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“Fuck,” Nikolai Lovely said. That word echoed around the room and summed up everything I was thinking.
“Guess you’re the captain now, Atlas,” Coach said with a sad smile. “See what you can do with it.” He smacked my shoulder.
I stared around at everyone, and each member of the team had that same awful expression on their face. A torn ACL could ruin a season—maybe a whole fucking career. We wouldn’t wish that on our worst enemy.
“This sucks,” I said.
There was nodding and grunting, and then everyone all at once started getting out of their gear to shower, as if some invisible starter’s pistol had fired off.
My heart squeezed. I should be happy about this, count it as a victory, but it felt a hell of a lot like the end of something good had just smashed into all of us. With a sigh, I got up to leave, but by the time I made my way out to the seats that Dad and Elissa had been in, they were gone, and I ended up getting a ride home from Boss.
“Want to go to the hospital?” he asked, pulling the car out of the parking lot. I was glad he was fighting the traffic, not me.
I nodded at him and leaned my head against the window. When I woke up—I didn’t remember falling asleep—Boss’s car was parked in the driveway of my house.
“What?” I asked, blinking groggily.
Boss frowned at me. “You’re so tired, you should probably go in and go to bed.”
Nodding, I got out but wanted to scream.
Once I was inside the house, it was too quiet. Dad and Elissa had probably gone to the hospital. I couldn’t imagine where else they might be right now. I took my phone out of my pocket and texted.
Atlas: I hope you’re okay.
Of course, I didn’t get a response from Wy. I sighed and shoved my phone back into my pocket. I was upstairs standing outside the door to Wy’s room when a terrible thought hit me.
“What if Wy is finished? What if my bad luck tonight hit him instead of me?” My gut churned. Then an actual horrible fucking thought cut me off at the knees. “Fuck, will Dad let Wy and Elissa stay if he can’t play anymore? Or will he be done?” Dad’s disappointment when something went wrong at a game made him an asshole. Would he finally turn that nastiness on the others, or would he realize what he was doing and stop?
Stress ate my insides until it felt like I’d swallowed a glass of acid, and I pushed open Wy’s bedroom door. I went inside and picked up one of his pillows, bringing it to my face so I could inhale his spicy scent. I sat down hard on the bed, then growled while I listened to the silence.
Technically, I had everything I’d wanted. Wy wasn’t here, and I was de facto team captain.
So why did this hurt so fucking much?
16
WYSTAN
I couldn’t remembera time in my life that I had ever taken these kinds of painkillers, but whatever they were, I fucking loved them. All the pain had gone, leaving me swimming in a thoughtless wonderland where I could take on the world. The pills—or was it through the IV? I wasn’t sure—made me feel free and lightweight, like I could fly. I never wanted to let go of the experience.
“Wy?” Mom’s wobbly voice reached my ears, but I kept my eyes closed.
I inhaled deeply, her favorite perfume tickling my nose. “Mommy?” I giggled. “This is nice. You should ask the doctor for some.”
“What did you give him?” Joseph’s tone was hard and unrelenting, and it grated on my nerves.
I winced away from the sound and shushed him. “Too loud.”
“Wystan was in bad shape, Ms. Finch. He has a full ACL tear, and he’d surpassed his pain threshold. We gave him some strong opioids to take away as much agony as we could.” A man’s voice I didn’t know filled the room, and I scrunched my eyes shut before finally opening them to look around. Everything was so white—the walls, the bed I was lying on, the floor, the ceiling—and it hurt to stare at the too bright color.
Mom and Joseph stood on the right side of my bed, while another man was on the other side. He wore a white lab coat with a badge hanging from his pocket. Beside him was another staff member, dressed in green scrubs. I couldn’t see the doctor’s name, but the one in the scrubs was close enough that I could readGrant Arthurwith the words “RPA-C, MHSc” under his name. He had blond hair and scruff and a nice face. Symmetric and kind. His big brown eyes seemed to say he wanted to help me.
I pointed at his badge and laughed. “Is that a weird way of saying you’re a doc, too? Are you a doc?”
Grant, as his badge said, glanced down at the card attached to his pocket and smiled kindly. “I’m a physician assistant. This here—” He tapped the RPA-C. “—means I’m a registered and certified physician assistant in New York, while this—” He pointed at the MHSc. “—means I have a master’s in health science.”
“Oh. Cool.” I didn’t care, though. I focused on my leg, which was currently hovering up in a sling at the end of the bed, and frowned. “When can I skate again?”
