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Eddie looked hopeful, his eyes darting between the doctor and us. It was like we’d just asked about releasing the kid back into his natural habitat.
"If all goes well and he keeps a close eye on his levels, he should be able to play in about three days," the doc announced.
"Three days," Eddie echoed. I heard his sigh of relief. "I can do that."
Pete stepped forward, nodding at the doctor and then at Eddie. "And we're gonna make sure you stick to that, right, Hoss?"
"Absolutely," I agreed.
I turned to Taylor, who had been standing quietly by the door, listening intently. "Hey, good catch, Taylor. You acted fast. You probably saved his life."
He nodded, a humble expression taking over. “I spotted his medical alert bracelet the first time we hung out. I've seen this kind of thing before with my uncle, so I knew we had to call 911, pronto.”
For the first time, the orange silicone bracelet on Eddie’s wrist registered with me. I’d never given it a second glance since I knew people who wore them for all sorts of causes and interests.
I was sure our trainer knew Eddie had diabetes, but when he was away from the rink, all bets were off.
We all nodded as we listened to Taylor’s story, recognizing the team had just expanded beyond the ice.
"Thanks, guys, for caring,” Eddie said. "Really, thank you."
We made our goodbyes short.
"One last thing," I said, pausing at the door and looking back at Eddie. "Take this to heart. We need you, and not just on the ice. Got it?"
He looked back at me and nodded firmly. "Got it, Hoss. I promise."
The ride back was heavy with silence, but not the awkward kind. I was knee-deep in my thoughts, grappling with my stupidity and prejudice. Pete was probably doing the same, judging by the look on his face.
* * *
Our next game was two days later. Eddie was still benched, but he yelled himself hoarse from the sidelines.
It was another do-or-die scenario for the team. Pete and I huddled in his office, hashing out last-minute strategies. For the first time, we were so in sync it was scary—in a good way.
"Ready to crush this?" Pete asked, looking up from the tactical board.
"Born ready," I smirked.
The game started, and our magic continued. Every pass connected, every defensive play was a work of art, and every shot was a threat. It felt like we were conducting a symphony, every player and move in perfect harmony. It was starting to feel like the new normal, and I was all for it.
"Time forOperation Thunderbolt," Pete said suddenly during the last stretch.
I looked at him, puzzled. Then his eyes met mine, and I got it. A ballsy play, but it could work. Pete was taking a few more chances. Maybe that was my influence.
We calledOperation Thunderboltour secret weapon. It was a play we'd sketched out but never used in a game. It was high-risk but also high reward. With Eddie out, I thought it was even riskier, but Pete was in charge, and I tried to see it through his eyes.
After he directed the team, the whistle sounded, the puck hit the ice, and we were off.
"Come on, come on," Pete muttered under his breath, so low only I could hear him over the clatter of sticks on the ice.
Jensen cleanly won the faceoff, and the puck sped back to our defensive zone like it had eyes. Our defender took control and then nailed a breakout pass forward. Taylor rocketed up the boards, and I watched both teams react.
It was working like a charm. The other team’s goalie committed to blocking a shot from Taylor. At the last minute, he flicked a no-look pass to Jensen, who was closing fast.
All that remained was the shot. Jensen powered the puck into the gaping hole behind their goalie, and we scored.
The arena erupted in cheers.
