Chapter 8
“Are you the real Connor Smith? Like the one who plays for the Bobcats?” The little boy sits up straight in his bed as the nurse takes a step back, giving me the room to approach his bedside.
I’ve been visiting the children’s wing of the hospital since my first season with the Bobcats.
Although I’ve never experienced any health issues like these kids, I do know what it feels like to feel scared and alone thanks to my parents abandoning me and my sister.
Meeting these kids and bringing them joy, which is something I didn’t feel much of when I was younger, gives me purpose outside the rink.
It’s never been about PR for me, and I specifically asked for my visits not to be publicized or used for the media.
These kids have been through so much; they don’t need to be made into a spectacle.
I genuinely enjoy meeting these kiddos, and I swear they teach me more about resilience and strength every time I visit.
“I really am. What’s your name, buddy?”
I already know his name. I spend a few minutes with the nurses before meeting with each child when I’m doing my visits at the hospital. They can’t give me too many details on why they’re here, but they do give me a few ideas of what the kids like so I know what type of questions to ask.
Lucky for me, Scotty here loves hockey.
“I’m Scotty! I watch all your games. Well, at least the first period. Because a lot of times they’re on way past my bedtime. Do you think you could do something about that? Maybe start them at dinnertime so I can watch the whole thing?”
A laugh bubbles out of me as I slide a stool next to him so I can sit eye level with him.
“Well, Scotty, I don’t know if they’ll listen to me but I can definitely try my best.”
He nods his head a few times. “Cool.”
We spend the next fifteen minutes chatting about hockey. Once we’re done talking about the guys on the team and how funny he thinks Mack is for playing pranks on people all the time, he tells me what brought him to the hospital.
“I’m supposed to be getting a new liver tomorrow morning. But they said that last time and then I never got it.” Scotty moves his attention to his lap, and I see he’s fidgeting with his fingers.
Looking to his parents on the couch, I ask for silent permission to talk about his transplant. Some parents prefer we steer conversation away from anything medical, just to keep the mood light. His mom looks up to his dad, then they both turn to me and nod.
“That must have been really disappointing. Thinking you’re getting a new one and then not getting it at the last minute.”
Scotty nods up and down, his gaze still dropped in front of him. I don’t say anything. I let this young boy work through emotions no seven-year-old should have to work through. Finally, he looks back up at me.
“I’m scared.” Tears pool in his eyes and he swipes at them aggressively once they begin to fall.
My throat tightens and it’s hard to swallow for a moment.
These visits mean so much to me…but damn, they can be so fucking heartbreaking sometimes.
It kills me to know that they’re facing so much fear and disappointment at a young age.
I know I can’t fix things for them, but if I can offer them just a little bit of hope or comfort, then it’s worth every crack in my chest.
“It’s okay to be scared.”
Scotty swipes one last tear from his cheek then climbs to his knees before turning and crossing his legs under himself so he’s directly in front of me now.
“But you never get scared. You’re always sticking up for your teammates on the ice. My mom told me that punching is never okay, but you do it sometimes because you need to protect your goalie and stuff.”
I chuckle and then look over to his mom who is wiping her own tears away. Looking back at Scotty, I shrug.
“Well, your mom is right. It’s never okay to hit anyone. That’s why I get penalties when I do it during a game.” Scotty and his parents all laugh. I wait until his focus is on me again before admitting something to him. “But I get scared sometimes. I think everyone does.”
He tilts his head, an inquisitive look on his face. “What are you afraid of?”
My heart hammers in my chest. There was a time I used to be scared of a lot of things. Letting my sister down. Letting my grandparents down. Letting Avery down. Because I did let them down. I let every single one of them down. Now I channel all of that into my job.
“Well, sometimes I’m afraid I’ll let my team down. If I’m not playing well every game, we might lose.”
Scotty reaches out and places his tiny hand on top of mine where they’re resting on his bed rail.
“But, Mr. Smith, as long as you try your best, you won’t let anyone down.”
For some reason, these simple words coming from a seven-year-old pack a punch.
If only it were that easy. Because even though I tried my best as a kid, I still got angry and got into a ton of trouble my grandparents had to deal with, therefore affecting my sister in the process.
And no matter how hard I tried to be who Avery needed, I knew I had to let her go.
Memories begin to flood my brain, but I shake them away before they can pull me under.
“You’re right, Scotty. Which is why it’s okay to be scared about your transplant. Scared that it won’t happen again or scared that it actually might. But you know what?”
He shakes his head, his eyes wide as he anxiously waits for me to continue.
“The doctors here are always trying their best. They are some of the smartest doctors in the whole world. And I know they’ll work their hardest to get you a new liver. Even if it doesn’t happen tomorrow.”
Scotty breaks out into a full-toothed smile, revealing a gap between two of his lower teeth.
“You’re right! Thanks, Mr. Smith!”
Scotty’s parents stand, and I shake their hands, wishing them all luck before finally making my exit. He was my last visit of the day, which means it’s time to head to physical therapy.
While I’m waiting for the elevator, my mind drifts to the memories that resurfaced while talking to Scotty. I push away the darker memories, specifically the day I let Avery go, and try to remember the good ones.
The elevator dings and I step in, pushing the button for floor three.
As soon as it lights up, I’m reminded of the way Avery’s eyes did the same thing when we first met.
When I close my eyes, I can almost imagine I’m there with her now.
Her in my arms, not a care in the world, on one of the best nights of my life.