Chapter Eleven #2
Easier said than done, as the staff came to check on me every hour to change the ice pack on my body and check the compression bandage wrapped around me.
Machines beeped incessantly. When Hutch and his assistant showed up early in the morning to bring me home, I could’ve kissed them both.
I didn’t remember the last time I’d been so tired.
“Get me out of here. I’m ready to lose my mind.”
I didn’t have to wait long, and within the hour I was chock-full of pain meds and on the plane with my team. They all greeted me with cheers and fist bumps of encouragement, along with vows of revenge for the cheap shot I’d taken.
“No, no.” I grimaced as I tried, and failed, to get comfortable. “The best revenge is winning. Ellis, come.” I waved to the young goalie, and he approached with trepidation.
“Denis…I hate this shit. You’re gonna get better and come back stronger.”
I clasped his nape, feeling like a father giving advice to his child. God, was I really getting this old?
“Listen to me. I know you didn’t want it to happen this way, but you’re the man now.”
Fear entered his big brown eyes. “I-I don’t know if—”
I tightened my hold on him. “You can. And you must. You’ve got the raw talent, the skills and instinct.
And you’re a team player. We’re counting on you.
After practice and me seeing the doctors, you and I will sit and talk.
I’ll teach you, but when you’re out on the ice, you must rely on two things: this”—I tapped my head—“and almost more importantly, this”—I put a hand over my heart.
“Thanks, Denis. I’d like that. I won’t let the team down.”
“I have no doubt.”
That done, all the energy drained from me, and I closed my eyes and slept. Upon arrival at the airport, the Blades had a car waiting for me.
“Go home, rest a bit, and we’ll send a car for you in a few hours for you to come to the arena for a more in-depth medical evaluation and treatment plan,” Hutch informed me. “We’ll see how much mobility you have. And we’re arranging for someone to be with you during the day.”
Rip volunteered to come home with me to get me settled. Strange, but I felt awkward having my old lover alone with me.
“I don’t think that’s necessary. Besides, I’m sure Adrian is looking forward to seeing you. You should get home and be with him.”
“Shut up,” he said with such affection, my heart squeezed tight. “Adrian’s meeting us there.”
True to his word, when the car pulled up, Adrian was waiting in the lobby with several bags. At the sight of me hobbling and in obvious pain, he rushed to help.
“Oh God, Denis. Does it hurt really badly? I’m sorry. Of course it does. I stopped off at the supermarket and brought some things for you so you wouldn’t have to worry.”
Rip hugged Adrian and gave him a kiss. “You’re the best, babe.”
“Yes, you are. Thank you very much.” It must’ve been the medication coupled with the injury that made me so damn emotional, because I had to turn away in case they saw my eyes grow wet.
“Come,” Rip told me, then motioned to the concierge. “Could you see these get brought up to Denis’s apartment?”
“Of course, sir.”
He put his arm around me, and where once his touch had felt natural on my body, now it was nothing more than friendly. “We’ll bring you upstairs and see you get settled. Remember what Hutch said: ice and keep off your feet.”
I nodded, and they helped me into my apartment, put the refrigerated items inside, and left.
I stared in the mirror, balancing on one leg to brush my teeth.
I looked like crap. Pouchy dark shadows sat under my eyes, and fucking hell if there weren’t gray flecks in my beard.
I sighed and splashed water on my face, then shaved that shit away.
I had little appetite but knew to put food in my stomach because my entire body was one hurting unit and I had to take my meds. Sitting in my empty apartment was making me itch with nerves. I wanted to get a medical evaluation as soon as possible, so I called Hutch.
“When can I come in?”
“I’ll send the car for you and meet you at the arena in an hour. The driver will help you.”
“Okay.”
It took me nearly that length of time to dress. Even with painkillers, I couldn’t move without a deep ache not only in my leg, but my entire body. I managed to wiggle into some sweats and a T-shirt and stuck my foot into flip-flops.
“Better get some sneakers without laces.”
The driver came upstairs to help me, and I was off. Once in the arena, my anxiety escalated. Things I’d once taken for granted—stairs, long walkways—now seemed insurmountable. The crutches hurt like hell, but I pushed through and waited in the therapy suite for Hutch.
How the fuck did this happen to me?
One minute I was on top of the world, the next I was facedown in the dirt.
“Okay. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” I sat and gave myself a pep talk. “You’ve got the best trainers in the world and the best doctors.”
Hutch entered with another man, about forty, balding, and with wire-rimmed glasses. Chad, our head exercise therapist, followed.
“Okay,” Hutch said. “Let’s see what we’ve got. This is Dr. Young. He’s a sports injury specialist.”
Chad waited as Hutch and the doctor examined me and looked at my MRI results. “How are you feeling?” Dr. Young asked, and my lips thinned.
“Like shit. But I’m ready to start therapy or whatever this afternoon.”
Dr. Young’s gaze sharpened. “Rest is the only option right now. Your injury is borderline Level One, but if you aggravate it, you can do more damage, and that’ll take it to a two, which might take you out for the season.”
My stomach dropped. What the fuck. About to argue, my muscle twitched, sending such a sharp pain through my entire body, I thought I’d pass out. The doctor noticed and nodded.
“Spasms will happen on and off in the beginning. I know they hurt. That’s why you need to stay put for a while. In a few days you’ll come back, we’ll reevaluate you, and hopefully the swelling will have receded and you can begin physical therapy.”
“So I just sit and do nothing?”
A faint smile came and went. “No. But you need to not overextend yourself. This isn’t the same as trying to build up a muscle.
Right now, ice it, as it’s still swollen, and keep your leg elevated.
The crutches are only for a few days, and then you should be able to walk normally and put weight on that side without pain.
The aide will change your ice packs, check the swelling, and assist you in the shower and getting dressed. ”
“Good.” My lips twitched. “Make sure he’s good-looking.”
“Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. They’ll help with PT as well.” Hutch sat next to me. “It’s going to be okay. I’m amazed you’ve never had this injury before. It’s common for goalies. You’ll get through it and be on the ice in no time.”
“Yeah. Thanks. Like I said, I’m not trying to be a hero. I just don’t want to let my team down.”
He squeezed my shoulder. “You won’t. Let’s get you home and set up. The driver is waiting, and he’ll help you upstairs to your apartment.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll stop by tomorrow to check on you,” Hutch said, and he and Chad gave me their hands to help me stand.
It was a little easier to maneuver and walk, and I made it to the car without much trouble.
Once inside my apartment, I sent the driver home.
I had no desire to have someone hanging around when I was at my weakest.
My phone was filled with texts from the team giving me words of encouragement. I called my agent.
“Ezra?”
“Denis, crap. How are you feeling? Can you walk? That fucking McLucas. He should be suspended for that dirty hit. I’d like to ram a stick up his ass, stupid bastard.”
I chuckled. “So bloodthirsty on my behalf. I love it. Physically, I’m hurting. I just came back from my medical eval, and they want me to take it slow. I hate hearing that, but the consequences if I push it would make it worse, so I’m going to be a good soldier and listen.”
“And mentally? How are you holding up?”
“Like shit. I feel like I’m failing the team, disappointing the fans. Plus…” I sighed. “Eh, never mind. I’ll be fine.”
“Denis. You aren’t. Your team and the fans love you, and the only thing you have to do is get healthy.
Athletes get injured all the time. You’ll heal and have a great season.
I know it’s hard to sit on the sidelines and watch everyone else play.
But it’s only temporary. You’ll be stronger than ever. ”
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“Do you need anything? I’ll stop by later to check on you.”
“That’d be great, but I’ve got everything I need.”
“Cool. I’ll text you.”
It was only the afternoon, yet a lifetime had passed since the game the night before.
I flicked on the sports channel, and of course they were replaying my injury, the commentators having a field day talking about the hit.
Ezra had thought I was upset about not playing, and what I said was true, but there was something more. Something that surprised even me.
Had my parents heard the news? Did they see it on television and change the channel to watch another show, or did they simply not give a damn that I was hurt? The buzzer sounded. My aide.
“God, now I’m going to have someone sitting here and watching my every move.” But I needed to shower, and I couldn’t risk slipping. Plus, I had to keep off my feet. I hobbled over and picked up the house phone.
“Denis?”
“Yeah, Joe, just send him up. I’m expecting him.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Thanks.”
I waited by the door, the ache blossoming up my thigh to my lower abdomen. Damn, I needed to sit down. Finally, the bell rang. I opened the door—and blinked.
“Sterling?”
Big blue eyes, warm with sympathy, held my gaze. “Hello. Can I come in?”