Chapter 1 #2
“How bad is it?” I asked.
He hummed as he grazed a gentle touch over my knee. “I’m not a doctor,” he warned.
“No, you’re a hockey player who’s been through this shit.” Fuck. My fucking mouth.
Luckily, he just laughed. “Fair. And it’s pretty bad. It’s swelling up, but from what it looks like to me, you have a torn meniscus. Maybe torn menisci.”
“Uh…”
“That means both sides.”
Pressing a hand over my face, I took a breath. “That means I’m in the shit, right?”
“You might be. You need to get to the hospital, and I’m pretty sure your GM has already called for an ambulance.”
Wonderful. That was just fucking wonderful. Not how I wanted to end the goddamn playoffs this year.
And not how I wanted to possibly end my entire fucking career.
The best part about drugs was that they took the pain away.
The worst part was that they also made it impossible to see anything.
Inside the tunnel of sight that remained looked like a goddamn kaleidoscope, so when a person with a soft gait entered the room, I had no hope of figuring out who it was.
In my medicated haze, I remembered it couldn’t be Boden because they were also in the playoffs and currently at their away game. It wasn’t Tucker because no matter how much he loved me, he wouldn’t be able to get away from the arena for at least two or three hours after the game ended.
It wasn’t Jonah. He was defending our net. Or…maybe in the shower? Who fucking knew what time it even was. Had the game ended? But I was pretty sure it was someone who knew something.
“Did we win?” Why was that my first question?
The person hesitated, then laughed. “Yeah. You won.”
I knew that voice. It was a nice voice. A friend voice.
Pushing myself up, I squinted, but everything was upside down and a mess of blurry colors. The blurry colors walked closer to me, and then a careful hand took mine.
“Uh…”
“It’s Amedeo,” he said.
I collapsed back down. “Oh. I like you.”
He laughed and squeezed my fingers harder. Most of my body felt numb, so I was only slightly aware of his touch. “I like you too. How are you feeling?”
“Better. Fucked, I think. I mean…really fucked. M’fucked.” Why did the word fucked sound like that. It couldn’t be a real word.
Amedeo sighed. “Tucker sent me ahead to make sure you were okay. Quinn came and found him after the ambulance drove off. He said you were in rough shape.”
“My knee,” I said. I reached down and let my fingers trail over the huge lump. God, why was it so bumpy? What was happening? Panic rushed through me. “Is my knee changing shapes?”
“It’s ice, honey,” Amedeo said very quietly. “It’s all wrapped up, and the ice is to help the swelling.”
“Oh.” Right. Yes. I…kind of remembered that. “MRI.”
“Mhm. You already had that.”
Did I? God, I must have slept through it. These drugs were really good. “Can you sit with me until the doctor comes? I can’t see anything.”
Amedeo’s hand spasmed on mine. “Is your sight getting worse?”
“Drugs,” I said. “M’sleepy.”
“You should rest. I’ll stay.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I was going to be embarrassed about this later, but right then, I had zero fucks to give.
Pain woke me, which meant the drugs were wearing off. That was a good thing because I still hadn’t seen the doctor—at least, not that I could remember. But it was also fucking agony, and I kind of wanted to take a bone saw and hack off my leg so I could get an epidural.
“Mr. Na…doh?” No one ever got my name right, but I just let him have that one. My tongue felt too heavy to correct him. “How are you feeling?”
I could see a little better now, but I had to turn my head quite a few times to get the doctor’s face in view. It looked like my periphery had shrunk quite a bit, but I wasn’t going to panic over that.
Not yet.
There was a chance it would come back a bit once my system calmed down.
“I feel like ass,” I said. “Do you have the scan?”
“I do. I’d like to go over your injury and your options right now if you’re ready.”
“I…” I had a friend, right? Someone was here with me? It took me a good, long moment to remember it had been Tucker’s husband. “Amedeo?”
“Your friend was called away, but he said he’d be back in an hour if you want to wait.”
I did not want to wait. Fuck that. But I wouldn’t be able to see the scans, and I was afraid I’d forget everything he told me. “Um…so I don’t know if it says on the chart, but I’m blind, and combined with the drugs, I’m not sure I should do this alone.”
“Oh, well…”
“I can help.” Oh, that voice. I knew that fucking voice.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded.
I searched the room until my eyes landed on Aravind.
He was there in his obnoxiously sexy, tight jeans and one of his infamous sweaters that never stayed up on both shoulders.
This one was chunky, like it had been hand knitted out of pure wool or something.
The brown really brought out his eyes, and uhg, that was so fucking annoying that he was pretty. That full mouth begging to be kissed, those hands begging to touch…
He smirked. “Tell me how you really feel?”
Marde! Was I speaking out loud? I wanted the earth to swallow me whole now, please and thank you.
“Uh…why are you here?” I repeated.
He sighed and set his hand on the bed next to my leg. “For the scoop, obviously. And, ah…to make sure you were okay. We were at the game, and my dad and I were worried.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. My tongue still felt weird. “But you’re…here.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “Which is a good thing, right? You just said you couldn’t see the scans—”
“Look, if you’re going to give me shit about my eyes right now—”
“No. God, I’m not that much of a dick.” I would beg to differ, but he sounded actually offended, so maybe he did have some kind of moral line.
“Mr. Na-doh,” the doctor said.
“It’s Nadeau,” Aravind corrected, pronouncing it like he’d been speaking Quebecois his entire life.
The doctor cleared his throat. “Would you like me to ask your guest to leave? We have a policy about reporters in the hospital, especially when it comes to our more public figures.”
The idea of Aravind leaving me alone sent panic racing up my spine, and my whole face started to go numb. “No. Please stay.”
He must have heard the panic in my voice because he shifted up closer to the head of the bed, and his hand rested over mine. God, his skin was soft. I doubt he’d done a single second of manual labor his entire life.
His thumb stroked over mine, and the motion was soothing enough that my body began to relax.
“Alright,” the doctor said after a beat. “I’m going to put your scans up on this screen. You, ah—you can’t see it?”
I squinted, but computer images were the worst for me. It was fine if it was white on black and magnified so big that there were only a few words visible at a time, but this was a mess.
“No, not really.”
“That’s alright. The image is showing your knee. It looks like you have a pretty significant tear to both menisci. You can wait to see if they’ll heal on their own, but I highly recommend surgery if you want a shot at getting back on the ice.”
If I wanted a shot? Like…like it wasn’t a guarantee?
My stomach twisted almost violently, and I fought the urge to throw up all over my legs. “Um…”
“How long until he’ll know if he can play again?” Aravind asked.