Chapter 9
Jabari
Thankfully the crowd noise muffles as I insert my Loop earplugs, because Raimo blocks a goal from the visiting New York team, and the fans roar. Ever since my concussion, headaches have plagued me off and on. I’m really hoping they’re not a permanent fixture in my life.
“We’re back on offense heading toward their goal,” Noah says.
All night long, the injured goalie has been giving me updates on the game as we sit in the team suite. He has an idea the action is difficult for me to follow, and I hate it. Are reporters speculating why our heads have been close the whole night? Maybe they think Noah is just another Chatty Cathy.
I tug on the hem of my Fendi suit, feeling like I’m under a microscope. Too bad I can’t see if I actually am. Since the moment the announcer said my name as one of the injured players, I’ve felt uncomfortable. What kind of advice would Val give for this situation?
My lips turn up on their own accord. She’s been really supportive.
She texts me audio messages now, so I don’t have to use the screen reader.
I never imagined hearing her voice early in the morning or late in the evening could soothe me so much.
Something inside me settles at the sound of her voice.
It’s like I can finally breathe again, and the weight of my diagnosis no longer presses heavily against me.
Soon as I get home, I’m going to send her a voice text asking her how to cope with the curiosity surrounding my injury.
My agent really wants me to put out a press release.
Four weeks of rest from the concussion has come and gone.
The Warriors merely reiterate how cautious they’re being.
Unfortunately fans are beginning to ask the question, What’s wrong with Jabari Hall?
People are speculating I have a TBI—not wrong.
Others say I simply need more recovery time and call for grace and understanding.
There have also been claims of debilitating migraines, amnesia (which, really, would I show up to games if I’ve forgotten who I am?).
My favorite: my frontal lobe is injured, and I no longer know how to skate.
It’s a pretty funny assumption, I must admit.
Will Val encourage me to tell the truth?
My only fear with that is if it’ll force the Warriors’ head office to make an official decision about my career.
Do they cut me? Force me to retire? I have a guaranteed clause in my contract that allows me to get paid for the rest of the season if they do cut me.
Same with retirement. But I think they’re hoping this can be reversed or improved enough to allow me to see well enough to play.
Hence the appointment I have with a leading specialist in macular degeneration tomorrow at ten a.m. I’m trying to be present at the game and not wonder whether my poor eyesight can somehow be restored when the disease is incurable. Guess nothing ever hurt from getting a second opinion.
A whistle shrills, and I blink.
Noah leans over to tell the reason for the referee pausing the game.
Apparently there’s a fight between Trevor and a New York player.
Our defense player acts as the bruiser when necessary and a New York forward just aimed a pour shot at Raimo.
No one messes with our goalie, and any man on the team would happily fight to protect him.
“Trev just pulled off his gloves and is boxing the other guy.”
A smile crosses my lips. Not because I’m happy about the fight, but there was a time when Trevor didn’t feel a part of our team. The fact he’s defending Raimo without a thought shows me how much that’s changed.
Before long, the three-period game ends, and we’re in the locker room celebrating another win. I clap my hands as Coach finishes his speech.
Footsteps sound near me, and silhouettes cast over me. I angle my head up and to the left.
“You coming out with us, Crank?”
Ah, Raimo. “I’m not sure, man.”
“I’d be happy to give you a ride. You don’t live too far from me.”
I snort. “Maybe not in mileage but how about when you factor in traffic?”
Raimo is one of the guys who owns a huge house in Great Falls because he and his wife plan on having a big family.
“McLean is on the way home, so I don’t mind.”
“Come on, Crank. You haven’t been in a while,” Trevor says.
They’re right. I hate not attending the celebrations, but I’ve been feeling weirdly disconnected lately. Being on the injured list has me noticing how much of a nonentity I am. Still, I need to maintain my friendship with the guys. We’re a family.
“All right. I’ll go.”
Raimo shouts, and Trevor pats me on the back.
“Ride with me,” Raimo demands.
“Fine.” I smirk. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
“Will do. I need to shower first.”
“Crank! I need a word,” Coach shouts.
I grimace. Is it too much to avoid going to his office?
It’s like being called into the principal’s.
When I was injury free, I didn’t mind a summons to Coach’s office.
Hopefully now he just wants my thoughts on how the lines performed and if we need to switch any people around to create a better combination for the team.
But I don’t have much hope. All we seem to talk about now is how I’m doing and if there are any improvements.
I don’t want to tell him my eyesight seems a little dimmer, and I only know he’s him because of the boom of his voice.
I can’t make out the details of his face.
Can’t see how long his nose is or how bushy his eyebrows always are.
I can’t even roast him about looking like a walking advertisement for Mr. Clean with that bald head of his.
Instead of objecting, I get up and hope no one crosses my path. Though Coach banned me from attending team practices, I come to the arena late to practice alone, counting the steps to get from place to place. And I have the bruises to prove it.
“Come on in, Crank.”
I release a breath, thankful I made it to his office with only one bump into a rounded wall.
“Have a seat.”
The chair sits to the right in my periphery, so I maneuver into a seated position. “Everything okay?”
Coach huffs. “You’re asking me that?”
“Yes?”
He chuckles at my confusion. “I called you in here to see how you’re faring.”
I knew it.
“I know I haven’t been by since you were in the hospital, but the doc’s been giving me updates. Four Eyes too.”
Four Eyes is our optometrist’s nickname. Since he takes care of everyone’s vision and wears glasses, it works. Hockey players are all about easy nicknames.
“I’m doing as well as can be expected.”
“You need to talk to someone? A counselor maybe?”
My back stiffens. “No, sir.”
“Now, don’t get that look on your face. I’m only trying to help.”
Great, now my face is talking for me. How unfair that I can’t see his facial expressions but mine are still on display for the world to notice. I quickly think neutral so my face follows suit.
“I just—I worry about you, Jabari.”
Uh-oh. He’s using my first name now? How can I be mad? “I’m okay, Coach.”
“But are you really? Do you have a friend to talk to? And I don’t mean the guys. I can imagine you need to talk to someone who isn’t in the hockey world.”
Val immediately comes to mind. Though she knows the sports world, she isn’t relegated to just hockey.
Not only that, but she’s already proven to be a good listener.
At our blind date, she mentioned not being an agent but a project manager.
So, yeah, Val definitely fits the description of someone not in the hockey world.
“I do have a friend.” Our tentative agreement feels more solid now, like we have an actual friendship.
“Really?”
“Good grief, Coach. Is it that much of a hardship to imagine I have friends outside of the locker room?”
He barks out a laugh. “When I was playing, I didn’t. We live this life twenty-four-seven, so meeting people outside of the arena is usually difficult.”
“Rest assured, I have a friend, and they’ve heard my thoughts on this whole ordeal.” I point to my face, hating that I can’t see the tip of my nail or even the lines on my fingers.
“Okay, okay. I’ll leave you alone about it.”
“Appreciate the concern.” And I really do. Coach is a tough guy, but the fact that he’s taking a moment out of his busy schedule to check in and using my first name shows me how much he cares.
“Go hang out with the guys and be here in two days for the next game.”
“Will do.”
By the time I make it back to the locker room, Raimo’s ready. He hooks an arm around my shoulder.
“Is this your not-so-subtle way of guiding me?”
“Maybe?”
I grin.
“While I’ve got your attention, maybe you should think about telling the others tonight.”
Immediately I shake my head.
“Come on, Crank? Why not?”
“What if someone overhears and leaks the news?”
“Fine. That’s a real possibility.” He sounds petulant toward my logic.
“Maybe I’ll come to the next practice and let the guys know.”
“Will Coach let you?”
“We’ll see.”
“Tomorrow’s the day, right? The new doctor will know more?”
I nod.
Raimo sighs. “Steff and I will be praying.”
“You will?” Since when did Raimo ride the religion train?
He laughs. “Javier got to me.”
“I’ll say. I thought you felt like I did.”
“People change.”
Do they really? My mom used to spout how much she wanted to change, but she never did.
Not fair. She can’t. It’s not her fault she suffers from depression. I know how many times she wished for a different outcome. How many times I wished. But the young boy inside of me who’s more parent than child is slightly bitter.
Maybe even more than I want to admit.
I run a hand down my face. Something to think about on a different day when I don’t have to put on a happy persona for the guys.
If Raimo or Javier knew how worried I am about my visit tomorrow, they’d probably pray over me or something.
I don’t want something steeped in fairy tales.
I want a treatment that will actually make a difference.
At least getting an encouraging text from Val later will calm my nerves. She always knows exactly what to say, and I desperately need her hope right about now.