“I think I’ll wait until the season is over.”
I stop walking and grab his arm. “You can’t wait that long.”
“It’s not life-threatening.”
“I know, but it’s affecting your play.”
His face tightens.
We’ve still been spending some extra time together on the ice, working on a few things to hopefully help him score. But he hasn’t yet, and I know it’s getting him down. “You’re not happy about how you’re playing.”
He regards me with narrow eyes and tight lips. “Look. Even if they figure out what’s wrong, there’s not going to be a quick solution. If I need some kind of surgery, I’ll be out for months probably. I can’t do that.”
I rub my jaw. “I get it. But you could be doing more damage to it when you’re playing.”
“The cortisone injections are helping.”
“But you can only have those three or four times a year. How many have you had this year? As in, this season.”
He hesitates. “Four.”
I shake my head. “You can permanently weaken the cartilage in your joints if you have too many of those. And if it’s just masking the pain, you eventually have to do something more than a cortisone shot.”
“Are you a doctor now?”
His tone has my eyebrows shooting up. “I’ve been around a while. I’m not giving you medical advice. I’m just trying to help.”
I also know what it’s like, though. Lots of players willingly accept the risk of a more serious injury if it allows them to play in the short term. We’re stupid like that. “It’s better to be out for months than forever.”
“It’s my body and my decision,” he snaps. “I feel shitty enough; I don’t need more pressure.” He turns and strides away to his car.
Shit.
I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and watch him walk away. Like I told him, I just want to help. What’s his problem?
9
AYLA
I can’t believe I got Carson to agree to come to the party. And pretend we’re still together. This takes so much pressure off me. I feel the anxiety in my stomach settle over the next few days as I work, go to the gym and punch a bag, run around buying decorations, Nonna’s gift, and… a new dress. I hadn’t planned on that, but somehow now I feel I need one. The suitable dresses in my wardrobe are from years ago, before I got pregnant. Something new will be fun.
I’ve talked to a realtor and also looked at a couple of condos. And I have to help my mom because she has picked this time to get the hardwood floors in their house refinished and everything has to be packed up and moved. My sisters Elisa and Bria both live in Chicago, so they’re no help, and Dad is working.
As we move things and carry boxes, Mom says, “It’s going to be so fun to see the whole family at the party!”
“Almost the whole family. Uncle Frank and Aunt Christie aren’t coming from Italy.”
She sighs. “I guess that’s understandable. But all my girls will be there!”
“Yep!” Elisa and Bria are coming together. “I hope Emilio’s kids behave.”
Mom makes a face. “Those kids are terrors.”
“We’ll have to take them out tobogganing and tire them out.”
“I was skeptical of having the party there at that resort. But I guess it’s good there’s a lot to do.”
We work in silence for a moment. Then I say, “There’s something I have to tell you.”
