Chapter 5 #2
The relief was immediate. “What’s the treatment, then?”
“Immobilization. We’ll put you in a boot today—your foot’s too swollen from the puck impact to cast it.
Ice and elevation for the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours to get that swelling down.
” She turned back to me. “The boot will protect the fractures while they heal. You’ll be non-weight-bearing for the first few weeks, then we’ll gradually increase weight as the bones knit back together. ”
“When can I get back on the ice?” The question came out more desperate than I’d intended.
Dr. Chen looked up from her computer. “Eight to ten weeks, depending on how well you heal. Some athletes heal faster, some slower. We’ll know more as we track your progress.”
Eight to ten weeks. Two months, maybe more.
I nodded, nothing I could do to speed it up.
“All right.” Dr. Chen picked up her tablet.
“I’ll see you back here in two weeks. We’ll do follow-up X-rays, check the healing progress, make sure everything’s on track.
” She moved toward the door. “The nurse will be in shortly with your boot, discharge instructions, and prescriptions for pain management. Follow the protocol, ice and elevate, and you’ll be back on the ice before you know it. ”
“Thanks, Dr. Chen.”
She nodded and left, pulling the curtain closed behind her.
I looked down at my foot—swollen, already purple where the puck had hit. Three broken bones from a single shot.
Such a stupid injury. A blocked shot. Something I’d done a thousand times before. And this time, it had cost me two months of my career.
I closed my eyes and tried to figure out how I was going to get through this.
The nurse came in and adjusted my IV, gave me another dose of something that made the room go soft around the edges. “You have a visitor. Should I allow him in?”
I think I mumbled a “Yes.”
I was drifting when I heard his voice.
“Hey. You awake?”
I opened my eyes. étienne stood in the doorway of my ER bay, still in his skewed sweater and chinos. He looked rumpled and worried and—
I was too high on pain meds to stop the smile that spread across my face.
“You came,” I said, and my voice was definitely doing something weird. Sounded too happy, too unguarded.
“Of course I came.” He moved to the chair beside my bed, dropping into it like his legs had given out. “How are you feeling?”
“Floaty. They gave me good drugs.” I tried to focus on his face, but it kept blurring at the edges. “You left the game.”
“Yeah.”
“Coach is going to be pissed.”
“Probably.”
“Boucher’s going to say something.”
étienne’s jaw tightened. “Boucher can fuck himself.”
That pulled a laugh out of me, which hurt my foot, which made me wince. “What happened?”
“After you left?” His hand found mine on the bed, and he laced our fingers together. “We won. Three to two. But afterward, Boucher posted that I was playing nurse tonight instead of hockey.”
The floaty feeling couldn’t quite cover the spike of anger that shot through me. “He posted what?”
“Doesn't matter. He can shove his opinions.”
“étienne—”
“When I saw it, I wanted to punch my own captain. But I was already here.” He said it casually, but there was a dark tone in his voice. “Would have been worth the suspension.”
I stared at him, trying to process this through the medication fog. étienne would have fought Boucher. Over me. Had left the game, risked a trade, taken a fine, would have faced down the captain… all because I’d gotten hurt.
“Why?” The question came out before I could stop it.
He looked at me like I’d asked something incredibly stupid. “Because you’re my best friend. Because you were hurt. Nothing else mattered.”
Nothing else mattered.
I should probably examine that statement. Should probably think about what it meant that étienne had chosen me over everything else without hesitation.
But the drugs were pulling me under, and his hand was warm in mine, and I was too tired to protect myself from the dangerous warmth spreading through my chest.
“What did the doctor say?”
I couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Three fractures. Clean breaks, no displacement. No surgery needed.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Yeah. That’s good.” I gripped his hand. “But eight to ten weeks before I can skate again.”
“Merde. Two months.”
“Two months,” I confirmed. “Maybe more if the healing doesn’t go well.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of it settling over both of us.
“You’ll heal,” étienne said finally, his voice quiet but certain. “You’ll work your ass off in PT, you’ll do everything the doctor and trainers tell you to do, and you’ll come back better than ever. You know you will.”
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to have that certainty, that confidence that this was just a setback and not something more.
“What if I don’t?” The question came out before I could stop it. “What if I come back and I’m not the same? What if—”
“You will be.” étienne squeezed my hand. “I know you, Marco. You don’t know how to do anything halfway. You’ll attack this recovery the same way you attack everything else—with everything you’ve got.”
“Two months is a long time.”
“I know.” His thumb rubbed across my knuckles. “Good thing I’m already staying with you. I’ll be there. Every step. Every day. Whatever you need.”
The tension in my shoulders loosened slightly at that. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” He met my eyes. “You’d do the same for me.”
Was he using my words against me?
“Okay,” I said quietly.
“Okay.” He smiled, small but genuine. “We’ll get through this.”
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that eight to ten weeks would pass and I’d come back exactly as I was. That this injury wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t cost me more than just time.
But lying there in the ER bay, my foot throbbing, I didn’t know if I believed it yet.