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A thousand ugly fears race through my head in the time it takes to reach the hospital, where I park in front of the ER before sprinting inside. It takes a while before I’m able to get anybody’s attention, but once I do, the nurse behind the desk asks an important question I was too busy freaking out to anticipate. “What’s your relation to the patient?”
Dammit. They aren’t going to come out and tell me what I want to hear without having a good reason. “I’m part of the medical staff for the team.” I mean, it’s not a lie, not really. I am part of the team’s staff, and I am a doctor.
“It looks like they took him straight into imaging for an x-ray. You can wait in his berth until they bring him back, if you want.” She directs me to an empty, curtained-off portion of the ER, where there’s nothing for me to do but pace and bite my nails and wish I had said all the things I didn’t get to say before now. There’re so many regrets, I hardly know which one to focus on first.
And there’s plenty of time to go through all of my many mistakes, since it feels like forever before the curtain parts and a man in scrubs comes my way. “I understand you’re part of the team’s medical staff? One of the nurses told me you were waiting in here.”
“How is he?”
He doesn’t need to say it in words. It’s the way he grimaces before scrubbing a hand over his face that tells me my worst fears might come true. Now, I don’t want him to say a word. I don’t want to hear it.
“It could’ve been much worse, but it’s still not great,” he tells me.
“Is he…” I can’t bring myself to say it. I can’t even entertain the thought. Not Ash. Not when he’s so healthy and vital, and when he loves hockey so much. It would be too cruel for him to lose what matters most in his life.
“Best we can tell right now, he has a severe concussion.”
The memory of the way he slammed head first into the boards sets my teeth on edge and makes me shudder from head to toe. Of course, he has a severe concussion after something like that.
I sense there’s more, and the doctor’s soft sigh confirms it. “And according to the tests we’ve run, it looks like he has a torn ligament in his neck.”
That’s not nearly as bad as this could’ve been, but it’s not exactly great news, either. Right away, all sorts of scenarios start to play out in my head. “He’ll need therapy, I guess?”
“Oh, yes. He will. Quite a lot of it. And that’s on top of whatever damage the concussion might have done. He’s got a long road ahead of him.”
I am here as a representative of the team. A medical professional. Not as his ex-girlfriend. I have to remember that, or else I’ll end up blubbering all over the place. “Can I see him?”
“We’re still running more tests to be on the safe side – and he is not clear headed enough that he would be able to have a conversation or anything like that. But he’s in good hands.”
“I understand.” I hate the idea, but I understand.
“Is his family aware of this?”
Good question. “I’ll have to call over to the arena and see about that.” If anything, it’s something to take my mind off of the gnawing fear that’s taken root in my gut. What if he’s never the same?
Before we part ways, I have to ask the last, biggest question left now that I have an idea of his condition. “Between you and me, will he play hockey again?”
It’s not what he says. It’s how long it takes him to say it. The way he hesitates, and the regret that hangs in his voice when he finally does speak. “That, I can’t say for sure. A lot of it rides on how well he takes to therapy and the progress he makes there. It’s going to take a lot of time, but he’s young and strong.”
That’s still not an answer. “In your professional opinion, though?”
“In my opinion?” His brows draw together and his mouth tips down at the corners. “I wouldn’t let a kid of mine play hockey. It’s too dangerous. I’ve seen too many serious injuries, including concussions like his. Pro football isn’t the only sport where players are prone to Chronic traumatic encephalopathy.”
I know what he’s talking about; CTE, the progressive and fatal brain disease associated with repeated traumatic brain injuries, including concussions and repeated blows to the head.
Nausea churns in my stomach and I have to bite my lip. It’s hard to keep from getting emotional.
“Between you and me,” he concludes as he backs away, “I’m not optimistic. But who knows?” And that’s how he leaves me, standing alone, with my heart shattered in pieces all around me. I can’t stand the idea of him not being able to play the sport he loves, something that’s such a huge part of him. But what if my feelings don’t matter? Because they don’t, in the end. It doesn’t matter that I want him to be healthy and well. It’s not in my hands.
There’s nothing I can do but wait for the inevitable arrival of the coach and whichever players decide to head over here and see how he’s doing.
Something tells me I know who two of them will be – and right now, I need them more than I ever have.
30
HARLOW
Ash looks just like his dad. That’s the first thing that runs through my head when his family makes it to the hospital. His mom is softer, with pale blue eyes that are now bloodshot after what I imagine was a very emotional ride out here. Her husband walks beside her, an arm around her waist like he’s holding her up – but his clenched jaw and the narrowed gaze he wears tells me he might need a little support, too.
