes up.
Finally, close to four o’clock in the morning, an orderly and a nurse come to take me to pre-op. Amelia stirs, her eyes blinking open.
“Is it time?” she asks, her voice hoarse with sleep.
The nurse nods. “It’ll be about two and a half hours. I’ll show you to the waiting room.”
My girlfriend stands, smoothing back my hair. “This is will go well. I’ll see you after.”
I love you. I almost say the words. But it’s a reflex. Something to say when a scary thing happens.
It’s too soon. I’m not in love with her, not yet. Am I?
Now isn’t the time to figure it out.
“I’ll be here when you get out,” Amelia says. She presses a kiss to my forehead. “You’ll do great.”
I squeeze her hand, pulling her to me until she’s close enough that I can kiss her for real.
“I—”
She nods. “It’ll be okay.”
But I shake my head. “No, I—” The words die in my throat. I can’t verbalize it. Gulping, I try again. The words won’t come.
“I know,” she whispers. She kisses me again. “I’ll be here when you get out.”
The nurse clears her throat. “It’s time to go.”
Amelia steps back. I blow out a breath and transfer to the wheelchair.
The orderly is silent as she wheels me through the hospital. It’s not my first rodeo, that’s for sure. After a few times under the knife, the fear dulls somewhat, but the pain is as sharp as ever.
Time becomes a little hazy. Before long, they take me into the operating room and helping me onto the table. The last thing I remember before they give me the good drugs is Dr. Hudson leaning over me.
“It’ll be okay, son,” he says. “Just a quick nap, and you’ll be better than ever.”
And then they pump the meds into my system, and I’m out like a light.
I wake up disoriented. The hospital room is unfamiliar, yet looks like every other hospital room I’ve ever been in. A machine beeps steadily, and there’s an IV taped to my hand. My leg is numb. That’s good. It will probably hurt like a bitch when the meds wear off.
There’s a soft snuffling beside me, and I glance over to find Amelia contorted on the small sofa. Her Kindle is beside her, teetering on the edge of the cushion, like it’s about to fall off.
She looks beautiful, even with her dark hair pulled back into a lopsided ponytail, and her makeup smeared all over her face. She stayed all night. She stayed by my side for as long as they’d let her, and now she’s here again.
And I know, it’s not because she’s my patient advocate. She’s here because of what we share, and I don’t take that for granted.
Slowly, she stirs, and her eyes blink open a few times. She focuses on me, and a wide smile splits her face.
“You’re awake,” she says. Unfolding herself from the couch, she comes to my side, smoothing my hair back again. She’s never done it as much as she has in the last twelve hours, but I can’t deny how much I like it.
“Mm. Come here.” I reach for her until her hand lands in mine, and I tug her down to meet me for a closed-mouth kiss. The inside of my mouth is sleep-sour, and I won’t subject her to it.
Amelia pulls back, her hand cupping my face. “How’re you feeling?”
“Better, now.” I scoot over in the uncomfortable hospital bed as much as I can. “Come sit.”
She pauses.
“Please. I need you.” My voice breaks.
Her soft sigh melts the tension in her shoulders. She perches on the edge of the bed, and I tug at her legs until she swings them up onto the bed.
I wind my non-IV arm behind her, curling her into my body. She rests her head on my chest, her palm landing on my abs.
“Much better,” I declare, burying my face in her hair. She smells sweet, like marshmallows and hot cocoa—it’s her favorite body wash—and more importantly, she smells like home.
We both drift off, dozing in and out of consciousness. I’m dimly aware of a nurse coming by to check on me, but I fall back asleep to the sound of her clucking at us.
A knock on the door wakes me up, and I blink through fuzzy contact lenses at Dr. Hudson, wearing a white coat over his scrubs.
“How’re you feeling, son?” he asks, glancing between me and Amelia with a question on his face.
She’s out like a light, though, and I don’t have the heart to wake her.
“Pain meds are great,” I tell him honestly.
He hums. “We’ll get you a script for the flight home.”
“Can I go back today?”
“We need to monitor you for twenty-four hours. If everything goes well, you can fly home tomorrow or the day after.”
It’s only then that I notice the woman beside him, wearing a white coat over her dark green scrubs.
“Mr. McKittrick. I’m Dr. Iglesias, and I’m overseeing your recovery for the next day or so.”
“Nice to meet you.” I’d shake her hand, but my right arm is currently trapped under Amelia’s sleeping form.
“We’ll make sure you’re stable enough to travel as soon as possible,” Dr. Iglesias continues. “I know you’re itching to get back to Boston. The major concern right now is blood clots. Flying could exacerbate it. As soon as you’re past the risk window, we’ll get you sent home.”
“Thanks.” I swallow. “And recovery timeline?”
“You’ll need to wear a cast for four to twelve weeks,” Dr. Hudson says. That puts me out for the remainder of the season, and the entirety of the postseason.
I wince.
“I know. You’ll be non-weight bearing for a few weeks, and then we’ll assess and re-cast if necessary. You’ll have a lot of physical therapy.” His mouth curves into a wry smile. “Not that it’ll be a hardship for you, eh?”
“We don’t—she doesn’t do my PT,” I clarify. “We keep our relationship strictly professional at work.”
Dr. Hudson snorts. “Sure, son.”
I flush, thinking about that day in her office. We definitely didn’t keep things strictly professional that day.
“You won’t tell anyone?”
“None of my business,” he says, lifting his hands in the air. “You might want to get ahead of it, though, before anyone else finds out. You and I both know not much stays a secret in that dressing room for long.”
“She’s not ready.”
Truth be told, I don’t know if I am, either. So much would change, for both of us. It’s not like we can un-tell the secret. And what if we break up?
I don’t want to break up. But I didn’t want to get divorced, either, and that happened anyway. And everyone keeps asking about it. It would be worse with Amelia—everyone knows her and likes her. What if my teammates pick sides? What if they choose her over me?
Maybe it’s a good thing my contract finishes at the end of this season. I’ll go to another team and start fresh.
Well. Maybe I can find another team that’ll take a chance on a guy with four knee surgeries and an Achilles tear under his belt. Maybe I can find someone willing to gamble on a senior citizen hockey player.
My mood sours.
But I don’t want to leave Boston. It’s been my home for going on eight years. I like it there. I have a home.
And I have Amelia. I don’t have to start worrying about the end. There’s no reason to borrow trouble before we’re ready.
If she wants to keep us a secret, I’ll deal with it. I won’t push her before she tells me she wants this.
When it’s time to come clean, we’ll do it—together.