Chapter 7
Jabari
There’s something soothing about being on the ice.
No one around. No one to impede my progress.
I alone determine how slow or fast to move.
Despite the issues with my eyesight, skating is as easy as walking.
My eyes remain closed, and the rushing wind cools the nape of my neck as I skate backward without a care in the world.
Okay, so maybe I’m pretending not to have a care.
My mind can’t actually focus on just one thing. There’s the macular degeneration diagnosis, Val Elliott, and Jackie Elliott.
Man, I haven’t heard that name in forever. Our breakup was pretty awful. She did not take my words kindly, but Jackie’s the least of my worries. Whether or not I’ll ever skate with my team again bothers me the most right now.
It’s one thing to come out here and skate all by myself and quite another to have to contend with bumping into someone or not seeing a puck fly my way. Those spots I thought were from the concussion are stereotypical of macular degeneration.
My deepest desire is to get back on the ice with the Warriors, but I don’t see how that’s possible. The team optometrist refuses to clear me, so this Sunday I’ll be on the bench once again instead of playing with the team.
That also means I’ll continue to dodge reporters.
I’m not ready to answer their questions, despite the fact my agent wants me to release a statement.
So far, I’ve only allowed the generic “Jabari Hall is taking healing one day at a time” comment.
Those words probably don’t satisfy anyone’s curiosity, but that’s all they’re getting from me . . . for now.
“Woo-hoo, look who’s here bright and early.”
I stop near where I hear Tae’s voice coming from. The Korean defender is wicked fast and can block with the best. Born in Seoul, he and his family immigrated to the States when he was ten. His leanness works to his advantage, but he also possesses a raw strength.
“Morning, Tae.”
The swoosh of ice and abrupt stop of his skates finds my ears.
“Thought Coach said you weren’t allowed to practice.”
Great. Did Coach tell the whole team or just my line? “Not with anyone else on the ice. Now that you’re here, I gotta get.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder even though the exit to the tunnel is more northwest. I think.
“What’s going on, man? Raimo and Javier won’t tell me anything.” Frustration laces Tae’s voice.
I swallow. I’ve purposely been keeping information from the rest of the guys.
Not because I don’t trust them to keep a secret.
They know what it’s like to have your business in front of the world.
They wouldn’t do that to me. I’m just not ready to face the truth.
But hearing the concern and hurt in Tae’s voice has me rethinking my decision on silence.
I let out a sigh. “I’ve got a vision problem, and I don’t really know how to talk about it.” I stare off, hoping he’s not scrutinizing me.
“Like what, double vision? From the concussion?” His questions fly fast, and concern deepens his voice.
“Worse.” I rub my chin, noting the scruff is longer than I usually maintain it. “I trust you. You’re my team. My family. But I’ve been trying to process before I start spilling my guts to everyone. Until I know how to explain it all”—without crying—“I won’t talk about it.”
“Understood.” Tae slaps me on the shoulder. “Maybe now’s the time to improve your lackluster dating life. Give your mind a distraction.”
“Same idea we had,” Javier says.
When did he get here? I didn’t hear anyone else on the ice. When I angle my head, two figures appear next to Tae. Raimo must be the third guy.
“Speaking of which, you didn’t tell us how the date went.”
Yep, Raimo. I shift on my skates. “You two are in big trouble.” I point toward their silhouettes.
“What did they do?” Tae asks.
“Hooked me up on a blind date with my ex’s little sister.”
“What?” Raimo shouts.
“Yo! That’s wild.” Javier laughs.
Tae merely grunts. “Want me to make sure Coach runs them into the ground?”
“Seriously though, you dated Jackie?” Raimo questions.
I nod.
Someone blows out a breath.
“Unbelievable. I had no idea you dated my agent, or I would’ve told Raimo no,” Javier says. “Was seeing Val horribly awkward?”
Actually, after word dumping all of my issues to her, we’d been able to laugh the awkwardness off. It’d been kind of cathartic. We stuck to surface topics the rest of the night and enjoyed ourselves.
Oddly enough, she actually gave me her phone number in case I need a friend to talk to. “Nah. It was all right. Just don’t hook me up with any more exes or their relatives.”
Javier laughs again. The tenor tone of his joy gives him away, along with that leg slap. Raimo always manages to sound like the word guffaw while Tae’s laughter is in the bass range. Funny how my mind knows these instinctively, but I’m now realizing the nuances consciously.
“Coach is coming,” Raimo says abruptly. “You need help off the ice?”
My back stiffens. “No,” I snap.
Immediately, I glide off the ice toward the walkway that leads to the lockers. As I step off the ice, something flies in my periphery, and I stumble. My face heats, but no one says a word to me. I haven’t tripped since I was a toddler being led around the rink by my mom.
Please don’t tell me one of the guys saw that. To ensure no one sees any more humiliating moments, I maneuver more slowly the rest of the way.
“Crank, what were you doing out on the ice?” Coach’s voice comes from behind.
I make a one eighty. “No one was here when I first arrived.”
He sighs. “But for your safety . . .”
“I know, Coach.”
Does he know what he’s asking of me? To not skate feels like chopping my legs right out from under me. How can I be able bodied yet one little issue with my vision has me feeling more restricted than anything?
Why are you throwing a pity party? There are people who are suffering worse than you are. So you conked your head. You’re still alive, right?
But what is my life without hockey?
“You don’t have to show up to practices, but I expect you at the game come Sunday.”
“Yes, Coach.”
I wait a beat to see if he has more to say.
“Crank?”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t drive here, did you?”
I bite back a groan. “I took a rideshare.”
“Good. Take one home as well.”
Obviously. I don’t need him to tell me how to behave. But I hold my tongue because Coach truly cares. I can’t snap at him for that.
You just snapped at your teammate for the same reason.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and huff out a breath. This sucks, but I’ll wait until I get home for a full pity party. I finally get to the locker room without another incident. Everyone is probably out on the ice, so I count from the first locker, then take a moment to sit in solitude.
I can’t see the last names above the lockers because reading is done with your central vision, and macular degeneration erases all those details your central vision takes in.
The retina specialist believes the markers for macular degeneration have always been present, but the concussion brought that to their attention.
And the lesion on my brain, well that little sucker has advanced the disease rapidly.
One bad hit has changed my life, and not for the better.
Picking up my cell, I murmur into the microphone requesting a rideshare. The retina specialist mentioned a vision-impaired software that could help me navigate tools on my phone. After the request is complete, I take off my skates and change into my Converse.
They’re custom-made with the Warriors colors—blue sides, red tongue, and white laces. I pull my coat on and stuff my wallet into a pocket. Hopefully, my memory can help me navigate my way to the sidewalk outside the arena.
Luck seems to be on my side as no one roams the halls. I don’t have to explain why I’m not out practicing with the team. Don’t have to see questions in the eyes of others.
Like you can see that detail anyway.
The ride home is silent the whole way. After thanking the driver and telling my phone to leave a thirty percent tip, I ride up the condo elevator to the top floor.
Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about money because I’m sure the drive to and from the stadium costs a pretty penny.
Maybe I need to find out if hiring a driver for the foreseeable future would actually be cheaper. Figure that out later.
I drop my keys onto the foyer table, and the tinkling sound informs me the keys made it into the dish. My cell rings.
“Hello?”
“Jabari, son, how are you?”
My eyes squeeze tight. “Hey, Mom.”
“We haven’t chatted in a while. I heard on the news you had a concussion.”
Yikes. I meant to tell her, I really did, but I can’t just drop information like that on my mom. Not without making sure she has a support system or that I can assuage any fears she may have. Unfortunately, there’s nothing good about my prognosis, and I don’t want her to worry unnecessarily.
I make my way into the living room and sink into the recliner. It’s my video-game chair, but recovering from the concussion means I haven’t played in a month.
I clear my throat, trying to figure out the right words so she won’t panic. “Actually, yeah, I did get a concussion. A pretty bad one.”
“How bad?” She sucks in a breath. “How come I had to hear it on the news? Are you okay now?”
Great. She’s panicking. “Mom, I didn’t want to worry you.”
Silence slaps my ears. Uh-oh. She’s upset. Will she at least try to understand my reasoning?
“Tell me what’s wrong.” Her voice is strong, sure.
You can do this. Just tell her. “I have a pretty bad concussion. There’s a lesion on my brain that may be exacerbating symptoms of macular degeneration, which they believe to have been asymptomatic prior to the concussion.”
“The eye disease? Don’t you lose your vision with that?”
She’s heard about it? “I can lose my central vision, yes.” Usually older people get the disease, not someone in their thirties.
“How can you play like this?”
Isn’t that the million-dollar question? “I don’t know, Mom.” I draw in a breath. “Please don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” I don’t believe that one hundred percent, but she can’t know that.
“Jabari.” She sniffles. “I appreciate how you’ve always cared for me, but isolating me from hard things isn’t helpful either.”
How can I not do that? I’ve been doing so for so long. “I’ll try not to.” Lies. I’ll do it every single time if I think it’ll prevent her from spiraling into a deep depression.
“Okay.” Her voice sounds small. Too small.
Already my mind wonders how much this’ll affect her mental health. Is she going to spiral? Will this be her final breaking point?
“Mom, you promise you won’t worry about me?”
“You’re my son. But maybe . . . maybe a visit will help?”
It has been a while since we’ve seen each other. “Okay. I’m not participating in practices, so I have more free time. Though I’ll still have to be present for game days.”
“When’s your next break?”
“Our break just ended.” We usually get a two-week break in February. “The first week of March, we’ll have a bunch of home games. That’ll give us time to hang out since I won’t be on the road.”
“Okay. I’ll mark my calendar.”
“Want me to buy you a plane ticket?”
She groans. “As if I’ve used the money you sent me for anything other than collecting interest in the bank. I can afford my own plane ticket.”
I grin at the feistiness in her voice. It’s great to hear some life in her tone. “Okay, then. I’ll see you in March.”
“Love you, Jabari.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
I drop my head back. Mom’s coming. The plan lifts my spirits and simultaneously makes me worry. Will I have to put on a brave face to ensure she doesn’t fall into a dark depression? That’s the last thing I want. But maybe this time she’ll be fine, and my own issues won’t impair hers.
“Maybe,” I whisper in disbelief.