Chapter 29
twenty-nine
. . .
Jason
I’m on the sidelines. I can’t work out; I can’t go out on the ice; I can’t travel on road trips. The list of things I can’t do is longer than the list of what I can.
The other day, I yelled at Amelia. She was talking about finding a hobby, something to entertain me while I’m on leave, and all I did was snap at her about my life being over.
I’m not trying to ruin your life, she said. I’m trying to save it.
Hockey is my life, I’d shouted back.
Well, you’re at the end of your career, so you better start thinking about what comes next.
It’s been four days, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it.
What comes next? What do I do? All I know is hockey.
Ever since I was in kindergarten, my life revolved around hockey.
Other kids play a few sports before they commit, but not me; hockey was it for me from the very beginning.
My dad had me in skates as soon as I could walk.
It’s my first love, my one true love. I love it more than I loved my ex-wife.
If I’m not a hockey player anymore, who am I?
When I was injured before, I never once considered what would happen if I didn’t have hockey in my life. I was young. I had my entire life ahead of me.
I was an idiot.
The end is coming along a lot faster than I’d like. What will I do next? I can’t sit on my ass for the rest of my life.
Later that night, I crawled to her and apologized.
She accepted it, but she’s been a little frosty with me since.
I can’t deny I deserve it. Shouting at a partner is disrespectful, and I never want her to think I don’t respect and value her.
She makes my life better; I don’t know what I’d do without her in it.
Crutching through the training facility, I nod at Graham and Zac, eating lunch in the lounge. There’s no sign of Amelia as I make my way to the medical bay.
Halfway there, Derek stops me. He jerks his head towards his office, and I limp my way over.
“How you doing?” he asks, closing the door behind him.
“I’m fine.”
The athletic trainer rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s pretend I believe that. When do you see Dr. Hudson?”
“In five minutes.”
He winces in sympathy. “You’ll be fine.”
“Sure. Let’s pretend I believe that,” I snark back.
Derek erupts into a belly laugh. “So, you do have a personality, then.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve been kind of down lately. Not engaging with the guys, keeping to yourself…”
“There’s a lot on my mind,” I deflect.
“Did something happen with Amelia?”
My head jerks up as my heart rate skyrockets. “What do you mean?”
“She’s been different ever since you came back. I thought she could handle being a patient advocate, but maybe…”
“Nothing happened,” I snap. “She was the perfect professional the entire time.”
Except for when she crawled into my hospital bed. But I asked her to do it.
And I’d ask her again, every time.
Derek eyes me, pursing his lips.
“She was great. Perfectly supportive without being smothering.”
“I noticed you don’t go to her for PT. Only Zac and Graham.”
I wince. “So?”
“So, if there were any issues…”
“There aren’t any,” I tell him firmly.
“But if there were, you could tell me,” he says.
I scrub a hand over my face, preparing to bend the truth. “I have a thing for her. It’s inappropriate, so nothing will come of it. But it means I can’t work with her.”
His eyebrows go up. “Seriously?”
“It’s better for all of us if I keep my distance.”
“I thought you couldn’t stand her.”
“Kind of the opposite.”
He chokes out a laugh. “As long as there’s no funny business…”
I shake my head. “I’d never make her feel uncomfortable or unsafe. I just can’t go to her for PT.”
Not without destroying our relationship. She means too much to me for that.
“Understood,” Derek nods.
He dismisses me, and I hobble along to Dr. Hudson’s office. I hop up onto the exam table, and wait for his update.
Oh, fuck. I told Derek last week I was seeing someone. And now he knows I have feelings for Amelia. What if he puts the pieces together? Doc did. Gonzo did. Who the hell else will figure it out before she’s ready to announce it?
My heart starts to race, and I feel vaguely nauseous. There’s a faint ringing in my ears. Did I just ruin this? Will she forgive me?
The door opens, but I’m too deep into my panic to recognize it. My throat constricts and I swallow, trying to clear the lump.
“McKittrick?” Doc’s voice sounds far away. “Jason!”
My head jerks up, but it’s hard to concentrate on him. Everything is blurry. I blink a few times, but it’s not my contact lenses.
Doc snaps his fingers in front of my face, drawing my attention. “Breathe, son,” he says firmly.
I draw in a ragged breath, exhaling through my nose.
“And again,” he instructs.
As I do, everything starts to come back into focus.
“Do you want to talk about what just happened?” he asks.
I shake my head. “What was that?”
“Well, it looked like a panic attack. Have you had one before?” There’s no judgment on his face.
“No. Never.”
“Hmm.” Doc sits back on his chair, studying me. “What were you thinking about when I came in? Your ankle?”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I quietly admit, “Amelia. I think I fucked up.”
“Well, most likely, yes,” he says, with a chuckle. “You’re not infallible.”
“No, I mean… I said something I shouldn’t have.”
“So, you’ll apologize.”
“Like it’s that easy.”
“If she loves you, it is,” Doc says. He picks up his tablet. “Now, let’s talk about your ankle.”
After taking off the cast, he does a visual examination before examining the incision site. The stitches have dissolved, the fresh scar a vivid reminder of what happened. With time, it’ll fade. The pain will go away. But I won’t be able to escape the memories.
“Am I clear to start walking on it?” I ask.
“You know the timeline is weeks, not days,” he says. “You’re out for the rest of the season, Jason.”
Groaning, I cover my hands with my face. “No.”
“I’m sorry, son. I know it’s not what you want.” He pats my knee. “Even if the team goes deep into the post-season, you won’t be back.”
“But I can come back?”
“If it’s what you want, yes. We can help you rehab and get back into shape.” Doc pauses. “But if you decide you’re done… that’s okay, too.”
“I don’t want to go out this way. Not like this.”
“We can’t always choose how we go out. It’s not always on our terms.”
I swallow. This is the end of my hockey career. I know deep in my soul I won’t get another contract. Even if I pour my entire being into rehabbing, I’m too old, too injured, too slow.
This chapter of my life is over. But the next is just beginning. Amelia. A life post-hockey.
Clearing my throat, I meet Doc’s eye. “In that case, I need a referral to a urologist.”
“Oh? Are you having issues?”
“I want a vasectomy.”
Amelia doesn’t want kids. Neither do I. Why should I needlessly put her at risk when we’re both sure about what we want for our lives?
Dr. Hudson frowns. “Are you sure? You have your whole life ahead of you.”
To him, this is sudden, but I’ve been chewing on it for weeks. I don’t have a problem using condoms, and Amelia has an IUD. Eventually, though, she’ll take the fertility drugs again in preparation for another surrogacy. I’ll hold her hand the entire time. But I won’t put her at risk.
“Yeah, but I don’t want kids.”
My revelation a few months ago in Amelia’s exam room opened my eyes. I can have a fulfilling life without kids. I can have a fulfilling life without hockey.
“I’ve thought about it for a while, but I didn’t want to do anything during the season that would keep me from playing.
” Swallowing against the lump in my throat at the idea I won’t play again, I focus on the positive.
“If I don’t have to worry about missing any more games, I can do the procedure now. Get it over with.”
Doc surveys me seriously. “You’re sure this is what you want?”
“Positive.”
“And she’s not pressuring you into this?”
I shake my head. “This is for me.”
“All right, then. I’ll write you the referral.”