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He sucked in a breath like he wanted to argue, but just then, the nurse walked into the room. I didn’t bother trying to look for her, but I could tell by the squeak of her shoes that she was near the bed.

“Ready for your next dose?” she asked.

Aravind’s hand slowly slipped from mine, and then he stepped out of my sightline and into the static fog that was starting to fill in all those gaps I could no longer see. I could still smell him, though, and hear the soft way his shoes tapped on the tiles as he headed for the door.

I wanted to call out after him, but the burning sensation of painkillers hit my veins, and all I could do was take a deep breath, let them do their job, and drift off into the welcome darkness.

CHAPTER 2

TIAGO

“So, what’s the prognosis? Ten days to live? Twenty?”

I shot a glare toward the corner of the room where I knew Boden was sitting. To my left, Tucker was pacing, his stress making his steps so hard that I could hear clicking noises coming from his prosthetic ankles.

“I mean, we all have to die someday, right? Death and taxes…” I started. Was there a third thing? I couldn’t really remember.

Tucker’s steps froze, and I turned my head to the right so I could see him leaning over me. His scarred eye was clearer after his corneal transplant, and according to him, he could see better than before the accident.

I was pretty sure that was bullshit, but it was probably bullshit to keep people from asking invasive questions about how much he could see.

“What?” I demanded when he said nothing.

He sniffed. “I just…why do I feel like this was my fault?”

“I mean, if you were a better coach,” Boden began.

“Mon coeur.” Hugo’s rumble came from the doorway. “Please be nice to your friends. They’re all very stressed.”

“Tucker’s just pissed that he lost his best performing D-man during playoffs,” Boden said.

Tucker disappeared out of my line of sight, and I sat up and leaned forward so I could try to see him better. So far away, he was a blurry mess, but I could make out the glint of his crutches sitting to his right.

“You’re being a bigger dick than usual today,” I pointed out.

Hugo’s sigh floated across the room. “Being knocked out of the playoffs always upsets him.”

“If I had a better coach,” Boden began, then went quiet. “You know what, I should probably go. I don’t need to rain all over your parade with my bad mood.” He stood up and shuffled toward me.

“Hold the fuck up,” Tucker said, grabbing Boden before he could reach the side of my bed. “Who exactly is going to drive us home?”

“That would be me,” Hugo told him. “Boden was on his rideshare app just now.”

My heart sank as I pulled my friend in for a hug. “You don’t have to go, Bodie. I don’t mind if you’re being a dick.”

He smudged a kiss along my temple. “That’s the morphine talking. You’ll remember what an asshole I was later and be pissed at me for it.”

I doubted it. Yes, I was a little stoned on the good drugs, but I was also used to my friend. He wasn’t as much of an ass now as he was before he met Hugo. This was a palatable asshole.

A tolerable dick.

“You know you’re talking out loud, right?” Tucker asked.

Boden burst into laughter and hugged me again. “Get better soon,” he muttered in French. Mine was far more rusty than his was. I mostly grew up in Detroit, spending summers at my parents’ cottage near Quebec City. But it was nice to hear my first language.

“I’ll do my best.”

I hadn’t told either of them that my future with the PPHL was uncertain. All the scans after surgery had come back with some promise, but only time would tell, and right now, I needed months to heal before I could even think about putting a skate on my foot.