My head hurt.
And I’d been in a perpetual bad mood since I’d left hospital, a heaviness present in my chest that never used to be there, pressing down on my rib cage and slowly suffocating me.
Missing three weeks of games had been harder than I thought it would be. Watching the team play without me hurt, even though Dante and Carter had started playing better, we still hadn’t won as much as we should have done. But what was really making me pissed, what was really boiling my blood and fucking me off more than anything had ever fucked me off in my life, was Molly.
I could put it down to being tired from having to drag my ass everywhere, when less than a month ago I could just jump up and do whatever the fuck I wanted, tired from my body working overtime to heal itself.
But, no.
I was tired from not sleeping, because every time I shut my eyes I dreamed of kissing her, of feeling her lips against mine again. Fuck, even dreaming to just see her again. I was tired from wondering what she meant about her feelings. I was tired of trying to figure out mine. And I was tired from not seeing her.
Since I’d had my stitches out, I’d been signed off from the hospital, into the care of the team physicians, so I hadn’t seen her at all, and she would still barely speak to me, except to check on my leg. In fact, the first time I’d seen her since she’d run out of the office last week had been yesterday, when she’d been over at my house with the girls.
Before she’d run out.
Again.
She’d become faster than lightening, and not in a good way.
Steve finished tying my lace and put my foot down gently before handing me my things and then my crutches. “Coach wants to see you before you leave today.”
I threw my coat on then slid my arms into the crutch holders. “In his office?”
“Yes, he’s there now.” He watched me stand up. “Just rest up this afternoon, and don’t forget your exercises before bed. I’ll email you new ones to add for later.”
“No, I won’t forget. Thanks, man. See you tomorrow.”
He held the door open for me and I hobbled out, down the corridor of the Strength and Conditioning suites and toward the elevator which would take me up to Coach’s office on the sixth floor. It was quiet in the building today. The guys had returned from an away stretch yesterday and were having an easy morning before heading here later. I kind of liked the peace and quiet. I hadn’t seen a lot of the boys since my accident and wasn’t sure I could face the pity I knew I’d get when I did.
I hit the end of my crutch against Coach’s door in a knock.
“Yes.”
I pushed it open to find him sitting at his desk. He looked up, his eyes briefly peering over his glasses, before jumping out of his chair and pulling out one for me as I hopped in and tried to sit down.
“Felix, good. Thanks for coming in.” He pulled another chair over. “Here, put your leg on this.”
I stopped myself from frowning at his use of my first name, which he never called me. Maybe this wasn’t going to be a good meeting.
“Thanks, Coach.”
I shifted around trying to get comfortable, which I was getting quicker at, while Coach moved back to his own chair and sat down, leaning across the desk.
He laced his fingers together, resting them out in front of himself as he assessed me. “How are you? How are you doing?”
This guy owned my job, it was his say and his alone on whether I was part of the team or not. I debated on giving him a diluted version of how I felt, but decided against it.
I slumped down. “In a nutshell, I’m hating this. I hate the crutches, I hate hobbling around, I hate that my body hurts, I really hate not playing, I hate having to rely on people to help, and I hate that I have to have another surgery.”
Not to mention Molly. I hated that our relationship had changed so suddenly and that I couldn’t stop thinking about her. But I wasn’t about to tell Coach that.
“Thought you might feel something like that. It’s still early days and you took a massive hit but I want you to know that all the reports coming through from the doctors are really positive. They’ve said it was the best possible break, it’ll heal quickly, and the physical therapists are saying you’re progressing with movement better than expected.”
I felt my chest lighten fractionally. “Yeah, that’s good news I guess.”
“It is. Look, I know how you’re feeling. I also know how frustrating it is to watch the team play without you. I’ve been there.”
In his prime, Coach had been one of the best players in the league. He’d been with Chicago for eleven years, winning the Cup with them five times, but he’d also been out a lot with a reoccurring hip injury, something that had eventually forced early retirement. That was one of the best qualities of Coach; no matter how tough he was, he’d lived it too and never expected any more of us than he’d already given. Mostly because he’d given his all.
