Chapter 11
Louis
The sound of relentless knocking on my front door and multiple voices arguing in the hallway pulls me out of a fitful sleep.
It makes me want to pull a pillow over my head and pretend I’m not home, but since I’m trapped on this couch with my arm strapped to my torso, hiding isn’t really an option.
“Oh, maybe we should have called first,” my mom’s voice carries through the door.
“Jenny, I thought you did call! He’s not expecting us until 7:00 p.m., and it’s barely noon,” my dad replies, slightly out of breath.
“Well, since we were in such a rush to grab the earlier flight, I didn’t get a chance. But I wasn’t going to sit home for another twelve hours when my son is lying here alone and in pain,” Mom shoots back.
The door rattles as someone tries the handle, followed by more frantic knocking.
“Louis! Open the door!” That would be Caley, my sister, using her ER doctor voice that could probably wake the dead.
“Caley, he could still be asleep, for god’s sake,” my dad sighs.
“I’m coming, give me a second,” I shout. I have to bite back a groan as a sharp pull radiates through my pec and shoulder when I lever myself off the couch using only my good arm.
Getting to the door isn’t a marathon like it would be if I had a leg injury, but since I feel like I’ve been run over by a dump truck, it takes a minute. I turn the dead bolt and swing it open to find all three members of my immediate family grinning at me.
Mom moves to grab my shoulders, then freezes when she sees the sling. She settles for grabbing my face instead, looking me up and down like she’s checking for signs of impending death.
“Oh, honey, you look terrible.”
“Thanks, Ma. Just what I want to hear.”
“Oh, stop, you know what I mean,” she says, slipping past me into the kitchen.
My dad follows, wheeling two massive suitcases and carrying a shoulder bag that smells like an Italian deli exploded inside it.
“How’s your pain level, son?”
Before I can answer, Caley sweeps in like a hurricane. “You need to sit down,” she orders, pointing at the couch. “You look gray.”
“Well, I had to answer the door because you animals were about to break it down,” I mutter, but I’m secretly relieved to see them. The empty condo has been driving me crazy all morning.
Mom is already bustling around my kitchen. “I didn’t have time to make everything, but I brought a lasagna, plus your favorite, Nonna’s meatballs, some of that bread from Antonio’s.”
“Mom, I’m having surgery tomorrow. I can’t eat a feast tonight.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “After the surgery, Louis. You’ll need to keep your strength up.”
Caley helps me settle back into my pillow fortress on the couch, adjusting the support behind my bad shoulder with professional efficiency.
“I’m fine,” I tell them, lying through my teeth.
All three of them give me identical looks that clearly say bullshit.
“Louis Frederic Tremblay,” Mom says, using the full name she reserves for felonies. “Don’t you lie to us.”
Before I can defend myself, there’s another knock at the door.
Two quick raps, pause, three more.
“That’ll be Ry,” I say, grateful for the distraction.
Rylan and Jamie walk in, and the volume in the room doubles. Mom descends on Rylan like he’s her long-lost son.
“Rylan Joseph Collings, look at you!” She pulls him into a hug that I’m currently ineligible for.
“Hey, Mama T.” Rylan grins. He’s one of the few people who can handle the Tremblay intensity without blinking.
Mom turns her critical eye to Jamie. “And you must be Jamie.”
Jamie gives her a brilliant smile. “Yes, ma’am. It’s great to finally meet you.”
“Manners.” Mom nods approvingly before wrapping him in a hug. Guess he passed inspection.
The next twenty minutes are pure chaos. Mom forces food on everyone, while Dad peppers Rylan with questions about our playoff chances. Caley alternates between fussing over my sling and interrogating Jamie.
It’s loud and overwhelming and perfectly familiar. But amidst the noise, I find myself wondering what Tanner’s up to. Today is a rare mid-season day off. There’s a game tomorrow night, but since I’ll probably still be drugged up, I’m not sure how much of it I’ll be awake for.
There’s another knock at the door.
“I’ll get it,” Rylan offers.
“Nah, I got it,” I say, pushing myself up. I need a second of air anyway. I love my family more than anything, but they can be a lot when you’ve been away for a while.
When I open the door, Tanner is standing there, holding a bag of takeout and wearing a concerned expression that morphs into confusion as the wall of sound hits him.
Warmth spreads in my chest.
“Um… hi?” he says, looking past me toward the circus in my living room. “I thought—you said your family was coming later tonight?”
“Change of plans,” I say, grinning at him like a fool. I’m so damn happy to see him, it’s a little pathetic. “They caught an earlier flight.”
Tanner nods, unsure. “I just, uh, wanted to check on you. Brought you a couple of things in case you didn’t feel like cooking, but…” He trails off.
I step aside, motioning him inside with my good arm. “Thanks, man,” I say, wishing I could wrap him up and kiss the hell out of him. “I’m really glad to see you. But you’re gonna want to brace yourself,” I warn quietly.
The minute we walk into the living room, the Tremblay family descends on him.
“Family, meet Tanner Sinclair.”
“Oh, your backup!” Mom says, beaming. “You’re the one who’s been taking care of our Lou.”
“I—what?” Tanner glances at me, panicked.
“Louis told us you’ve been taking really great care of him,” Caley adds from her perch on the arm of the couch, her eyes lighting up with knowing amusement. She shoots a grin in my direction that says, We are definitely talking about this later.
I want to crawl under the rug. All I told them was that my roommate helped me over the last couple of days, but leave it to my sister to read between the lines.
“Well, thank you so much,” Mom says before wrapping him up in a hug the same way she did to Jamie.
“We appreciate it,” Dad chimes in.
Tanner’s cheeks turn a sweet shade of pink. “It’s nothing. Just, you know, teammate stuff.”
I settle back onto the couch, watching this unfold. Tanner handles it better than I would have expected, though I can tell he’s overwhelmed.
But even while my dad is quizzing him about his save percentage, Tanner keeps a close eye on me. Checking on me.
He notices I’m wincing and subtly nudges the water glass closer to my good hand. He adjusts the pillow behind my neck when no one’s paying attention to us, and my heart does another one of those fluttery things in my chest.
It’s quiet care. It’s the exact opposite of my family’s loud love, but god, I appreciate it.
I catch Caley watching us. She’s looking at Tanner, then at me, with that analytical expression she gets when she’s diagnosing a complex case.
“I should get going,” Tanner says eventually, looking like he’s survived a combat mission. “I’ll let you guys catch up.”
“I’m sure we’ll see you again before we head back,” Mom says, hugging him goodbye.
“I’ll try,” Tanner says. He shoots me a small, private smile that does weird things to my gut.
I walk him to the door, moving slower than necessary and wishing I could walk him down the hall to my bedroom instead.
“So, good luck tomorrow,” he says. “I’m sure it’ll go great.”
I grimace, not wanting to think about going under the knife.
“Thanks. I’m sure I’ll survive,” I say. “Good luck to you too. Vancouver tomorrow night, eh?”
He nods, looking at the floor and chewing on his bottom lip. “Yeah.”
“Sinc,” I say, using my commanding voice and waiting until his eyes meet mine. “They’re a decent team, but they’re not great, and their best scorer’s still out with an ankle sprain. You got this. Trust yourself.” I reach out and squeeze his bicep.
He sucks in a deep breath and nods again, summoning more confidence. “Yeah, I got it. You focus on healing.”
After the door closes behind him, the condo feels oddly quiet despite my family, Ry, and Jamie still being there.
“He seems like a nice boy,” Mom says.
“He’s a talented kid,” Rylan says from where he’s sitting across from her at my small dining table.
And when I glance over at Caley, she’s still wearing that thoughtful expression.
The world is made of cotton balls and warm water.
That’s the only way I can explain it. My living room has turned into a soft, hazy aquarium, and I’m floating here on the couch with my busted arm strapped tightly to my chest. The pain is there, but it’s distant, more like a dull, rhythmic thumping in the background, rather than a full-on concert happening right in front of me.
My family finally tapped out a while ago, so the condo is quiet. Mom and Dad are in the guest room, and Caley’s in the den on the Murphy bed. I should be asleep too. My eyelids feel like they’ve got weights on them, but I’m fighting the good fight to keep them open.
I need to see the game.
The TV is turned down low, the blue-white glow casting an eerie glow in my living room. It’s late in the third, and the Sasquatch are up by a goal against the Kodiak.
Usually, when I watch hockey, I spend the whole time analyzing. I try to track the angles, read the forecheck, and pick apart what the goaltender’s doing, but tonight, everything’s way too fuzzy for that. Tonight, I’m just watching. Specifically, I’m watching Tanner Sinclair.
He looks smaller than normal in the net. He’s not a small guy, obviously; he’s nearly as tall as me, but his posture is tight. He's jumpy.
A shot rings off the post behind him, and he flinches.
“Sinclair looks a little shaky in the crease tonight, Jim,” the announcer says, his voice grating even with the sound turned way down. “He’s fighting the puck. That last rebound was a juicy one.”
“Shut up,” I mumble at the screen. My tongue feels too big for my mouth. “He’s doin’ fine.”
But even through my fuzzy brain, I know what they mean. He is fighting it. Every save looks like a battle. He’s not in the flow of the game; he’s reacting. I can practically hear the gears in his head grinding from here, the overthinking that turns simple saves into advanced geometry problems.
Just play, Rookie. Get out of your brain.
The clock ticks down. Forty seconds, thirty seconds…
Vancouver dumps the puck in. It bounces off the boards, right into the slot, and it’s total chaos, bodies everywhere. Tanner drops into a butterfly, but he’s scrambling. He loses his stick. Three Kodiak players are crowding him, whacking away at the loose puck.
“Nooo,” I whisper, my heart pounding.
He makes a desperate, sprawling lunge. It’s an ugly, flailing cover-up that looks more like he’s tackling a fumble than making a save.
But thankfully, the horn sounds. Sasquatch win, 3-2.
On-screen, the guys celebrate, but I keep watching Tanner.
He doesn’t throw his arms up or pump his fist in victory.
Instead, he stays down on the ice for a second before slowly hauling himself to his feet.
He pulls his mask off. His hair is plastered to his forehead, and he looks wrecked.
Not triumphant, just relieved it’s over.
I know that feeling. The adrenaline crash when you know you played ugly but got the W. You don’t feel like a winner; you feel like a fraud who got away with one.
I fumble for my phone on the cushion beside me. My goddamn fingers feel like sausages. I try to open my texts, but the screen keeps swimming.
Gppd job.
Nope, not right. I delete it and then slowly and carefully tap out another message:
nice wun.
For fuck’s sake.
I don’t have spelling right now. Or proper control of my digits. I close my eyes for a second to clear my head.
When I open my eyes again, I don’t know how much time has passed, but the post-game show is over, and the TV’s showing some weird rerun of an old cop show.
Fuck it.
I hit the call button on his contact.
“Hello? Louis? What’s going on? It’s two o’clock in the morning!”
His voice is tight, but he sounds wide-awake.
“Hey,” I say. Or maybe I slur it a little. “You watching?”
“Am I watching what? Lou?” There’s rustling on the line, like he’s shifting the phone. “Hey, are you okay? Is something wrong? Where’s your family?”
“No, no. M’good. Famliss sleeepin.” I sink deeper into the couch cushions, smiling at the ceiling. Hearing his voice settles something inside me. “ Jus want’d t’say you did good.”
Tanner lets out a long sigh. “I was shaky, Lou. I was fighting it the whole time. That second goal was soft. I lost the post.”
“Doesn’ matter,” I say, and I mean it. Sure, he wasn’t perfect, and the coaches will have things to talk to him about, but tonight, he needs to feel good. “Doesn’ matter ifitw’s ugly. A win’s a win. You won.”
“I guess.” He sounds unconvinced. “I just... I know I could have done so much better. That last goal—”
“Nope.” I close my eyes. The drugs are pulling me under, a gentle tide washing over my brain. “Don’ do that. You saved th’ game, babe.” Shit. Was that something I was supposed to say?
Tanner sucks in a sharp breath.
“That was luck,” he argues.
“Doesn’ matter,” I insist again. “I’s proud watching you play tonight.”
The silence on the other end is heavy.
“You were?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah. Big proud.” A giggle bubbles up in my throat. “I got all the good drugs today, Sinc. I feel all marshmallowy.”
“That sounds kinda nice.” He chuckles. “You should get some sleep, Louis.”
“Didja—you—hear me?” I ask, focusing all my remaining energy on getting my words out. My brain might not be working, but I know he needs to hear me right now. “Stop beating yourself up.”
Another heavy sigh. “I’m trying.”
“You b’long here, Tanner,” I mumble. My eyes are already closed. The phone is slipping in my loose grip. “You b’long with us. With me.”
I don’t know if I was supposed to say that last part. The filter between my brain and my mouth has dissolved. But it’s true. He belongs with me.
For a moment, he’s quiet, the sound of his soft, rhythmic breathing reaching my ear. It’s like a lullaby, making me want to let go and slide back into sleep.
“Lou?” he whispers.
“Mmm,” I hum.
“Thank you for telling me that. I—I really needed to hear it.” His voice is gentle.
“M’kay. Jus’want’d make sure you knew it.”
“Okay.” He lets out a soft chuckle. “Thanks. You can rest now, okay? Sleep well, Louis.”
“K. I will.”
I let the phone slide out of my hand, It lands somewhere on my chest as I drift away with the sound of his voice tucked safely in my head.
With me.