Chapter 5
TIAGO
Stepping out of the ophthalmologist’s office, I squinted at the burning light that stung from having my eyes dilated. Shoving my glasses on, I reached into my satchel and pushed my laptop aside so I could grab my folding cane.
Too many people assumed that bright lights were perfect for people with RP, but that wasn’t the case. At least, it wasn’t my case. It was painful and almost fully blinding.
My ideal light was the perfect sunset, right before it dipped below the horizon. I could see so much then, for the few seconds it lasted.
But I knew those days were coming to an end. I’d lost even more vision since the hospital, and though it had plateaued over the last two weeks, the prognosis I was walking away with was losing all light perception by the end of next year.
Of course, my doctors had been wrong in the past, and they could have been wrong now, but I was tired of clinging onto fragments of hope.
Part of me just wanted to get it over with so I could start adjusting rather than focusing on the small bits I could see. But I also knew I’d regret it if I didn’t make the most of what I had and allow myself some time to grieve properly.
It wasn’t just my sight though. It was hockey.
It was the fact that my knee was healing like shit, and I’d just been told I needed another couple of weeks in the brace.
It was the conversation I was going to need to have with the organization because I was pretty sure my contract was coming to an early end.
I just didn’t know right now if that was against my will or not.
With a small breath, I turned to the right and tried to remember how far off the little café was where I was supposed to be meeting Amedeo. He was the only one free to pick me up, and I didn’t want to deal with Ubers right after a long appointment.
Now that the playoffs were over and everyone was home—and the respective winning teams were doing their victory laps in the players’ hometowns—things had calmed down.
Tucker, Jonah, and Ford had gone up to Montreal with Bodie, and everyone on my team was at home nursing their wounds.
I didn’t want to be a burden on them right now.
I knew they’d call me a jackass for thinking that, but in reality, I also didn’t want to keep having conversations about my future in hockey.
Fighting off a small pulse of irritation, I touched the wall to my right with the cane, then started forward, getting ten steps before my phone began to go off in my pocket.
“Thierry calling,” my phone read out.
Fantastic. As if this day couldn’t get any goddamn worse. I had half a mind to send him to voicemail, but if I did that, he’d start texting. Then he’d call again. Then my mom would call and leave a message crying, then Peter would send me passive-aggressive Instagram DMs.
I couldn’t cope with it.
I found a small cement square block with a makeshift bench and flowers in the center, and I sat, letting the sun warm my face as I answered and Thierry’s voice sounded on the line.
“I thought you were ducking my calls.”
“Hello to you too,” I said tiredly. “I just got out of the eye doctor.”
“Oh,” he breathed. “I…was it…”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” I told him flatly.
“Good.” When I sucked in a breath, he coughed. “I don’t…I’m not saying I don’t care. Marde, Tiago. You always make things so difficult.”
“Do I?”
There was silence, and then he said, “I’m calling about your RSVP. There’s one room left on the ground floor if you want it, and I know it’ll be good for Mom’s heart if you come.”
He always did that, like a good little flying monkey, making me feel responsible for the health of our parents.
The word no danced on the tip of my tongue because usually I had an excuse to go with it. There was training camp and photoshoots, sponsorship bullshit, and then preseason.
But this year, my calendar was empty. It had been wiped clean by a bad check, two surgeries that hadn’t really fixed anything, and two scans telling me my future was changing.
I could still say no, of course. But the idea of spending two weeks by the beach didn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.
When everyone got shitty, I could just leave. It wasn’t like they’d try and stop me.
“I’ll let you know tonight.”
He was dead silent for a moment, then, “Oh. I…alright.”
“What?” I asked.
“I didn’t think you’d say anything but no.”
“I mean, if you want me to, I still can—”
“God, no. Just…stop being such an asshole all the time, okay?”
I decided it wasn’t worth it to respond to that. “I’m going to send you a list of shit that I need you all to take care of before I get there.”
“You’re making demands?” he asked with an incredulous laugh.
“I’m requesting accommodations,” I corrected him. His chuckle died off. “My knee is still fucked to hell, so if Mom insists on family photos, it can’t be on the beach. I can’t manage in the sand.”
“Mom won’t love that,” he muttered.
“Then she can have all her real kids in the photo, and I can sit them out.”
“Tiago—”
“Second, I don’t want to hear shit about my white cane. I need it. Literally. I’m fucking blind, and yes, sometimes that means people have some usable vision, but that does not mean it’s safe for me to get around without it.”
He was quiet again, and then he cleared his throat. “You weren’t before though. Most of this year. I saw you—I saw videos. You were on the road walking in and out of hotels…”
“Yes, well. The joy and reality of having a degenerative eye condition,” I reminded him, “is that it loves to change when it’s least convenient for you.
Anyway, I don’t want to be bitched at if I leave the lights on, and if anyone leaves cabinet doors or the dishwasher open and I end up having to get stitches, I’m out. ”
He said nothing because the last time, it’d happened repeatedly, and I went to urgent care twice. I wasn’t doing it again.
“Anyway, send me the address, and I’ll get a car.”
“Uh.” His voice wavered a bit. “I can pick you up.”
“Mm, no. I’d rather take care of my own shit. But thanks. Talk soon.” I hung up before I could change my mind, though regret coursed up and down my spine as I realized what I was committing to. I couldn’t really pinpoint why I kept doing this.
Was it some deep-seated need for their approval? I didn’t want to believe I was still hunting for it after all these years. But hell, maybe I was.
Sometimes I felt more than a little battered and bruised. Sometimes I felt broken.
Passing a hand down my face, I stood up just as a shadow crossed my vision. I froze, and then a gentle hand touched me as a familiar voice said, “Tiago. Hey.”
My entire body relaxed when I realized it was Amedeo. “You’re early.”
He laughed. “Yeah, a bit. My sister’s here. Is that okay?”
Lips stretching into a smile, I turned my head where I assumed Alessia was standing. I was wrong, of course, but she adjusted me by yanking me into a hug before kissing my cheeks.
“You look like shit, babe.”
“Thanks. I’m sure you look amazing as always.”
She guided my wrist to her arm, and beneath my fingers I could feel her textured shirt. “Black lace, my darling. I look fucking fantastic.”
Grinning, I let her pull me close, then took her arm and tucked my cane away to let the siblings guide me to the café. My brother, for the moment, was entirely forgotten in the face of the people who were my chosen family.
“Okay, so you’ve agreed to go to your family’s beach cottage—the one they built that basically exists to make your life harder.”
“Mm, yep.” I sipped on my iced tea, which tasted like it had been sitting in a container for more than a few days, and smiled in Alessia’s direction.
“For…what reason?”
I grimaced as the only honest answer I could give slipped past my lips. “I feel like the only person who’s going to get a good answer out of my brain is my therapist, and I haven’t seen her in over a year.”
Alessia laughed, and over that sound, I could hear Amedeo chuckling. I knew he’d get it. He was more of a people pleaser than I was, but it was definitely a shared experience. And why it was so easy to be friends with him.
Grabbing my fork, I pushed a crouton around my plate and traced the path with my right eye. I was doing my level best not to hyperfixate on the spots of vision I’d lost, but the more I had to talk about it, the more I couldn’t think about anything else.
“You know, I have a friend who does vacation rentals,” Alessia said, her mouth full of chicken parm. I caught a flash of metal under the lights as she pointed her fork at me. “She could hook you up with a really sweet spot on the West Coast and you wouldn’t have to see your family at all.”
I shrugged. It was a nice gesture, and while I knew this was going to be a massively failed experiment, I wanted to see if they were going to make any effort at all. I wanted to keep a little bit of hope buried in my chest that when all was said and done, they were going to try.
“If it goes to hell, I’ll call you. Sound fair?”
“Yes,” Amedeo answered for her. “Just say the word, and I’ll gather up the boys, and we’ll make a whole week out of it.”
That settled something in me, and I felt better by the time we finished eating and I beat Amedeo with my credit card.
“Someday, you’re going to lose that battle,” he complained as we headed out the doors and toward his car.
I snorted as I held Alessia’s arm tighter. “Not a fucking chance. I was trained to be quick. Even if I’m not doing hockey anymore…”
“Wait. Is that a thing?” Alessia demanded. “Was that article real?”
My blood went cold. “What article?”
“That PPHL reporter guy you hate so much. The one who did that op-ed piece about whether or not being sighted was cheating?”
Fucking Aravind.
I took a calming breath as Amedeo came to a stop beside his car. “I didn’t know he’d published anything.”
I had checked, of course. The week after he came to see me in the hospital, I spent my downtime trolling the website and even put an alert on his name. But then came another surgery. Then more eye doctor stuff, and fuck.