Chapter 16

Adam’s POV

I struggled to get myself in a good position as the game started. I saw my number flash across the screen and a smile tilted my lips. It was the pre-game introductions. The camera moved across the players as they skated onto the ice, the arena lights flashing above them and the crowd already on its feet, raising placards and screaming their favorite names into the air.

The screen changed and there it was, my jersey. There was a photograph of me in full gear, grinning like I had never known what it felt like to be afraid. Underneath it, in huge red letters, were the words, "We are playing for you, Adam."

For a split moment, I forget where I was. I forgot the hospital bed beneath me and the dull ache in my body. I don't remember the ugly collection of wires and monitors that have now become part of my daily life or the doctor who keeps telling me their recovery will take time, as though time is something I have plenty of. I forget that I was not supposed to be here.

Then the crowd erupted. I laughed, rubbing a palm over my face.

"Idiots," I muttered under my breath.

My voice sounded strange in the quiet room. I wished I could be there, not watching from a television or lying flat on my back with a blanket over my legs and a nurse checking my vitals every few hours or feeling helpless when Eli came to check on me.

I wanted to be in the locker room listening to Jay complain about someone's rap music. I wanted to steal somebody's headphones and get into an argument with the coach about the starting line. I wanted to lace my skates and feel the familiar weight of my equipment. I wanted to step on the ice with the knowledge that I belonged here and I ruled there.

Instead, I had a plastic cup of water on my bedside table and a remote control that kept slipping between my fingers. The game started and I leaned forward as much as my body could allow.

The first period was rough. Our opponents came out aggressive, pressing hard and forcing our defense to work for every inch. The camera panned to my coach's face and I recognized that look. His jaw was tight and his arms were still folded. I knew he was mentally thinking of rearranging the entire team before the first intermission. I knew what he would be shouting if I was there, and I knew what part of the ice I would be on if I was present in the arena.

As I watched them pass the puck around the ice, I knew what I would do differently. The thoughts came automatically, like they had always done. Hockey lived in my head for so long that I didn't know how to watch a game without imagining myself inside it.

When Jay missed a pass, I groaned and hit the bed beside me. "Come on, man."

He didn't hear me, obviously, but I said it anyway. When our defense man blocked a shot with his body, I winced so hard that the movement pulled at my healing ribs.

I hissed through my teeth and settled back against the pillows, one hand pressed to my side.

For a few seconds, I couldn't breathe properly. The pain passed and I was looking at the television again. The game continued, and by the end of the first period, we were down by one.

I reached for my phone and sent Jay a message. "You guys are playing like you forgot to pass."

His reply came almost immediately. "You're welcome to come down here and show us how it's done."

I smiled and shook my head. "Give me a week."

The words sat there on my screen. A week. I knew it was impossible. I was simply bluffing. I locked my phone and placed it face down. The doctors talked about my progress in small measurements, how far I could walk and how much pain I felt. Whether I could move a body without complications, they talked about healing, and nobody ever mentioned hockey, at least not in the way I needed them to.

During the second period, our team scored almost immediately. I shouted so loud that a nurse passing by burst into my room with anxiety plastered on her face.

"Sorry," I told her, grinning.

She glanced at the television. "Your team?"

"Yeah, they are doing well," I nodded.

"Do you need anything?"

"No," I said almost immediately. I couldn't afford for anyone to be tending to me like a child while my teammates took over the ice.

She smiled and left me alone. I watched the replay 3 times. The goal was beautiful. It was a clean pass from Jay, a perfect opening, and a shot that slipped past the goalie before he could react.

I knew exactly how good it felt to score one like that. I used to live for that feeling. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the last time I scored. The memory came too easily. The sound of the puck hitting the back of the net and my teammates crashing into me. The crowd screaming my name.

But then, another memory quickly followed it. The ice, the impact, and the sudden horrifying realization that something had gone wrong.

My eyes snapped open and I turned towards the television. It was safer to face the game than my memories.

By the third period, we were tied. I was sitting upright, both hands gripping the blanket, completely forgetting that I was supposed to take it easy. Every movement on the screen had my heart racing, and every shot made me hold my breath.

When the opposing team got close to scoring, I nearly threw the remote across the screen. And when our goalie saved, I let out a breathless laugh in disbelief.

"That's my boy," I grinned and tried to push myself to my feet in excitement but I collapsed into the bed.