Page 44 of The Has-Been

Then, she’s walking away, becoming nothing more than a blip on the horizon.

“Wai—” I try to manage. But I don’t think the words actually part my tongue, or, if they do, they are twisted and tied in ways she won’t be able to undo.

One breath trips on the heels of another. Until I start to forget why I’m forcing them.

The darkness creeps in, blurring the edges of my vision. Until my head thumps against the ground, no longer able to stay upright.

The last thing I see is the flickering bulb at the top of the pole. As its variations dance against my pupils, it flickers one final time and then goes out.

The next time I wake up, the fluorescent lights of the hospital are too bright on my eyes, and I wish I were staring at a void again, and not my red-eyed mother from a hospital bed.

My palm rubs at my chest, as if trying to ease away the pain tightening there. I nod, shaking my head, urging myself to turn away—to put the lightpole behind me along with the memory. I swallow thickly, knowing there was much more that happened, more that my brain won’t allow me to remember—not yet, not tonight.

But, hey, it’s a start.

Then, I find it in myself to smile softly, tapping the light pole once before putting my back to it. With my head held high, I walk into the arena.

Sure, I am an hour late. But I made it.

I even feel a sense of pride for having the strength to face it alone.

I feel…good.

No, I feel fucking great.

Right up until the point when those brown Medusa eyes stare deep into my soul as I walk into the trainer’s room—until I see her, and I quickly realize that we’re stuck doing clinicals together.

Then, I feel horrible. Hopeless. My shoulders slump, like they can’t take another added weight. At least not tonight.

I’m turned to stone for the rest of the evening, watching the game clock count down, praying I don’t lose my ever-loving mind before this game ends.

The buzzer sounds, and the teams line up, tapping sticks before our home team breaks off into celebration. Aubrey and I start packing the equipment up; thankfully, there weren’t too many injuries other than a few bloodied noses.

I didn’t talk the entire game. And neither did she.

But honestly, not talking is probably for the best.

For starters, the last time we tried to have a conversation, we ended up screaming at one another. And second, my mind was nowhere near able to form words.

We make our way back to the locker rooms, more than ready to leave the arena behind.

We snake through the tunnels below the rink in total silence.

“Theo will need a concussion screening,” she orders at last.

I nod. Desperately trying to get a hold of myself, I clear my throat in a poor attempt to sound composed. “Yeah, good call. He took a hard hit in the second period,” I say. I don’t know much about our goalie, Theo, besides his skill as a goalie and his future as Brennan’s stepbrother—his mother and Brennan’s father recently got engaged. But considering the pair hate one another, I shouldn’t expect Brennan to talk much about him.

“I’ll take care of it…If you want to take ice and recovery duty?” I offer since I know she was pissed I nearly missed the start of the game, absent for all the hustle and pregame prep. “That way you can get out of here early,” I add.

She purses her lips together. “Alright. Thanks.” Then she disappears as I seek out Theo.

When I finally find him, he curses when he sees me—not because I’m best friends with Brennan, but because he knows I’m about to screen him for a concussion. I know firsthand how annoying it is when you have to stay back and go through the assessment when all you want to do is celebrate with the team, but concussions are a serious injury. They should be handled appropriately.

We walk back to the training room, and I start the process, documenting as I go.

“Do you have a headache?” He shakes his head, and I continue. “Any sensitivity to light or noise?” He murmurs no as I continue the fifteen-minute procedure.

When I’m close to finishing my notes and clearing him from the injured list, he asks, “Must be hard to be back here?”