Chapter 8
8
Hockey is not a one-man show; it’s a team effort. If you don’t work as a team, even if one or two guys aren’t working, you’re not going to win. That’s the way it is.
– Guy Lafleur
Maya
My brother, Chris, shows up just as I’m getting ready to leave the hospital. He peers into Frank’s room, then walks in as if he owns the place.
“How ya doin’, Sauer? Treating my little sis okay?” He acts like they’ve known each other for years. Then I realize they probably have.
“You’re sister can take care of herself.” He casts a narrow stare at my brother. “Except for my heart, and my knee, I’m just fine, Pully. What are you doing in Chi-Town?”
“Came to see Maya and see if she needs any protection,” Chris says with a grin.
My snort makes him laugh. “Fat chance. I only found out you’d be in town from Dad.” I try to sound severe but I’m too relieved to have him here to pull it off.
“She tell you I was in the hospital?”
“I didn’t even know you knew each other,” I protest. “But how did you know I was here, Chris?”
“Stopped by the arena to see Ax and he told me where you were. Thought I’d take you out for a nice steak dinner. Ax and Hay are going to join us. I’ll try not to make the whole conversation about prospects.” He rubs a stubbly chin. “Too bad you can’t come, Sourpuss. I’ll give you a rain check for a future visit.”
“Going to Gibson’s?”
“Nah. Hawksmoor. It’s new and supposed to be dopesauce.”
“Run along, kids,” Frank says with a wink.
“See you tomorrow.” I drop a kiss on his forehead.
He turns red and Chris says, “Hey, have you known each other long enough for that?” He gives Frank a look I can’t interpret. “No PDA, Sis.”
I turn back at the door but Frank has already lowered the bed and his eyes are closed. Hope he gets some sleep.
After dinner, Chris and I shoot the shit for a few hours, even Zooming with Mom and Dad, including updates on everyone and plenty of teasing about me and Frank Sauer.
“Be careful,” Dad says. “He might be grateful now and go back to hating you once he recovers.”
Chris goes back to his hotel to prepare for a long day of watching prospects and talking with coaches while I regard my bed with dismay, not sure I’ll be able to sleep.
I feel Mrs. Sauer as a threatening phantom, contaminating my cozy space. No wonder Frank keeps women at a distance. His mother is a hag. Even though Frank is an adult, how can his mother treat him that way?
For the first time in years, I have bad dreams. All night, Frank’s mother’s curses ring in my ears. The magic mirror of my childhood comes back, Mrs. Sauer’s face leering at me. When I beg to know the future, her laugh chills me and a mist rises from the ground, obscuring everything.
Too agitated to stay in bed, I try to read but can’t keep my mind off the scene in the hospital. Cup after cup of Sleepytime Tea overloads my bladder but has no other effect.
Toward dawn, I must fall asleep because I wake with a jolt to the sound of incessant ringing on the outside buzzer. Groggy, I wonder why my neck is sore, before realizing that I am scrunched on the couch. The ringing continues.
Falling to my knees when I try to get up, I swear under my breath and push against the couch to totter into a standing position. Then I peek out the window. Ax stands outside, his finger stabbing the bell over and over.
When I ring the buzzer, a heavy tread races up the stairway and he pounds against the door before I can get there to open it.
“Damn it, Ax, what the hell is going on?”
“You were asleep?” He looks disgusted.
“Guess so. I was awake most of the night.” When I catch sight of myself in the hall mirror, bleared vision shows me a creased face, hair standing on end, and a little drool on my chin.
“What time is it?” The rusty gate sound makes me wince.
“Almost noon. Frank’s in surgery. Doc said you planned to be there. Are you hung over from the revelry last night?”
“No. If you remember, Hay and I had nonalcoholic cocktails.”
“I was thinking a food coma.” He snaps his fingers. “You brought most of yours home.”
“I have enough left for at least three more meals. It was yummy but way too much for one person.”
I need to take a quick shower and throw on some clothes. He calls after me, “Chris and I cleaned our plates.”
“Fix yourself something to drink and give me ten minutes.”
He nods, answering a text. I race into the bedroom, tear off my clothes, and jump into the shower. Five minutes later, wet hair drips down my back as I frantically towel off.
Team sweats are as professional as I can be in the limited time available. My head wrapped in a turban, I call out, “Ready to go,” as I grab a parka from the closet.
His car is double-parked, engine running, but fortunately there’s no ticket. Heat pours out and the seat warmers are on. “Any news?”
“Doc says he’s in recovery. We should get there before they take him back to his room. Everything looks okay but there could be later complications from infection.” He shudders, probably thinking about the surgeries he went through when his neck was broken.
A television shows a daytime soap when we get to the waiting room. A couple of women sit on a love seat, engrossed in the action. Phil and Gnauss perch on the edges of their chairs, staring at the closed door to the recovery room.
Gnauss jumps up, hands balled into fists, fury turning him purple. “Where have you been, Maya? Your job was to be here.”
A lump forms and I swallow to dislodge the sensation. “I overslept.” At the incredulousness on his face, I lash out, stung, “After the scene with Frank’s mother yesterday…”
A coughing fit overtakes me. Ax hands me a water bottle, the cap already loosened. “Anyway, I was awake most of the night.” The torrent becomes a trickle becomes drippy gulps. A flash of orange catches the corner of my eye as I feebly collapse onto the edge of a vinyl-padded chair. My eyes overflow.
Gnauss gives me an awkward pat on the shoulder while Ax shoves a wad of tissues at me.
“At least she’s out of the picture. We put her on a plane this morning—kicked out of the hospital, the U.S., and maybe Frank’s life. Not a bad result.” Phil’s attempt to cheer me up falls flat.
“The whole team visited last night after you left. He may act like a jerk in the outside world, but he’s still a teammate and always there for his brothers,” Ax adds with a big smile. “And now they are there for him.”
“How was he this morning?”
Overhead lights bounce off the shiny surface of Gnauss’ bald head. With an absent rub, he says, “He hated the waiting, the prep. Just kept demanding that they do the surgery and get it over with. He asked for you but we assured him you would be here. Of course, they ended up having to bring his blood pressure down again. Another thing he’ll have to work on while he rehabs.”
“One thing, Maya.” Ax sounds like he’s going for a big ask. “Sauer can’t live by himself, at least in the first stages of recovery.”
My heart plummets into my stomach. “Can’t you hire round-the-clock nursing?”
“Yeah, he could afford it, but he was pretty clear. He wants you. To live in.”
No, no, no. I can’t believe this is happening. I’m already getting too attached to this guy. “Come on. He can’t stand me. Just find some male nurses to stay with him. I’ll be there to do the PT. But live in, that’s nuts.”
“Total one-eighty. He said the way you stood up to his mom, well, that seems to have moved the needle.”
Bottles of water sit on a table near us. I pick one up, twist the cap, and take a swallow. Then another. And another. When the bottle is empty, I toss it into the recycle bin. “And what happens when he improves and his feelings swing back the other way?”
“We’ll face that when it happens, if it happens.” Twisting his team beanie like taffy, Ax says, “Please. I don’t want to strong- arm you, and I won’t get you fired, but we need you to do this. He needs you.”
The surgeon walks in. “He’s back in his room and awake if you want to see him.”
Instead of taking the elevator, I run up the two flights. A skid slams me into the nurses’ station, where several nurses are chatting, their backs to me. Gulping air, I hit the bell to get their attention.
In slow motion, they turn around as if choreographed. “Can I help you?” says one who looks like a candy striper.
“Frank Sauer,” I pant out. The elevator door opens to disgorge four big men on a mission—Gnauss, Marshall, Alexander, and the surgeon. The latter takes my arm. “I know the room.” We march in formation down to the end of the corridor.
The door is open and a complaint arrows toward us.
“Where is she?” asks a weak, fretful voice.
I stand in the doorway. “Looking for me?”
With a sigh, he closes his eyes. “What took you so long?”