Chapter 34
Chapter
Thirty-Four
Natalie: Sorry I couldn’t come last night. I promise I’ll be by today before visiting hours end!
Hunter: Thanks. Hospitals suck.
Natalie: Think of it as a place to get better. Healing happens there!
Hunter: You are entirely too positive right now.
Hospitals are the worst. They smell funny; the beds are uncomfortable, it’s never quiet or fully dark, and people come and go from the rooms whenever they want. Plus, the cable TV selection sucks, and I’m bored out of my mind. I’ve already tried watching videos on my phone, reading a book, and doing a crossword. A crossword. Am I eighty-five? Maybe I should try playing chess instead, though, because I only got two clues correct. Although I’d need someone to play chess with, and that’s part of the problem. All my friends are in class, heading to hockey practice soon, and I’m stuck here in medical purgatory.
When the bone broke, it tore an artery, so I’m here another day for observation. Tomorrow I’m staging a prison break, though. I can’t stand it any longer.
Fiddling with the buttons, I move my bed up and down, trying to find an angle that doesn’t torture my back. Nothing works, though. I want to be out of here, in my apartment. Or better yet, with two working legs, racing down the ice as fast as I can.
Thinking of hockey makes my stomach clench. Hockey is life. But will I ever play again? What am I without it?
A sharp rap on the door frame brings me out of my musings, and I sit up straighter in the bed. “Come in.”
“Hunter.” A no-nonsense woman in a white coat enters and stands by my bed. Brushing a lock of her steel-gray hair off her forehead, she surveys me with calm green eyes and adjusts the stethoscope around her neck. “I’m Dr. Douglass. I wanted to talk to you about your leg.”
Sweat pricks my hairline and forms at the small of my back. She holds my future in her hands and seems so causal about it.
Clearing my throat, I nod.
“What can you tell me?”
Instead of answering, she rocks on the balls of her feet. “I’ve heard you’re a hockey player. A good one.”
She pauses, raising a brow for confirmation, and I swallow. “I don’t mean to brag, but yeah. I’m good. Hoping to play professionally. What does this break mean for me?”
She steps over to a light box I hadn’t noticed on the wall and switches it on. There’s an X-ray hanging up, now illuminated. Grabbing a pen out of her jacket pocket, she points to a jagged tear visible on the screen.
“This is your tibia and fibula. As you can see, both bones broke during your collision.” No wonder it hurt. Then she snaps another X-ray up, this one more encouraging. The bones are back in line, held there by metal screws. “And this is after surgery.”
“I like that one better. But what about my recovery?”
She smiles at me, compassionate and reassuring. “I appreciate a man who cuts to the chase. Obviously, I don’t have a crystal ball, but it looks like your leg should heal just fine. I don’t see why you can’t keep playing hockey.”
I exhale, but anxiety still claws at my stomach, trying to get out. “That’s great. Do you know how long it will take? What kind of weight can I put on it? Will I be as strong as before? What about—”
“Stop.” Dr. Douglass holds up her hand and takes a step back. “I know this is very important to you.”
“It’s my future,” I whisper, trying to keep my emotions in check.
“I will tell you what I know.” Posture softening, she puts her hands in her scrub pockets. “This kind of injury usually requires a cast or boot for six to eight weeks. We’d recommend light physical therapy during this time, especially since you are an athlete, and you don’t want to lose muscle tone. After the cast comes off, rehab stars in earnest. We’ll send all this information to the university’s trainers and medical staff. If you’re as determined as I suspect, you’ll be back in shape to play by this summer.”
All the air rushes out of me, and I sink back into my pillows. This summer.
Dr. Douglass raises a brow, and I don’t want to be a jerk, but I can’t force myself to smile. She probably thinks this is good news, but six to eight weeks in a cast, plus months of rehab? Even if the Griffins make it to the Frozen Four, I won’t be on the ice by then.
“Thanks, doc.” The words scrape my throat and sound raw, like I’m talking around rocks. I hold out my hand for her to shake.
Her grip is firm, and she continues to gaze at me with those piercing green eyes. “You’re going to be okay. You realize that, right?”
“Yep. I appreciate you.”
She must read the dismissal in my face because she gives me a decisive nod and then spins on her heel, leaving.
It could be worse, I tell myself. Natalie would want me to look on the bright side.
But even if I’m as good as new after my recovery efforts, I’ll miss my window. It’ll be too late. I stayed with the Griffins for my senior year to get my degree and bring home another championship. But I should have signed with Chicago when I had the chance, because there’s no way they’ll want me now. I hate to admit it, but my dad’s right. I’ll be an unknown entity after this injury, and they’ll use their roster slots on a sure thing. Not on a guy that’s probably washed up before he begins.
Sighing, I check my phone again, but no new texts. Natalie mentioned stopping by tonight, and I think Cooper will bring me some clothes from home. God, I hope so, because this hospital gown is the worst. Itchy and indecent.
Not like it matters—I can’t get out of bed yet. But I’m not hooked up to machines or an IV anymore, so maybe soon. Staring at the same four walls is driving me crazy. A trip to the bathroom was the highlight of my afternoon.
After Dr. Douglass stopped by, my spirits were pretty low. I should be thankful that everything will be okay, but I can’t get over the fact that it’s all gone. My future, my prospects. Everything I’ve ever wanted. Slipped through my fingers with one bad pileup into the boards. What now?
“How are we doing today?” A tall, blonde nurse, probably in her forties, hustles in my room, her practical white sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail and Minnie and Mickey Mouse decorate her blue scrubs. She smiles at me, but I don’t have it in me to smile back.
“How’s your pain?” she asks, updating the notes scribbled on my whiteboard. Including her name—Sandy.
I shrug, and she raises her eyebrows. “On a scale of one to ten?”
“A four.” But if you factor in boredom and depression, it’s at least a twelve.
“That’s good.” She nods, then throws back my blankets and checks the wrapping swaddling my leg. If she was anything less than businesslike, I’d be embarrassed about the amount of thigh visible in this gown, but she doesn’t notice, just pokes and prods until I squirm.
“Ouch!”
“Does that hurt?”
What does ouch usually mean? But I bite back the smart retort and try not to glare. “Yeah.”
“Okay. If your pain level hits a six, let me know and I’ll get you something.”
I shake my head. “The pills make me sleepy, and I want to be alert when my girlfriend gets here.”
At that, her face changes. “Oh, Natalie. It was good to catch up with her yesterday. Such a sweet girl. Sad story, though.”
I blink, taken aback. What’s she talking about? “Do you know her?”
“I used to be on the third floor. Internal medicine. With all the times they’ve been in and out of here, I know the whole family.”
Why have they been to the hospital a lot?
“Uh, yeah, they’re great, aren’t they?” As I suspected, this is all the prompting Chatty Sandy needs to nod and spill some tea.
“That little Jace is a cutie. But poor Mrs. Rios. It must be difficult, taking care of everyone. Since her husband’s so sick and all.”
“Uh-huh.” So sick? What the hell?
“You know.” Sandy steps closer, like we’re confidants. “Last time Mr. Rios was admitted, she broke down and sobbed on my shoulder. She was so overwhelmed with all their money trouble. I know she really appreciates Natalie and how hard she works, how much she contributes to help financially. That’s a great girl you’ve got there.”
My mind is reeling, I don’t know what to say besides, “Yeah.”
“Hang on to her. I’m sure she’ll be here soon if she said she was planning to visit. She wouldn’t let you down.”
I clear my throat. “Uh, I hope my dad hasn’t given you any trouble.”
After our fight, I asked the nurses if they could keep him away. I can just picture him, stalking the halls and cornering Dr. Douglass with questions about my condition.
But Sandy frowns, her eyes full of compassion. “No. No trouble at all.”
Oh. He hasn’t come back. Why is that worse than him being an asshole?
As she leaves, I replay her words in my head. So sick. Money trouble. Natalie’s contributions. I don’t know what she’s talking about, but one thing is clear. It’s a big deal, and Natalie didn’t tell me about it.