Chapter 32 Knox
KNOX
The trauma center waiting room is about as comfortable as expected.
The cushioned chairs are decent enough, but after hours of being crammed into one, I’m going out of my fucking mind.
A home improvement show plays on the overhead TV, and the host’s upbeat explanation of wood restoration is grating on my last nerve.
I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees, and stare at the linoleum floor.
Just breathe.
I’ve tried. It’s not working. Every muscle in my body is wrought with tension, my joints locked up tight.
Visiting hours are long over, but I can’t bring myself to leave. Frank needs our support, and I need to be here in case there’s news.
For when there is news.
What is taking so long? It’s been hours, and Davis is still in surgery.
This is a Level 1 trauma center. He’s getting the best possible care.
The knowledge does little to soothe my nerves. Davis shouldn’t even be here. He should be at home celebrating tonight’s win over the Flyers.
A win he should’ve been part of.
I flex my fingers, seeking an outlet for the nervous energy pulsing through my limbs.
I’m surrounded by teammates, but I’ve never felt more alone. More isolated.
That’s the thing about being team captain. It creates a level of separation between you and the other players. A level of responsibility and duty. Of being held to a higher standard.
A standard I failed to meet.
I scan the waiting room. Every seat is filled, and there are a few guys sitting on the floor, long legs bent to avoid blocking the aisle.
No one has made a move to leave, or even suggested it.
We’re all right where we need to be.
Davis’s father is holding up well, all things considered, but he’s not a young man and the stress is taking its toll. He looks weary, defeated. Like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Can you blame him?
A fresh wave of guilt washes over me. I should have realized Ollie was struggling, but I was too wrapped up in my own shit to notice.
When Frank told us his wife Molly has Alzheimer’s, I was floored. Davis never mentioned it. Not once.
If I’d known, I would’ve offered support. Lent him an ear. I’m no expert on Alzheimer’s, but I know a hell of a lot about grief and loss.
But I didn’t know because I didn’t ask.
Some captain I’ve been.
For the last two months, I’ve been so focused on winning that I forgot the most important part of the game: the people.
“I know that look,” D-Vo says, pitching his voice low. He’s stuffed into the chair next to me, and he leans forward so we’re shoulder to shoulder. “Stop beating yourself up.”
I shoot him the side-eye. “I’m not beating myself up.”
“Bullshit.” He huffs out a breath. “I grew up with you, remember? I know how your mind works, and I know you feel responsible for Davis’s accident.”
The urge to deny, deny, deny rises, but I stuff it down. D-Vo’s right. He knows me as well as I know myself. There’s no point in lying.
“Of course I feel responsible. Davis has been off his game for weeks, and I didn’t even think to ask him about it. Not once.”
Shame burns my throat, but I’m not looking for absolution.
D-Vo flicks his wrist. “None of us did. Not Hardy. Not me. Does that make me a shit friend and alternate captain?”
I hate it when he gets like this, all logical and annoying.
He doesn’t understand.
So make him.
“It’s not the same.” I turn to meet his stare, unyielding. “And you know it.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, a sure sign I’m not going to like whatever he says next.
“You only think it’s different because you were forced to shoulder adult responsibilities while the rest of us were still playing video games and shooting spitballs at team parties.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off.
“Don’t tell me I’m wrong. I was there, Knox, right by your side.
” He pauses, searching for the words. “I get it, I do, but you can’t always protect the people you care about from experiencing the less savory parts of life.
You can be there for the people you love, but you can’t expect to be everything to everyone. ”
The hell I can’t.
“No one can,” he adds emphatically. “If you try, you’re going to burn yourself out, and then what good will you be to the team?”
I snort. “I’m nowhere near burnout.”
D-Vo shrugs. “It’s early in the season.”
He lets the words hang between us so long that I think he’s said his piece, but true to form, he’s got one last bit of sage advice.
“You’re a good captain, but you need to remember that sometimes the people who struggle the hardest hide it the best. You’ve got enough on your plate without taking on responsibilities that aren’t yours to shoulder.
” He claps me lightly on the back as I consider his words.
“We’re a team, and whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. ”
We fall silent, and Coach stalks in. I didn’t notice him leave the waiting room, but he looks pissed.
Is there news? It must be bad.
No, that can’t be it. Frank’s been here the whole time and not a single nurse or doctor has come through the door.
Maybe the situation is getting to him.
It’s hard to imagine Coach breaking down—the man is unflappable—but stranger things have happened.
A few minutes later, my cell buzzes with a text. I slide my phone out of my pocket, and when I read the message, my stomach bottoms out.
Ava: Adam found out about us, and he’s furious. I’m sorry for bailing, but the focus should be on Ollie right now, and my presence will just be a distraction.
Fuck.
Fuckfuckfuck.
How did Coach find out? Is Ava okay? I should text her to make sure.
No, she’s probably driving. I should call her.
That would be safer, but…this is a conversation best had in person.
Dammit. I don’t understand how this could happen. We’ve been so careful.
The only people who even know about us are D-Vo and McGinnis. D-Vo would never rat me out. He’s the definition of loyal. He’d take my secrets to the grave.
My gaze slides to Ginny.
The kid who’s always in motion sits as still as a statue, his face blank as he stares at the TV.
No way. He gave Ava his word, and I don’t believe for a second that he’d do that to us, to me.
The tips of my ears begin to burn, and I know without looking who’s staring.
I turn to find Coach glaring at me from the other side of the waiting room, his eyes narrowed to tiny slits. If looks could kill, I’d be a pile of ash on the floor.
I’ve seen Coach angry before. I’ve seen him rage until he was blue in the face and the locker room was littered with pucks, but I’ve never seen him like this.
The calm control is new, and it scares the shit out of me.
He’s clearly pissed, and rightfully so. I betrayed his trust, and while the guilt has been eating me alive, it didn’t stop me from lying to him for the last two months.
I was a coward. I see that now, for all the good it does.
Shame burns my throat yet again, and this time it’s hotter and oilier, a foul reminder of all the mistakes I’ve made recently.
The prospect of losing Coach as a friend and surrogate father is terrifying, but Ava’s barely gotten to know him. She deserves the chance to build something real, something lasting, with the father she’s always longed to know.
I hope like hell I haven’t ruined that for her. Maybe I can talk to Coach. Explain that it was my fault, my idea to keep things between us quiet. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect Ava from the reckoning that’s coming.
I scrub a hand over my face. Should I ask him to step into the hall?
No, Ava’s right. This isn’t the time or place for that discussion, but it’s clear from his death stare that it won’t be far off.
A doctor dressed in navy scrubs enters the waiting room and asks for Mr. Davis.
Frank raises his hand. “That’s me.”
The doctor surveys the room, his lips pressed flat. “Would you like to step into the hall, Mr. Davis? I believe it’s a bit more private there.”
Frank shakes his head. “It’s okay, Doc. These boys are like family to Ollie.” At the doctor’s flat stare, he adds, “I’ll just tell ‘em what you said after you leave anyway.”
“Very well.” The doc joins Frank in the corner of the room.
He positions himself carefully, so that he’s facing Frank, but not quite turning his back to the rest of us.
“I’m Dr. Applegate, and I’m one of the surgeons who worked on your son.
I’m pleased to share that Ollie is out of surgery.
Everything went well, and we’ve moved him to recovery. ”
Frank sighs, his shoulders sagging with relief, and I do the same.
“As you know, his injuries were extensive. He’s got a long road to recovery ahead, but it’s too early to say what, if any, lasting effects he might experience.”
My palms begin to sweat.
The doc rambles on, revealing that Ollie’s fractured rib also punctured his lung. “His range of movement is going to be severely limited for a while, but that lung will heal up just fine.”
That, at least, is a bit of good news.
“The damage to his right leg is extensive. We were able to set it, but he’s going to need a specialist and may require additional surgeries if there’s any hope of returning to the sport.
My chest tightens, and it’s a struggle to keep my face neutral. Ollie’s only twenty-five. He’s still got a lot of good hockey years left in him, and I’d hate to see him forced into retirement.
“Your son is very lucky he was wearing his seatbelt,” Dr. Applegate says. “Or his injuries would have been far worse.”
When the doc finally wraps up, Frank thanks him and tells the rest of us to go home and get a good night’s sleep.
Before we head out, we make plans for a rotating shift to cover visiting hours tomorrow. Ollie will probably be exhausted and asleep for most of it, but I’m sure he’ll be happy to see a familiar face or two when he wakes. It’ll give his father a break as well.
It’s after two when I finally get home, and I head straight to Ava’s place.
I need to give her an update on Davis, and we need to decide how we’re going to handle the situation with her father.
Adam ignored me on the way out, choosing to take a different elevator down from the trauma unit.
It’s just as well. We’re both tired, and we probably would’ve said things we didn’t mean.
Ava’s light is out when I get upstairs, and I pad down the hall quietly.
If she’s asleep, I don’t want to wake her. God knows it’s been a long day. She probably needs the rest.
There’s nothing I have to say that can’t keep until morning.
I strip off my clothes, leaving them in a heap near the door, and slip into bed with her wearing only my boxer briefs. She’s curled up with her knees pulled to her chest, and it breaks my heart to see her looking so vulnerable.
I curl my body around hers, my chest pressed to her slender back, and hold her tight in my arms.
Tomorrow is going to be another tough day, but tonight, we can close our eyes and forget the world outside this room exists.