Page 39 of Face Off

I pulled in to the arena and saw Holly’s car. Part of me wanted to go up to her office and see her, but after breaking down in front of her the other day, I didn’t think seeing her in the immediate wake of more bad news was a good idea. I didn’t want to dump all my doom and gloom on her.

Although, seeing her would probably put me in a better mood.

Was that selfish?

If I had to ask myself that, then the answer was almost always yes.

The moment I walked into the weight room, I wanted to turn and leave. Mitch, Parker, and Lance were grouped together around one of the squat racks, and all looked up at the same time as if they sensed me near.

It was tempting to ignore them, but that would only draw more attention to me when they all came to hound me. I filled up my water bottle and joined them.

“How was it?” Parker asked first.

They were all watching, waiting, so I told them the news Madi gave me.

“So you need surgery,” Lance said quietly.

“How could you have missed a broken ankle?” Mitch asked.

“What are you going to do?” Parker finished.

I rubbed my eyes. “Yes, I need surgery. I have no idea how I didn’t notice that. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“I think she’s right.” Mitch was the first to absorb my response.

“I’m not going to retire. I’m only twenty-eight.”

“And you should be grateful you had that many years. Not every player gets ten,” Lance pointed out as if I wasn’t well aware of that.

“But I still have the speed and strength,” I tried to argue.

“Not necessarily.” Mitch pointed to my ankle. “That’s a huge liability. Do you really want to risk a more devastating injury?”

“I can still skate. I can still play. I don’t need to quit.”

“How sore does it get?” Parker asked.

“What do you mean?” I fought back a glare.

“During practice and games, how sore does it get? I know it hurts. I’ve seen you flinch and carry your weight on your left side.”

“You have?” I almost hadn’t believed Madi. She could have just been taking a lucky guess, but Parker noticed too?

“Me too,” Lance admitted.

“Same.” Mitch dropped his head.

“Which means so has coach and upper management.” I sighed and leaned against the rack.

“It’s not like anyone could blame you, man. You had a terrible injury and then another one. You’ve got to think about your own health and wellbeing.”

“My wellbeing? What do you think retiring would do to me? I’d lose my mind.”

“It’s not like you have to sit on your couch for the next sixty years. You’re young and have plenty of options,” Mitch shot back.

“Like what?” I was being petty, I knew that, but I couldn’t stop.

“Coaching, working in the front office, commentary, analysis, TV, humanitarian work, you could focus on the Fury Foundation. You could even leave hockey entirely. Go to school, find a new hobby, travel. The options are endless,” Mitch replied.