Chapter Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Seven
Abby
Dinner was a weird affair when Jack came back out of his room; I could feel everyone’s attention for the rest of the time we spent together, and I’m pretty sure I caught Lila studying me more than once throughout the rest of the evening.
It was probably a bad idea, going after him like that.
I could have let his sister or Ian do it just as easily, but when I saw how upset he was, it was like my feet moved on their own.
I still don’t know what to make of that.
We talked that night about his doctor’s appointment—how nervous he was for it, how afraid he was that he’s caused further damage—and it was an easy decision, offering to go with him. I could see the relief in his face the moment I offered, and that was enough to let me know it was the right call.
But now we’re here, and I don’t know what to say to the ball of anxiety beside me.
Jack has been tapping his foot for the last twenty minutes while we’ve waited in the exam room after his newest X-ray, and I have to admit, even I’m nervous to hear what they have to say.
I meant what I told him when I said that everything would be okay one way or another, but with his team having just made the second round, I know Jack feels like everything is weighing on his shoulders right now.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper, trying to give him some encouragement.
He turns his head to look at me, his mouth turned down in a frown. “What if it isn’t?”
“Let’s talk about the worst-case scenario,” I try, remembering a tactic I read about in one of my courses. “We can get it out of the way so it doesn’t seem so scary.”
“Well,” Jack starts, “the worst-case scenario is I’ve fucked my arm up beyond repair, and I never get to play hockey again.”
“And what would you do if you couldn’t play hockey again?”
“I…I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I’ve never taken the time to think about it.”
“Is there anything else you love doing?”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “You mean besides you?”
“Focus,” I say, pinching his side.
“I don’t know,” he says forlornly. His brow furrows in thought as he considers the question, finally giving me a shrug. “I liked helping Ian out with the kid,” he tells me. “I liked showing him how to play.”
“Have you ever considered coaching?”
“I mean…maybe? In abstract? I’m not exactly the best with kids though.”
“Is coaching kids the only option?”
“It’s not like spots are opening up for NHL teams every day,” he points out.
“But that’s not to say they would never open up.”
“That’s a long shot by far.”
“I’m just trying to talk through the worst-case scenario,” I remind him. “This could all be for nothing.”
“It hurts today,” he admits quietly. “It has for days now.”
I slide my hand down the length of his arm, finding his fingers and intertwining mine with them. “It’s going to be okay,” I assure him. “No matter what happens.”
“You don’t know that,” he laments.
“I don’t,” I admit. “But we’ll get through it.”
He looks up at me with a question in his eyes. “We?”
I consider the ramifications of that, of allowing this thing between the two of us to escape out into the open.
I’m sure with my history that the press will have something to say, and then there’s always the awkwardness of telling my brother that I fell into bed with the guy I thought I hated and then found out, wait, he’s pretty great.
There’s all sorts of reasons why I should probably continue to keep this under wraps.
But seeing the hopeful expression Jack is giving me now, I realize that none of it matters.
“Yeah,” I answer softly. “We.”
He squeezes my hand then, looking at me like I hung the moon, and there’s a seriousness now to his gaze that has my heart racing. “Abby, I think you should know that I—”
There’s a knock at the exam room door then, interrupting him before he can finish, and I find myself a little desperate to know what the end of that sentence was. I tell myself there will be plenty of time to hear it later.
The doctor steps in with a chart in his hands, peering down at it before he addresses us.
“Mr. Baker?”
Jack sits up a little straighter. “That’s me.”
“How are we feeling today?”
Jack glances at me, and I nod back at him in encouragement.
“My arm has been pretty sore lately.”
The doctor nods, his mouth turning down. “Well, there were some concerning things in your X-ray.”
The doctor turns on the screen above the cabinet, clicking at the computer keys and moving the mouse around before he pulls up an image of Jack’s X-ray. He takes a pen and circles the area between the two bones of Jack’s forearm, turning to look back at us.
“So as you can see, this is the area where synostosis has occurred. The bones have begun to fuse together, which is causing limited range of motion in your arm, which you’ve undoubtedly noticed.
I’m sure the ER physician let you know, but continued hard use of this arm could significantly speed up the process of moving into type II or III, which could result in complete loss of function in the most severe cases. ”
Jack nods shakily. “And that’s why it’s been hurting?”
“It can cause some aches and pains for sure, but I imagine the reason you’ve felt worse this last week is because of this right here.
” He points his pen to another area, and it’s then that I notice the tiny, dark line on Jack’s bone.
“When you took the hit at your last game, you seemed to have suffered a hairline fracture here on your ulna. These types of fractures can be more common in cases like this; with the limited range of motion you’re experiencing, it’s easier for the bones to sustain these types of injuries. ”
“I…I broke my arm again?”
“Not a full break,” the doctor says. “But definitely a fracture.” His brow furrows then. “My concern is that in situations like yours, it isn’t unheard-of at all for comminuted fractures to occur.”
“What’s that?” Jack asks, his grip on my hand tightening.
“It’s where the bone breaks into multiple pieces.
Given your profession, you’re at an even higher risk.
I worry because in such a case, you’d be more susceptible to nerve and blood vessel damage if such a break occurred.
Given that you’re already at risk of limited mobility without corrective surgery, that scenario could only make things worse. ”
Jack takes a deep breath. “Are you suggesting that I quit playing then?”
“It would be very prudent for you to take a step back,” the doctor admits. “You’re in the optimal window right now for the corrective surgery, but if you continue to damage it, the guarantee of a full recovery lessens. Especially since synostosis patients have a high risk of reoccurrence.”
“You mean even if I get the surgery, this could happen again?”
“It’s very possible, I won’t lie to you.”
I feel Jack’s grip on my hand slacken, his body slumping down into the chair as his eyes avert to the floor.
I can practically see the thoughts bouncing around in his head; I know that this is absolutely the worst-case scenario we were prepping for, and yet now that it’s here, I find myself at a loss for what to say to him.
“Coach is going to bench me for sure when he hears this,” Jack mutters.
I squeeze his hand. “It’s still your decision to make here,” I remind him.
“That’s true,” the doctor agrees, “however, I would strongly suggest moving forward with the surgery. We could get you scheduled today.”
“Can I…” Jack swallows thickly. “Can I think about it and call you back?”
The doctor frowns. “Certainly. No one can force you to move forward with surgery, but as your doctor, I would be remiss if I did not strongly suggest it.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Jack says, his tone almost bitter.
He’s barely holding my hand now, his entire body seeming to have deflated into the chair, almost like he’s already given up. My heart breaks to see him this way, but I know I was right when I told him this is his decision to make. No one can make it for him.
“Take the night to think about it,” the doctor says. “I can have my nurse check in with you tomorrow to see how you’re feeling about everything.”
Jack says nothing, still staring at some spot on the floor, so I nod back at the doctor, answering for him. “Thank you. We appreciate it.”
“No problem, ma’am,” the doctor says. “I’m sorry I didn’t have better news for you,” he tells Jack.
Jack just shakes his head, muttering his thanks all while continuing to gaze unseeingly.
The doctor leaves us then, and I try to think of something to say, anything to say—but Jack is already pushing out of the chair. “I want to go home now.”
“Sure,” I tell him. “Of course.”
He moves past me toward the door, barely even looking at me as I scrabble after him. I can feel his moroseness rolling off him in waves, and try as I might, I can’t think of a single thing to say to take it from him.
All I can do is follow him, hoping that he hasn’t already given up.
Jack is quiet on the ride home, content to stare out the window as I drive us, and every so often I can see the way he casually touches his arm, almost as if checking that yes, it still hurts.
The doctor prescribed him some anti-inflammatories and of course suggested a splint and to discontinue use of the arm because of his fracture—and it felt like with every parting word, Jack retreated a little more into himself.
I’ve never seen him so down. It has me beyond worried.
I allow him his space the entire ride home and even through the trip up the elevator toward the apartment, waiting until we’re safely tucked inside and he’s throwing his jacket on the back of the couch to try my hand at approaching him.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask him carefully.
Jack doesn’t even look at me. “What’s there to talk about?”
“Jack,” I sigh. “I know you just got some terrible news. It’s okay to have feelings about it.”
“Feelings,” he scoffs. “I don’t have the luxury of feeling anything about it. It sounds like it’s already decided.”
“I know that it feels dark right now, but things will get better.”