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After that, he turns and heads back to the locker room.
I stay there, alone in the players’ box. I know Emily is waiting for me somewhere, but I just can’t face her right now.
However, she finds me. She comes to the box and sits by my side, her hair in a high ponytail, snug in a leather jacket and jeans.
“Hey,” she murmurs, sitting by my side and putting one arm around my shoulders. “How are you holding up?”
“We were so close!” I grit my teeth and clench my fists.
“I know, right?” She rubs my back to try and soothe me. “You’ll do better next time.”
“Ah, everybody says that.” I touch my right shoulder and a sharp pain shoots through me. I think adrenaline kept the pain down earlier, but I’m realizing something is terribly wrong.
“Come on, don’t be so dramatic!” She pokes my chest playfully, then stands up, reaching for my hand and urging me to stand too. “Dad is going to call with Ali any minute.”
I stand with her, my hand instinctively reaching for my shoulder. “Damn, my shoulder is killing me,” I mutter, concern evident in my voice.
“Is it from the game? I saw what happened with that defenseman.” Emily’s hand hovers over the area, hesitant to touch.
“Yeah, I think he aggravated an old injury from years ago.”
I begin walking, noticing her brows knitting together and her eyes widening with concern.
I continue, “I had a torn rotator cuff during my second year in the NHL.”
“Oh my God!” Emily gently rubs my back, and we start heading for the locker room.
I leave Emily to meet up with her later and enter the locker room, where the guys are mostly showering and changing. Coach is reviewing game footage intensely at a table while seated on the bench.
“I need to talk to you, Coach,” I say, sitting by his side.
“What happened?” He’s back to being grumpy.
I frown. “It’s my shooting arm. I think I need to see a doctor.”
He sets down the tablet and then facepalms, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. “Let me see it.”
I nod, quickly stripping down to the waist. Coach Hanson stands up and examines my entire right arm.
“This is getting swollen,” he observes. “I’ll call their doctor here.”
He leaves, and I work on getting changed.
After seeing the doctor, I walk out. I’m tired and demoralized, with a prescription for pain medicine, orders to rest, and my arm bundled up in a sling.
I definitely won’t be playing the next game.
Emily finds me on my way out of the arena. “Thanks for texting me what was going on, I was getting worried. How long will you have to wear the sling?”
“Hopefully just a few days,” I mutter, in a bad mood.
She wraps her arm around my good arm, and leans her head against my good shoulder, looking as inconsolable as I feel.
“I wish Ali was here,” Emily says, “She would cheer us up.”
“Yeah, she would,” I agree. “Luckily, she’ll be here on Friday with your mom. Now where’s our bus?”
I stand by the curb and look around for the red bus that brought us to the stadium, and find it a few yards away, waiting for us stragglers in the parking lot.
