Chapter 28 Teddy
TEDDY
As expected, Em managed to pull everything together overnight. I wonder how many calls she made or who she contacted to make it all happen, but when I woke up this morning, the plan was in action.
She booked the interviewer, the camera crew and scheduled the day with the two-person makeup team. My agent even talked the hospital into letting us use my room instead of the press space they reserve for interviews. Cleaners also visited earlier to ensure it looks spotless on camera.
Em’s been here most of the afternoon, going over the plans with me. We’ve had long conversations about what to include and what to leave unsaid. The biggest worry has been how to keep control of the story without sounding overly rehearsed.
“You sure you want to start with what you can remember?” she asks for the third time, tapping a pen against her journal. “It’s powerful, no doubt. I’m just a tad worried. Not everyone handles devastation well, so it could be mentioned later.”
“I don’t care if they can handle it,” I insist. “I want them to think about it for the rest of the interview.”
"Maybe we start with a little small talk, then let Quinn dig in?"
Quinn Matthews is a sports reporter who started her career in sports writing for the well-known hockey news site The Puck News.
Being local to New York, she still sometimes pens articles about both local teams, even if she’s often seen on TV these days.
Being friends with Em, she was the perfect choice for today, even though it's different from the interviews she normally does at the rink.
Running a hand through my hair, I give in. “If you think it helps to soften the blow, then sure. My main goal is not to sugarcoat anything. The fans deserve to hear the truth.”
“I agree. Still, once the interview is out there, we can’t change a thing. There’ll be clips, headlines, and think pieces. People will dissect every move you make on camera.”
Em is a blur beside me, her presence more familiar than visual. Right now, she keeps circling back, worried I’ll change my mind or retreat.
“Let them.” Fear claws at the edges of me, but it’s nothing compared to the rage I feel at the thought of being silenced. “I’d rather be dissected than erased.”
She lets out a controlled breath. “There’s also going to be questions about the recovery timeline. They’re waiting for news about your future with the Woodpeckers.”
"All I can do is repeat what my doctors have told me.”
According to my latest conversation with Dr. Royce, everything in my recovery is tracking the way it should.
That doesn’t mean there are guarantees. No one can tell me what the final outcome will look like.
All I can do is keep showing up, keep pushing through physiotherapy, and keep teaching myself how to navigate this new version of my life.
A life where clear vision isn’t promised, and “normal” has to be redefined day by day.
I can feel Em watching me. “I agree,” she says. “Being open and vulnerable in front of the camera is what will make this authentic. No half-assed truths.”
Our conversation is cut short by more people entering the room. A feminine voice I don’t recognize calls out, “Makeup team.”
The room has grown somewhat fuller over the last few minutes. I wish I could see how many people are squeezed into the space, here to help me tell my side of the story.
“Listen up, everybody. What I’m about to disclose doesn’t leave this room until after the interview airs. Understood?” Em’s confident tone commands the whole room to snap to attention.
“Teddy lost his vision after the hit. He can’t see more than general shifts in light and shadow.
So I need everyone—makeup, sound techs, the camera crew and Quinn—to introduce yourselves when approaching him.
Tell him who you are and what you’re about to do.
” Her instructions relieve some of my anxiety.
“He’s letting the world see this side of himself for the first time.
The least we can do is make sure he feels safe while doing it. ”
There’s a collective murmur of agreement. Just like that, the knot inside my chest loosens. I hadn’t realized how tight it had been until now.
The next minutes go by in a blur of new voices and people introducing themselves to me. One of the sound guys cracks a joke and the room fills with laughter. It helps me relax knowing I’m surrounded by good and fun people.
Then two sets of footsteps approach. “Hi, I’m Yvonne and will be in charge of your makeup today.
Do you mind if I touch your face?” I nod and a soft hand tentatively brushes under my eye.
“You have some shadows here. We’ll even the skin tone.
Nothing heavy, don’t worry. You’ll still look like you.
My colleague Zara will also shape your beard and then I’ll get to work. ”
With my acknowledgment, another pair of hands starts trimming my beard. The sensation is calming, reminding me of the times I have gotten ready for different events. Before finishing the task, who I now know as Zara asks if I want it shaped or left a little rugged.
“Leave it. Clean-cut doesn’t feel right anymore.”
The powder she applies smells of lavender, reminding me of Uncle Jake’s rooftop garden. I close my eyes out of habit, not necessity, while they keep working on my face. Behind them, Em is talking to someone. Her voice is calm and decisive, like it always is when she’s in her element.
“The crew is ready,” she informs me. “Two cameras. One close, one wide. The lighting is soft as requested. It’ll be good for your eyes.”
I nod, though it’s more for her benefit than mine.
My mouth has gone dry, my palms damp instead.
There’s a nervous energy building in me.
I’m about to undo every polished sentence my parents have fed the media, and I don’t have the shield of the ice or my teammates to hide behind.
Just me in a hoodie, scarred and broken, telling the world I’m not who I was.
I’m sitting in the same room I have stayed in for the past few weeks, letting strangers in with cameras, daring the fear to suffocate me again.
My lungs burn and my ribs feel like they’re bound too tight, but I don’t move.
This is the moment I either speak up or I let them own me forever.
“How are you holding up?” Em whispers.
I grunt as a reply. She squeezes my forearm once, the touch firm and grounding. “This is not a performance, Teddy. However your honest truth comes out, it’s yours, and no one can tell you it’s wrong. They don’t know how you feel.”
“You’re starting to sound like Ivy,” I smile, thinking of her.
Right now, I’d give anything to feel her hand slip into mine.
It’s too bad that she has today and tomorrow off.
All this would’ve been better with her support.
But I know how it would look if she was here on her day off. We have to be careful.
“I knew I liked her,” Em says and stands up. “All right, I’ll get out of the way.”
The camera crew steps in and one of them walks me through what’s happening while fixing the microphone onto the collar of my hoodie. The smell of coffee on their breath makes me feel off, but I center myself with thoughts of Ivy.
A sound tech guy hollers, “Yo, Teddy, count backwards from ten when you’re ready. We’re testing your audio levels.”
I follow their instructions, forcing my breathing to stay steady, even if my heart is racing the closer we get to going live.
Then the producer I met earlier shouts, “Fifteen seconds folks!”
From the corner, a member of the film crew starts counting down from ten. This is it. There’s no going back now. With one last steadying breath, I do my best to center myself.
Quinn’s voice floats over as she makes the introductions from the chair next to the bed. She talks about my career, each stat and accolade sliding into the next with practiced ease. It’s surreal, hearing the story of my life from someone else’s perspective.
“Teddy, thanks for having us here today,” she says after the intro. “It’s good to see you up and awake.”
Awake feels generous most days, but I nod faintly. “Good to be here.”
"Can you walk us through that night? What do you remember from the game?" Quinn asks, her voice steady and gentle, like she knows she’s asking me to rip open a wound in front of the audience.
My pulse spikes. For a second, I think about deflecting, but the cameras are rolling, and this is why I agreed to do this.
My fingers curl around the edge of the blanket draped over my lap, anchoring me.
“I remember the cold of the rink and the face-off moments before. I was having a good game and hoping we could still win, even if we were down by one.”
Swallowing hard, I gather my thoughts. This is the part that is haunting my every nightmare and causing my panic attacks. The following words come out steady, but inside I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff.
"I never saw him coming. I’m unsure how accurate my memories are after. There are flashes of pain and cold tangled with the certainty that something was horribly wrong and my life was irrevocably changed. Then everything went quiet and I lost consciousness.”
Damn, I really wish Ivy was here, helping me through the painful memories. The silence around me is deafening, every person in the room waiting for what comes out of my mouth next.
“I woke up in the hospital three days later, having been in a medically induced coma. I had to have two emergency surgeries to remove the pressure from my brain and help with the bleeding. When I opened my eyes, my first thought was how everything felt completely off. I asked someone to turn on the lights, because everything was dark. They told me they were on. That’s when the instant shock and panic filled me. ”
“When did you realize how serious the injury was?”
I draw in a slow breath. “A part of me must have known before I woke up, if that makes sense. When I came to, my body didn’t feel right with all the aches and pains.
There was a lot of bruising, too. I could feel every wound when I moved.
The care team told me I’ve got what’s called Terson’s Syndrome, leaving me blind for an indefinite period of time. ”
“Can you tell us more about Terson’s Syndrome?” she asks softly.
“I’m not a medical professional, so my understanding is limited.
Basically, the blood is in the wrong place and causes blindness.
My case is bilateral, meaning both eyes suffered from hemorrhaging.
I haven’t seen anything clearly since the accident.
But recently I’ve been able to differentiate shadows.
For example, I’m able to tell where the lights pointing at us are located, but not much else. ”
“Do you have any estimation on how long healing will take?”
Even if I don’t need pity, it’s important to gather some. This might be the opportunity for it.
“There’s a chance my vision will come back slowly or it won’t. The truth is, no one knows what’ll happen next. That’s the hardest part.” I let the truth sit, the uncertainty gnawing at me. But I don’t let it break me in front of the cameras.
“This isn’t only about me, though. It’s about every player who’s ever been told to shut up and skate.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m not here to bash hockey.
I still love the sport. But the sometimes toxic culture around it?
The pressure? The way guys like Farrington get to keep going until someone ends up hurt?
That needs to change. And it needs to change now.
Because the next player might not be as lucky as I am to still be sitting here. ”
“Thank you for being honest and sharing your thoughts. A lot of people, especially in the League management, needed to hear all of that. Your accident has surely sparked a lot of discussion around player safety and early intervention.”
I nod slightly, throat tight. “I used to think silence meant strength, but speaking up takes more courage.”
“I agree wholeheartedly and appreciate you being so open today. How has the recovery process been, day to day?”
“It’s brutal,” I admit with a heavy sigh. “Physically, mentally, and emotionally. Thank God, I’ve had support. My team. My agent. My friends and Uncle Jake. I’ve also had someone special by my side through the worst of it. She’s more than support—she’s my light in the darkness.”
Smiling to myself, I think about Ivy. She’s been both my anchor and my compass, both steadying me when the ground feels uneven, and pointing me forward when I’m lost.
“It sounds like you’re building something new from all this,” Quinn comments.
“I’m trying my best, hoping it’ll be enough.”
“How about your parents? I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t mention them.”
My voice is steady, even if my chest feels so tight it might burst. “I have a message for you, Dory and Sandra: you’ve always used me as your puppet, acting like doting parents.
But I’m done. I’ve spent years avoiding you, and nothing has worked.
I’ve had time to think and know I’m better off without you.
Don’t call, text or write. Don’t send anyone to check in.
From this moment on, you’re out of my life. ”
The room is quiet, the weight of the words settling in.
Even if my heartbeat is loud in my ears, I stay confident and calm outside.
I want them to see I mean every single word.
There’s no crushing guilt or immediate wave of regret.
Just relief. For the first time in my life, I’m not bracing myself for the next lecture, guilt trip or manipulation disguised as concern. They’re history.