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I frown, my hands shaking, my feet frozen as if stuck to the pavement.
“Faye,” Mom says, gripping my hands, squeezing them so tight they can’t shake. “Go see him. See that he’s okay. No matter where the two of you are, what you’ve been through, that love was real.”
My stomach pitches and hot tears fill my eyes.
“It doesn’t mean anything changes between you, but you need to be there.”
The car is already running and Mom gives me a tight hug. Then she nudges me into the passenger seat and we’re driving to LaGuardia.
In a blur, we drive through a sleeping New Rochelle. Dad curb checks my bags with a quick goodbye, and I rush through security. Once I’ve found my seat, I palm my phone and stare at the last text Zeke sent.
ZEKE: I messed up. I know it. But I’m still so thankful for that night when you locked your keys in your car and let me rescue you.
I hold the phone to my chest as we take off and keep it there the entire flight home.
52
faye
We’reon the ground by seven forty-five in the morning and I’m climbing into Zach’s Subaru by five after eight. He hugs me before he lets me get in the car. He doesn’t say anything and neither do I, because I don’t think either of us knows what to say.
I text Caro and Aly to let them know what’s going on as we get onto the highway. As we make our way toward the city in the early rush-hour traffic, he fills me in on what happened.
They were playing Boston for the first time since Freddy was injured. Zeke had been a mess all week, and I tried not to flinch at that, but Zach caught it. As soon as they blew the whistle, Zeke and Boston’s defenseman, a huge guy named Markov, threw down their gloves to get the fight out of the way. Punches were thrown, and Zeke took the brunt of it. He took at least four hard punches to the jaw before he fell on the ice and didn’t get up.
They were about to bring the stretcher out when he came to, and Pasha helped him off the ice. But once he was off the ice, he was in and out again, spitting blood and they worried he was going to choke on it. They took him to the hospital, and in the ambulance ride they determined he was concussed, had two broken teeth—which Sarah was pissed about because Zeke hadn’t bothered to wear his mouth guard—and a very broken jaw.
There was some talk about whether or not they should put him under anesthesia while he was concussed, but they decided it was safe enough.
The surgery went well enough. They wired his jaw and stuck a pin in it, but there were six breaks in total and they were concerned about infection, so he’ll be staying at the hospital under observation for a little bit.
The doctors want to talk about the concussions though.
When we get to the hospital, Zach drops me off at the top of the hill so I don’t have to take the tram. But then I just stand there, not sure what I’m supposed to do. I end up getting a cup of coffee and then sitting in the main lobby, trying to get my bearings.
“Faye?” a familiar voice catches my attention. I look up and into the kind eyes of Dr. Vox, one of my former professors, and Caro’s mother.
“Dr. Vox,” I say, standing. She gives me a cursory once over, which results in a frown.
“Caroline texted,” she says, her voice low. “I’m sorry to hear about your friend.”
“Yeah,” I say, letting out a shaky sigh.
“Have you seen him?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. But I don’t move. I don’t know what to do. She seems to decide something, and pulls out her phone, typing away with her thumbs.
“Why don’t you follow me?” She starts toward the back elevator bank and doesn’t wait for me. I move before she leaves me behind. I follow her into the staff elevator, and she scans her ID over the sensor, then presses a button and we move up.
“You’re not family, so I can’t tell you that he’s going to make a full recovery.”
I eye her carefully but she doesn’t meet my gaze. Just stares straight ahead.
“I also can’t tell you that his jaw broke in five different places, plus a hairline fracture, and surgery was successful. Or that he’s currently recuperating from surgery with a Grade 3 concussion, but we have no reason to suspect a more severe concussion event.”
The elevator doors open, and nurses brush past, not paying attention to either of us. She turns right and I follow her to where she pauses next to the nurse’s station.
“And I certainly can’t tell you where his room is,” she says, nodding at the window to the left of the door. I look inside and my stomach clenches.
