Page 70 of Back Outside Edge

Chapter 28

Evan

Sometime after the fall

New York, NY

If ever there was a moment for feeling sorry for myself, this is it. History is repeating itself, only worse. So much worse.

This time, I'm lying on a hospital bed and the career ender isn’t just a coach leaving me desolate. It’s a body that might never be able to skate again.

The doctors haven't told me as much, but they haven’t told me much at all. Not that I remember.

To add insult to injury, my only support system is Gabby. Who is great, but we’ve never been very close. I never let her in the way I should have, after the fiasco of Caro. Which leaves me in the sole custody of a coach I've never truly confided in while doctors talk around my future.

All of this is my own damned fault. I knew I was overwrought, knew I wasn’t focusing well. Why am I incapable of doing anything except screw up?

I should never have gotten on the ice so full of emotions.

I should have withdrawn from the competition, or let myself do an easier jump. Instead, I pushed so hard for it, even harder than Stefan has been training me to, frustration driving me to do something so stupid; common sense should have kicked in.

So many options existed that would have saved me from this, and I didn’t use any of them.

I'm in pain, I'm heartbroken, and I'm beyond pissed at myself. It's a crappy combination.

Gabby was next to me, holding my hand, the first few times I woke up, but this time she’s not sitting in the chair next to my bed. According to the clock on the wall opposite me, it's 3:45; a.m., I assume. Of course, in this pocket of the hospital with no glimpse of the outside, it could be afternoon.

I’m stifled by the small room, the wall of windows that leaves me in full view of the staff, the machines humming around me, the smell of bleach. For the first time, I understand Stefan's claustrophobia. I want to go outside, to at least see the outside. Not lay in this sterile cave wondering whether I’ll ever skate again.

At least I'm too out of it to be bored, though it's not exactly entertaining to watch the overnight nurses round through the ICU every few minutes. I don’t seem to care enough to care.

How high am I?

One of the nurses notices me watching her and ducks into my room. "Hey there, kiddo. How're you feeling?" She's whispering for some reason, the beeping of the machines surrounding me far louder than her voice.

Painfully loud, when I focus on them. Why are they so loud?

The nurse touches my arm, and I refocus on her. What did she ask? Oh, right. "I'm ok." My voice comes out hoarse, and she moves over to the side table, picking up a cup of water for me and angling the straw into my mouth. "Thanks," I add, when the sip of water goes down like the nectar of the gods.

"No problem." She smiles, then perches herself on the bed beside me, carefully avoiding any tubes or lines. Still holding the water, giving me the chance to keep drinking. Maybe she's as bored as I should be. "Sounds like your speech is improving. That's a good sign."

I'm not sure I remember it being a problem, but I'll take her word for it. I don't remember much since waking up. That, or I’ve only been awake for short snippets of time.

"My parents?" They’re coming, right? Gabby told me; I can remember that much. It’s in one of those snippets.

"They're still a few hours out. On a plane as we speak." She smiles yet again, encouraging. "I'll keep you posted. As soon as I hear anything from them."

"Thanks."

"A few of the Skate Canada coaches are in the lobby, asking about you. And some of your teammates. I can't let them in, but they wanted me to let you know that they're thinking about you."

I try a smile. It's not quite right, but it’ll have to do. "Tell them I'm ok."

"I'll do that." She soothes a hand over my brow, probably checking my temperature, but it feels like comfort, so I take it that way. "I want you to relax for the rest of the night, all right? Don't worry about anything. I don't want to see those furrows again."

Furrows? Huh. I guess she was smoothing them out, not comforting me. Though it comes down to a similar motivation, I suppose. "I'm not worried." I’m too high to be worried.

"Good. You don't need to be. Dr. Helachi did a great job. When we move you out of the ICU in the morning, I’m sure you'll have a whole team of sports medicine doctors at your beck and call. They tell me you're quite the athlete." What did Dr. Helachi do a good job with? Were they one of the doctors I vaguely remember bustling around me, talking to Gabby?