Chapter 26
CARTER
I’ve played through a lot of difficult hockey games.
When I was with the Appies, I played an entire third period with a hairline fracture in my shin bone. I’ve gone onto the ice with fresh stitches on my face and a missing tooth. Another time I had a broken pinky and a couple of bruised ribs.
But all of that was easy compared to tonight’s game.
Staying on the ice while Theo was rushed down the tunnel, his hand sliced open in the bloodiest injury I’ve witnessed in hockey—that was brutal.
But what choice did I have? Contractually, I was obligated to stay. We were only two minutes into the third period, and we were down two goals. No one was going to approve having two defensemen off the ice just because I was worried about my brother.
So I played. Hard. Channeled my frustration into the game and landed more than one hit against the guy who started the scuffle that ended with Theo’s injury in the first place.
It wasn’t his blade that cut him. But he’s the reason Theo was down.
We manage to make up one goal and nearly grab a second with less than a minute left, but when the game ends, I’m not sorry we didn’t tie it up and push it into overtime.
I’m off the ice and down the tunnel faster than any of my teammates, eyes searching for our head trainer, Nico, or anyone else who might know something about Theo.
One of our assistant trainers, Jake, is in the hall just outside the locker room.
He’s on the phone, but he holds up a finger like he wants me to wait for him.
I nod and step to the side, making room for my teammates to file past me. Several drop a hand on my shoulder, a quiet acknowledgement that they know exactly why I’m standing here waiting to talk to Jake.
He finally hangs up the phone just as Coach Kimzey steps up beside me.
“That was Nico,” he says. “They made it to the ER at Atlanta General. They’ve stopped the bleeding, and now they’re just waiting for the surgeon to consult—”
“A surgeon,” I say. “Jake, I don’t even know the extent of his injury. I’ve been on the ice—”
Coach Kimzey drops a hand onto my shoulder. “Maybe just fill us in from the beginning,” he says, and Jake nods.
“Theo was cut from just above his wrist down to the center of his palm. It likely hit the radial artery, which would explain why he lost so much blood so quickly. It looks like he severed several tendons. The goal is to get him into surgery as quickly as possible. The faster they can repair any vascular and nerve damage, the better off he’s going to be. ”
“Nerve damage,” I repeat. “Could this impact his ability to play?” I look over at Coach Kimzey. “He’s going to get through this, right? Make a full recovery?”
Coach looks at Jake, his expression solemn, then he lifts both hands to my shoulders. “The most important thing is that we get to the hospital to support him. Get out of your gear. Take a quick shower, then I’ll drive you over as soon as you’re ready.”
The locker room is more subdued than normal, even after a typical loss. We all saw how much blood hit the ice when Theo was cut. It’s hard to think of anything besides the fact that he isn’t here.
Miles is waiting at my stall, Holly beside him, but I’m spared having to rehash the details because Coach Kimzey comes in behind me and does it for me. Usually I would sit, give Coach my full attention, but I’m too focused on getting to the hospital—on getting to Theo—and I know he’ll understand.
Less than twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and on my way out the door.
Miles stops me before I make it into the hall.
He and I have been locked in a sort of tense standoff since he showed up at my house demanding to see Sarah.
I’m not sure it has impacted our play, but the energy in the locker room has definitely been off.
But now, the ire I’m used to seeing in his eyes is completely gone.
“I talked to Anna and filled her in on what Coach told us. She already called Sarah, and Sarah’s getting in touch with your mom. ”
I nod, a sudden ache pushing through me at the thought of Sarah. Somehow, it feels right that she’s the one communicating with Mom. She’ll be gentle but reassuring, two things I feel wholly incapable of being on my own. “Good. That’s good. Thanks, man.”
It takes some maneuvering to get away from the press, who are understandably hoping to get a comment from me on my brother’s injury, but Coach Kimzey is firm and unyielding in his dismissal, telling everyone our assistant coach will handle the post-game presser and will release any updates on Theo’s condition as soon as we know more.
I’m as grateful for this as I am for Miles’s efforts. The last thing I want to do right now is talk into a microphone.
I’ve been playing hockey with Theo for twenty-two years. And we’ve been on the same team, playing side by side since the very beginning. It’s hard to wrap my head around the possibility of playing without him.
But even more than that, this game is Theo’s life.
What will it mean if he can’t play anymore?
I turn Theo’s phone over and over in my hand. I grabbed it, along with his wallet, on my way out of the arena.
Coach Kimzey is silent for the ride to the hospital, which I appreciate. I don’t feel like making small talk, and we don’t know anything about Theo, so what is there to say? I just need to get to the hospital and get eyes on my brother. That’s all I want to do.
We finally pull to a stop in front of the emergency room entrance. “You go,” Coach Kimzey says. “I’ll park, then come find you.”
It takes a minute to get through reception, but eventually they figure out who I am and why I’m here, and I’m taken upstairs to a private waiting area. Apparently, Theo is already in surgery.
Nico is alone in the waiting room, his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. I’ve never seen our head trainer look so dejected.
He stands as soon as I come in.
“How is he?” I ask.
Nico takes a deep breath, hesitating just enough to make me worry.
“Be straight with me, man. How bad are we talking here?”
He sits down and motions for me to sit beside him. “It’s bad, Carter. The cut was deep. They’re going to do everything they can, but the doctor was honest about the challenges with injuries like this. The possibility of losing fine motor skills, the dexterity in his hand—it’s very real.”
My mouth goes dry. “So he might not play again?”
“I mean, this is Theo we’re talking about,” Nico says. “If anyone is stubborn enough to beat the odds, it’s him. But his recovery won’t be easy.”
I drop my head into my hands and fight the urge to cry.
Theo not playing hockey. It can’t happen. It can’t.
“He has to play again,” I say, my voice soft.
Nico drops a hand onto my shoulder. “I know, man. Let’s believe he will, all right? He’s got the best surgeons in the state working on his hand right now. We just have to leave it to them.” He glances up as Coach Kimzey enters the waiting room. “And pray for a miracle.”
I stay seated as Nico gives Coach the same rundown he just gave me, my thoughts spiraling.
I wish I could have seen Theo. Talked to him. Looked in his eyes and told him he was going to get through this. That I would be right here every step of the way.
I want to yell at Nico for not calling me before they took him back.
I want to yell at Coach Kimzey for not getting me here fast enough to see him.
I want to go find Andrei Kiminsky and pound his face in for starting the fight with Theo in the first place.
But then movement at the doorway of the waiting room catches my eye, and I look up.
Sarah.
She’s breathing heavy, like she ran here, her eyes scanning the room until they land on me.
I can’t explain it. The magnetic pull that lifts me out of my chair and carries me across the room to her. I just know I couldn’t stop it if I tried.
Her arms wrap around me, and I melt into the embrace, breathing her in. Over the past nine days, I’ve imagined a dozen different ways this moment might go. How seeing her again might feel. Being on the road made me all too aware what my feelings for Sarah actually are.
But this moment sharpens that realization even further.
I’m out of my mind worrying about my brother, filled with a desperation that makes me want to rage and cry all at the same time.
But with her arms around me, all of that somehow stills.
She feels like an anchor. Like home.
My body starts to tremble, and she tightens her grip.
“I’ve got you,” she whispers. “I’m here.” Her hand lifts to the nape of my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair. “Everything’s going to be okay.”