Chapter 13 #3
Mo flattened his lips into a line and finally nodded. “Yeah, all right. Tell him I came by? And said he should take better care of what’s left of his brain. Uh, and I guess he can… call me if he needs anything. Or wants to talk. Or whatever.”
“I’ll do that.” He sounded sincere enough, so Mo had no choice but to say thanks and walk away.
And ignore the feeling there was something he’d forgotten to say.
The doctors said exactly what Adam expected—concussion grade three, no idea how long recovery would take. For now, listen to his body, track his symptoms, and limit screen time and physical activity.
In other words, do all the things athletes were bad at.
Jorts stayed with him for the rest of the day, despite Adam telling him to go home.
“You got someone else to hold your hair back while you puke?” Jorts arched a brow.
Maddison came by in the afternoon, hugged them both hello—very gently, in Adam’s case—then loaded the fridge and freezer with food.
“You going to take him with you?” Adam asked from his spot, lying prone on the couch.
“As if I could tear him away.” She laughed, running a hand over Jorts’s shoulder.
“He’s so annoying, isn’t he?”
“Hey,” Jorts cut in, “don’t talk to your hockey father like that.”
Adam fell asleep before Maddison left, and woke up who knew how many hours later to Jorts gently shaking him.
“Time for some water and a brain check.”
Adam groaned but sat up, ignoring the pounding of his head at the change in position.
He even managed a few nibbles of toast and sips of a protein shake without throwing it back up.
His stomach mostly stayed settled for the next few days, which was a good thing considering he was about to lose his nanny. The Canyons had an away game, so Jorts had no choice but to leave the following morning. Not before checking several times that Adam was tracking and able to get his own food.
For the first hours after Jorts left, Adam couldn’t say he missed him, because he passed out again. Then he woke up, muddled, with no idea what time it was. Not being able to look at screens sucked when your clocks were digital. Even the blue readout on the oven swam.
He’d just gone back to the couch and was wondering how he could pass the time without Jorts to take his mind off the bright lights or his pounding head, when someone knocked at the front door.
He shuffled to the foyer.
“You look like shit.” Judging from Mo’s wide eyes, that had come out without permission.
“Thanks,” Adam said dryly. He felt like it too. “You say the sweetest things.”
Mo snorted. “Go sit down before you fall down.”
Adam didn’t want to argue, but… “What are you doing here?”
“The Canyons have an away game. I figured you’d lost your babysitter.”
Adam snorted, then instantly regretted it. He didn’t have the brain power to figure Mo out or even acknowledge his feelings about their current messy situationship.
“Come in.” He turned back to his couch cocoon. Mo followed and, after a pause, sat next to him.
“How’s your head?”
“Scrambled. Sore.”
“Poor baby,” Mo murmured. He scootched a bit closer. “Lights bothering you?”
Adam opened one eye to look at Mo. “How’d you guess?”
Mo didn’t rise to the bait. “Well, it was that or you’ve decided that no lights and dark corners are a vibe.”
“More like boring. Hard to pass the time when you can’t look at anything.”
“Can I help?”
He grunted. Over the past few months, most of their “dates” together had involved leaving the house and/or athletic activity, all of which were currently on the doctor’s verboten list.
“Well, what did Jorts do to help you pass time?”
“Mostly fussed over me and fed me or let me sleep.”
“Oh. Do you want to sleep now?”
“Not really. Just… lying in the dark is boring.”
“Well, if you want to keep your eyes shut, that leaves activities that require listening, not looking.”
“Right.”
“Radio? Podcast? Crossword? Trivia? Book?”
The first suggestions made Adam’s head swim—too much noise or too much thinking.
Besides, Adam had already learned that hockey-talk radio wasn’t worth the effort.
How could they have so much to say about a potential new team when the NHL hadn’t even bothered to announce it? But… “A book could be nice.”
“Right. What are you into?” Mo shifted around. Adam squinted open one eye and saw him pull his phone out.
Too lazy to find words to answer the question, Adam pointed in the direction of the living room with the bookshelves. “That way. Whatever you want.”
Adam couldn’t read Mo’s expression, but he disappeared. Adam shut his eyes and time drifted.
Sock feet on hardwood, sounding unusually loud to Adam, warned him of Mo’s return.
“Find anything?”
“Something called Hogfather, which is not, I gather, about a guy who owns a motorcycle, which is disappointing.”
This time, Adam managed to remember to avoid the impulse to snort. “Sir Terry. Good choice.”
“Yeah?”
“Mum got me that when I was a kid. I read the rest of his books on road trips. Lots of time on buses and in hotel rooms.”
“Aren’t young OHL players supposed to be using those hotel rooms for getting drunk and losing their virginity?”
Adam risked opening both eyes to give Mo a look.
“Aww, baby Captain Cardboard must have been so cute.”
Adam flipped him the bird and snuggled back into his nest. “Thought you were going to read to me.”
“Right, right, of course, my liege, right away,” he grumbled, but it was followed by the sounds of turning paper. Then, Mo’s soft voice started to read.
“Assassins’ Guild?” he asked after only a minute. “Murphy, what kind of book have you gotten me into?”
“You picked it.”
“From your shelf!”
“And it’s good.”
Mo flipped through a few pages. “A Death novel? What the fuck?”
“Death’s a character. Grim Reaper-y. Now shut up and keep reading.”
“Fine, fine. I won’t even sass you about not being able to do both of those things at once.” He went back to it.
Between one page and the next, before Death made his appearance, Adam fell asleep.