“Thank you, Coach. I'm excited to be here.”
“This is Assistant Coach Davidson,” he says, gesturing to the man beside him. “You'll be working closely with all of us. Training camp is a beast. Lots of bodies, lots of injuries, lots of egos. Think you can handle it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Welcome.”
As the coaching staff disperses to their positions, the reality of my situation settles over me. Working with Ethan was one thing. It was intimate and focused. This is something else entirely. I'm part of a machine now, one cog among many, and the expectations are higher than anything I've faced before.
The sound of voices echoes from the tunnel, and then the players emerge, fully geared and ready for practice. They jostle each other, trading insults and laughter.
“Novak, you're looking slow this summer!” someone shouts.
“I'm looking relaxed, you jealous bastard. Try a vacation sometime.”
“Some of us were working on our game instead of working on our tans.”
The banter makes me smile. There's something infectious about their energy and their enthusiasm for the season ahead. For a moment, I almost forget about Ethan.
Until he emerges from the tunnel.
He moves with the rest of the group but somehow apart from them, his expression closed off and his eyes fixed straight ahead. His knee is braced, but his gait is almost normal. All those weeks of therapy, and I can see the results in every step he takes.
I helped him get here. I held his hand through the darkest moments of his recovery and celebrated every small victory along the way.
And now he won't even look at me.
My throat tightens, and I have to turn away before anyone notices the tears threatening to spill over. I busy myself with the supplies Ivory is organizing, arranging tape rolls and ice packs.
“You okay?” Ivory asks quietly.
“Fine.”
“You don't have to be fine. This situation is awful.”
“I know.” I take a deep breath and force my shoulders back. “But I still have to do my job.”
“Yes, you do.” She squeezes my arm. “And you're going to be great at it. Don't let him take that away from you.”
I nod and plaster on a smile as Coach Mercer blows his whistle and practice begins.
The players take to the ice, and I position myself near the bench with the other medical staff. My job today is to observe, to learn the rhythms of a full team practice, and to identify the players who might need extra attention in the coming weeks.
But my eyes keep drifting to number twenty-two.
Ethan skates cautiously at first, testing his knee to find his balance. Then, gradually, he pushes harder. He goes into a quick burst of speed that makes my heart leap into my throat.
He's doing it.
I should be proud, but all I can think about is how I won't be the one he comes to after practice. I won't be the one who ices his knee and listens to his fears and holds him when the doubt creeps in.
Someone else will do that now. Or no one will.
“Focus,” I mutter to myself. “Just focus.”
But as the practice continues and Ethan glides across the ice without me, I have no idea how I'm supposed to survive the rest of my life with this ache in my chest.
24
