Halfway through our round, rain sets in, spraying us with fine droplets and mixing with the sweat that runs down our backs and necks. I lick over my lower lip, the salty taste leaving a sharp echo on my tongue.
This—wet, sweaty, hungry, tiredandexperiencing an exclusive metal concert in my head—is my personal hell.
Nate owes me big time.
The dorms are already rising up before us when it happens. My muscles burn from the unfamiliar strain of running on muddy ground and uneven paths without getting a proper stretch first. I have never had the endurance or patience for long distance running. My strength is the sudden explosion of speed when a game turns, creating a breakaway and allowing me to fly down the ice. I tap into that mindset now when I spot the red brick walls of the dorms stretching toward the gray morning sky.
My thoughts are already ahead of me, in the hot shower, as I overtake the whole group. One after the other they start chasing me, hollering at my back, but none of them are able to catch up.
One moment I’m racing down the path, soft clods of earth flying from the soles of my shoes, the next I’m stumbling over a fallen branch. My hands break the fall, sharp pebbles digging into my palms as I hit the ground, but my thoughts are elsewhere.
My knee.
Not my fucking knee again.
A few guys overtake me, but by the time I sit up, there’s already a small group around me. I’m grabbed under the arms and dragged to my feet.
“Are you okay?” A freckled face pushes into my vision, and I recognize Taylor. He’s handing me the earplug I must have lost during my fall.
“Fine,” I grit out, suddenly feeling a little bad over the fights I picked with the D-man over the past few days. “Just…bumped my knee in a funny way.”
I peer down at the body part in question. It’s throbbing angrily, the dark material of the jogger slightly torn. The spot is damp beneath my fingers, but I can’t possibly distinguish blood from rain in the gloomy morning light.
I take a careful step in the direction of the dorms, then another. It’s fine until I try putting my entire weight on it, and suddenly a sharp pain zings through me.
My heart squeezes as the images of my surgery flood my brain. All I see are bandages and crutches, my career shattering right before me as I gasp for my next breath.
There’s not enough air. The shirt around my torso is way too tight, caging me in. My hands claw on it, trying to rip it away when I’m grabbed by the shoulders.
“Nate! Fuck, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, man, I– he just– zoned out on me or something.” I hear someone say.
The voices around me sound far away, like my ears are filled with cotton. I remember the disoriented shouting from when I lay sprawled out helplessly on the ice, unable to get up on my own while my teammates discussed my condition over my head.
It’s all happening again.
It can’t be happening again.
I’m whirled around and then there’s a damp forehead pressing against my own, a rough voice commanding my attention.
“Breathe, Nate.”
And I breathe.
Stuttering and heaving at first, my chest rises far too quickly. I feel a bit dizzy from how hard my heart smashes against my ribcage, a vein pulsing in my temple.
“My knee,” I croak out to them—to Taylor and Hart, who is awfully close to me, his hot breath ghosting over my sweaty skin. I bring a hand up between us, pushing against his chest to get some space.
My palms meet his solid pecs. It’s like trying to topple over a brick wall.
He doesn’t move an inch. Instead, his hands reach for my wrists, gently pulling on them until I give in. Wordlessly he directs one arm around his shoulder while Taylor comes up at my other side. As we slowly limp back toward the dorms, a few of the others circle back, asking about what happened and offering me a sip of water.
I don’t understand anything that is being said. My mind is far away, already making up scenarios of a second surgery, of sitting at home and watching Hart start in his first NHL game while the Rebels have completely forgotten about me.
I’ll be useless to them.
“You’re not useless. Jesus, Nate, what is even going on with you?” Hart’s blue eyes drill into mine when I finally blink myself back to reality. Somehow, they managed to maneuver me back into the dorm room.
