Dad leans forward and pats my hand. “Why have you been keeping things from us? What’s going on?”
My head’s thumping, but before I can say a word to my parents, a doctor and nurse come in to run some checks and ask some questions. Apollo brings in a fresh jug of water, a cup with a bendy straw, and another cup filled with ice chips.
When they all leave again, I take a long, slow drink before rolling onto my side. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.” My voice breaks as I speak, splinters of grief finding their way into my words. I really didn’t want to disappoint my parents.
“But playing pro hockey isn’t something that’s likely to happen for me.” It’s the most painful thing I’ve ever admitted to myself, but it’s also true. No team’s going to want to touch me. I’m a ticking time bomb. The more hits I take, the more concussions I get, it’s just a matter of time before it starts to truly impact my game on the ice.
“I tried to soldier on, push through, but once the school year’s up, I need to be done.”
Victoria bursts to her feet with a grunt of displeasure.
“What is it, Firecracker?”
She shakes her head, rolling her lips like words are fizzling on her tongue, and she’s trying to keep them all inside.
“That sounds like a good plan, Raffi.” Mom sniffs.
Victoria smacks her thigh.
“We have only ever wanted you happy and healthy. If hockey isn’t bringing you joy, or if it’s risking your life and health, then of course you should stop playing.” Mom strokes the back of my hand. “I’m sorry you ever thought we were pressuring you to do something more, something you might not have wanted to do.” She gives a shaky glance to Dad. “I thought playing in the NHL is what you wanted, it’s what you’ve always wanted to do since you were a little boy.”
She must be reading between the lines, I’ve never told her that I felt pressure from them. I guess moms always know.
“Mayrik’s right, Raffi. If you’d spoken up sooner, or if we’d known the extent of the symptoms you were experiencing, we’d have steered you in another direction. Why didn’t you tell us?”
“We can’t afford college without my scholarship. I need to play to finish my degree.”
Their faces fall.
“We’d have found another way. Student loans, a bank loan, something. Something easier than risking yourself every time you step out on the ice.” Mayrik’s voice is softer, her eyes sad.
“I can’t stand here and listen to you talk about going back on the ice for the rest of the season, Raffi.” Victoria’s voice quivers with either fear, sadness, or rage, I’m not sure which.
“There are only a few months of both school and the season left, Victoria. It’ll be over soon.” As the words come out of my mouth I hear how I’m justifying risking my life to the mother of my son and the woman I want to marry. It’s not going to land well.
As expected, it doesn’t. Her jaw drops, closes, and drops again, then she swings her arms like she’s dealing with a complete idiot.
“Itwillbe over fucking soon if you smack your head again and end up dead.” She waves a hand at me. “And before you tell me it’s unlikely, or it never happens, it happened last night. While your face was bouncing off the plexi glass in our rink, a player in the UK passed away from an injury sustained on the ice.” Tears trickle down her face as her words gain speed.
“I will support you in many things, Raffi. But I can’t watch you step onto the ice ever again.” She presses her chest like it’s causing her physical pain before jabbing a finger at my parents. “Tell them about the migraines. About the debilitating headaches that leave you lying in dark rooms. Do they know about the memory loss? That you forgot the first time we met because you got injured in a game?”
She flexes her hand like she’s unsure about whether she’s done gesticulating, or rubbing her chest. “I get wanting to be part of something bigger than yourself. Hell, I’ve spent time with your teammates and even I could be tempted to skate with them because they’re just that kind of group. But Raffi, something you don’t realize about those guys sitting out in those chairs is that they love you regardless of whether you play hockey or not.”
Victoria isn’t even pausing for breath at this point. Nothing is going to stand in her way. “They want you alive just as much as I do, and if that means not lacing up with you for practices and games, given the choice, they’d choose your wellbeing, every single day of the week and twice on Sundays.”
She sniffs, wiping tears from her face with an aggressive hand flap like she’s mad at herself for crying. “They’ll still be your friends if you don’t play. Just like your parents would love you if you don’t go pro. Just like we could figure something else out to enable you to finish outyour degree.”
“But, I…”
She holds a hand up to me, her eyes narrowing in warning. “Excuses. All excuses. You keep forcing yourself to play hockey because you’re afraid of what you are, of what life would be like without it. Maybe? I dunno. But there’s a very real risk that with it, you could end up dead, then you’ll be no use to anyone. Not least of all, our son.”
She slow-shakes her head, disappointment oozing from the simple action. “You have so much more to give in life than just numbers on a scoreboard, Raffi. Know your goddamn worth. You want to be an ASL teacher, be one. You want to translate, do it. You want to start a charity for either ASL or victims of concussion, or mental health in hockey, do that, too. Hell, do it all, you’re capable of so many things, but you don’t seem to look beyond the blinders of the ice, of your responsibility, of not letting down your teammates and your parents. But all the while, letting down the most important person of them all, yourself.”
By the time she’s done, her chest is heaving and she’s breathless. Her tears have left damp marks on her shirt. Both my parents are crying, and Apollo has made his way back into the room.
“She’s right, Raffi. We don’t want to leave our sticks out for you like they’re doing across the hockey community today for the fallen player in the UK.”
Victoria’s face squishes in confusion. “What?”
