Chapter Twelve #2
Mom slipped an arm around Jack's shoulders with unmistakable affection.
"So did I."
The coffees had barely cooled before another knock sounded against the open door. This time it was one of the orthopedic nurses accompanied by Dr. Caroline Juneau, who greeted everyone as she stepped inside.
"I've come to see how my patient is behaving."
Dad laughed.
"You're about to find out he's inherited every stubborn gene known to mankind."
"I heard that," I grumbled.
Dr. Juneau pulled the chart from the end of my bed.
"I wasn't trying to be subtle," Dad admitted.
She carried out a thorough examination, checking the dressing covering my hip before asking me to move my feet, flex my ankles, and gently bend my uninjured leg.
A small flashlight appeared from the pocket of her white coat as she assessed my pupils once more before asking the same memory questions I'd already answered several times throughout the morning.
"What day is it?"
"Saturday."
"And where are you?"
"Providence Sacred Heart."
"Who's the President?"
I answered without hesitation.
She scribbled another note before resting the chart against the end of the bed.
"I'm very happy with your progress. The concussion is settling exactly as I'd expect, and your hip repair looks excellent."
"I was hoping you'd say I could play next weekend."
Dr. Juneau folded her arms and pierced me with a glare.
"Not a chance."
"I had to ask."
"No, you didn't."
"It’s my duty," I quipped.
She laughed quietly before becoming more serious.
"Mason, I know athletes always want a timetable, so I'm going to give you one but you won’t be happy."
The room grew noticeably quieter.
"The laceration itself has been repaired very successfully, but the damage to the muscles around your hip was significant. They need time to heal properly. If you rush back too soon and tear those repairs, you'll be right back in surgery."
I already knew where this was heading.
"How long?"
"I don't want you returning to hockey for eight weeks."
I stared at her.
"Eight!"
"I said you wouldn't be happy."
"Coach's going to have a heart attack."
"Coach's welcome to call me if he'd like to argue."
Dad chuckled.
"I'd actually pay to watch that conversation."
"So would I," Corey admitted.
Dr. Juneau smiled before continuing.
"That doesn't mean you'll spend the next eight weeks sitting around. Physical therapy starts almost immediately. Around the three-week mark I'll reassess you. If everything's healing the way I expect, I'll clear you for some very gentle skating."
"Actual skating?"
"Slow laps only. No contact, no shooting, no sharp turns, and absolutely no scrimmaging. Your hip needs to relearn movement before it can handle hockey again."
"I'll take it."
"I thought you might."
She closed the chart.
"The quickest way back is to not overexert yourself."
I let out a long breath.
"I know."
"Good. Then don't make me regret trusting you."
"I won't."
Satisfied, she wished everyone a good morning before leaving the room.
"Eight weeks," Corey sighed.
"Don't."
"I'm just saying..."
"I know exactly what you're saying."
Dad folded both arms over his chest.
"She's right."
I sighed.
"I know she's right."
Mom reached across and squeezed my hand.
"That doesn't mean you have to like it, but you've been extremely lucky with injuries up to now. You need to remember that."
"I am," I admitted. "But I really don’t like it"
Less than ten minutes later another familiar face appeared in the doorway.
Coach Callahan.
He didn't stride into the room with his usual commanding confidence. Instead, he walked in with an expression far more serious than I'd ever seen even after a hockey game. His gaze settled on the dressing around my head before dropping briefly toward the blanket covering my injured hip.
"You look terrible."
"I've had better days."
Coach introduced himself to Mom, Dad, and Corey before pulling a chair alongside the bed and sitting down.
"I watched the replay…three times."
"Only three?"
"I didn't need a fourth."
His jaw tightened.
"I referred the footage to the conference office."
"You reported it?"
"I asked them to review it."
I understood exactly what he meant. He wasn't interested in settling scores. He wanted dangerous hockey dealt with before somebody else ended up in an operating room.
"The doctor filled me in on your recovery."
I sighed.
"So you know."
"I know."
"Eight weeks."
"That's what she told me."
I stared at the blanket covering my legs.
"I was finally getting comfortable with the systems."
"You know what always hurts the most when one of my players is injured?" Coach asked.
I shook my head.
"It’s not losing them from the lineup. It’s seeing them lying on the ice and not being able to do a damn thing to help. I always feel so fucking helpless."
The words hung between us.
"You've become part of this program in a very short time, Mason. So stop worrying about how long you’ll be out. The team will adjust."
"I hate letting everyone down."
"You aren't."
His voice left no room for argument.
"You got hurt playing the game the right way."
"It still feels like I'm leaving everybody short," I argued.
Coach shook his head and leaned forward.
"You've got one responsibility now."
"What?"
"Do exactly what Dr. Juneau tells you."
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"And if I don't?"
"I'll bench you."
I laughed.
"You can't bench someone who isn't allowed to skate."
"I'll find a way," Coach quipped before again telling me to do as I was told and leaving.
For the first time since Dr. Juneau had delivered the news, I found myself believing that maybe eight weeks wasn't the end of the world after all.
Coach had barely disappeared out the door before Ryan's voice carried in from the hallway.
"I told you he wouldn't be asleep."
Laughter erupted outside the room a heartbeat later, followed by a flood of teammates squeezing through the doorway, ignoring the fact hospitals had visitor limits.
Ryan led the charge, followed closely by Ben, Caleb, Oscar, Luca, Ethan, Hunter, Harvey, Graham, and Cameron carrying a ridiculous collection of balloons, magazines, protein bars, and enough junk food to keep an entire floor of patients supplied for a week.
The nurse stationed outside looked genuinely horrified.
"You can't all…"
Ryan smiled his most innocent smile.
"We won’t be long."