“Why the hell didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because Mom said not to.” Bella's voice is calm. My younger sister is always calm no matter the emergency. That’s what makes her a good nurse, though right now it’s infuriating. “She didn't want to add to your stress. You've got enough on your plate with the rehab.”
“That's not her decision to make,” I ground out. “He's my father.”
“I know. That's why I'm telling you now.” She sighs. “He's stable, Ethan. They're managing the inflammation with steroids, and he's responding well. The doctor thinks he'll be discharged tomorrow or Monday.”
I sink onto my couch and press my free hand against my eyes. A thousand miles away, my father is in a hospital bed, and I can't do a damn thing about it.
I should be on the next flight to Wisconsin, sitting in that hospital room, making sure he's okay. But I can't. I'm stuck in New York with a knee that barely works and crutches that make traveling impossible.
The team doctors would never clear me to fly, and even if they did, what would I do when I got there? Hobble around the hospital, getting in everyone's way, adding another person for my mother to worry about?
I'm useless. Completely useless.
“He's okay, Ethan. I promise.” Bella's voice is gentle now. “Lucy and I are taking shifts so Mom can rest. We've got it covered.”
“Keep me updated. I mean it, Bella. Every few hours.”
“I will.”
“And tell Mom to call me when she gets a chance. I don't care what time it is.”
“I'll tell her.” She pauses. “How are you doing? How's the knee?”
“Fine.” I don’t want to talk about my knee. It’s all anyone wants to talk to me about these days, and I’m over it.
“Ethan.”
“It's fine. I'm working on it.”
She leaves it at that, which I appreciate. We say our goodbyes, and I hang up.
I sit there in the silence for a long moment. The TV is on, muted, playing highlights from last season. I see myself on the screen, skating hard, blocking a shot, celebrating a goal with my teammates. A different version of me. One with two working legs and a future that made sense.
If that goes away, Dad’s insurance goes away.
I can’t let that happen. I have to get better and get back on the ice.
Thank God for the medical insurance. It covers specialists, experimental treatments, and hospital stays without bankrupting us. I pay for it out of my own pocket because the standard coverage isn't enough for a disease like Multiple Sclerosis. It costs a small fortune every month, but it's worth it.
The pizza arrives twenty minutes later. I take the box from the delivery guy and set it on the counter. The smell that was so appealing an hour ago now turns my stomach. I can't eat.
I need to get my contract renewed for one more season. That's all I need. One more season with a healthy salary and I can set my family up for life. Pay off everything, establish a trust for my father's ongoing care, and make sure my mother never has to worry about money again.
But that only happens if I can play. And I can only play if my knee heals. And my knee only heals if I cooperate with the woman who's been assigned to fix me.
I have to make this work for my family.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.
I grab my crutches and make my way over, assuming the pizza guy forgot something. But when I open the door, it's not the delivery guy.
It's Natalie.
She's standing in the hallway holding a glass container of food. Her hair is down around her shoulders, and she's wearing yoga pants and a cropped top that shows a strip of her stomach. I force my eyes back to her face.
“I saw the pizza delivery guy,” she says.
