Chapter 17

I looked down at my hands to see that they are thinner than I remembered. My knuckles are bruised in places and there is a small scar near my thumb from an injury I once got during a game. My fingers flexed against the blanket and I tried to imagine holding a stick, but even in my imagination, my grip felt weak.

I curled my fingers tighter and the television erupted. For one disorienting second, I thought I might have missed something terrible. But when I looked up, Jay had scored again. The arena was in chaos. Players collided against the boards, helmets knocked together as they celebrated.

The camera followed Jay as he skated towards the bench, his teammates shouting around him and the scoreboard changed again. We were ahead.

I laughed. “Yes,” I said, shooting a fist into the air.

The final minutes crawled by. Our opponents pulled their goalie and the pressure built quickly. I pushed to my feet without thinking and pain shot through my body. I winced and grinded my teeth. I grabbed the bed rail, breathing heavily. I knew I should sit down but I couldn't look away.

The puck moved across the ice and one of our players intercepted it and sent it down the rink. The opposing goalie was still off the ice and for a second, the net was completely open. He missed the shot. I looked at the screen with my mouth open.

“Are you kidding me?” The buzzer went off and we won.

I stared at the screen. The players threw their arms into the air and Jay jumped against one of the teammates. The rest of the boys piled around them and coach was finally smiling. I sank back onto the bed.

We won and I should be happy. But it felt like someone had reached into my chest and pulled something out. The broadcast cut to the players celebrating near the board. Then the camera shifted towards the crowd where a group of fans were holding up a sign with my name. I smiled again but this time it didn't last.

The players gathered in front of the cameras. Someone shouted something I couldn't hear and they laughed. Jay turned towards the lens, breathing hard. His hair was still damp with sweat beneath his helmet. He pointed at the camera. Then he tapped the number on his jersey. The others followed. It was my number.

The gesture made me feel included. But that was the problem. They were dedicating a game to me because I wasn't there. They were celebrating for me because I couldn't celebrate with them, and they were doing it so well. And the thought came without warning. It was ugly and immediate. They didn't need me.

I closed my eyes briefly and shook my head. That's not what it meant. I was simply overthinking it. They were my teammates. Of course, they could win without me. They had always been good players.

Hockey is a team sport and one injured player shouldn't be enough to ruin an entire season. I knew all of that and I had said those exact words to injured teammates before. But knowing something and being thrown in the middle of the situation were two different things. The camera returned to the ice, where the boys were still celebrating. They hugged each other, laughed, exchanged high fives.

Jay had someone else's arms around his shoulder and he was talking animatedly. I assumed he was replaying the goal for the hundredth time. I could almost hear him and I could almost feel the locker room waiting for them.

The music, the noise, the smell of sweat and ice and whatever terrible food someone would inevitably order after the game, despite coach's refusal. I knew how the night usually went. They'll shower, change and head back together, and then they'll argue about the best play.

Someone would make fun of Jay for nearly missing that opponent and coach would tell them what they did right and what they needed to fix just before the next game. Then tomorrow they will practice and they will prepare for the next opponent.

The season would continue as usual, but I would still be here. Without warning, the first tear slipped down my cheek. I wiped it away quickly, then another one followed.

“Oh, come on.” I groaned and laughed, but it came out broken.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. I wasn't crying because they won. I was crying because they won and the world didn't stop to wait for me. For as long as I could remember, hockey had been the one thing that I could always count on, even when my father made everything else difficult.

Hockey had rules. There were drills to complete, numbers to improve and games to win. There was always another practice and another chance to prove that I was good enough and I was the best. I knew who I was when I stepped onto the ice. I knew what people expected from me and I knew what I was supposed to do.

Now, I didn't know when I would play a game. I didn't know if I would ever be the player I was before. And I didn't know who I was when I couldn't be him.

My phone buzzed and I reached for it with trembling fingers. The group chat was exploding. Pictures flooded the screen and Jay sent a video. I opened it. The camera shook as he walked through the locker room. Everyone was shouting over one another and music blared from somewhere in the background.

“Payne.” Jay yelled into the camera as he pushed his wet hair away from his eyes. “This one's for you, asshole.”

The boys cheered. Someone shouted my name and another voice yelled that I owed them dinner when I got out. I smiled through my tears.

“Of course, I'll buy you all dinner.” I typed back. And on the screen, Jay turned the camera towards my empty store where my jersey still hung. The one they took off my locker before I was admitted to the hospital.

For a moment, I felt warm. Then Jay swung the camera away and the video ended. I watched it again and again. And by the fourth watch, I noticed something I had missed other times. Nobody was standing beside my stall and nobody was looking at it. The boys had already moved on to the next joke, the next celebration, and the next thing that made the night theirs.

I locked my phone and the room was suddenly too quiet. I looked towards the window where the sky outside had darkened and the reflection in the glass showed a man sitting alone on a hospital bed. I barely recognized him. I had spent my entire life trying to be someone. Someone my father could be proud of, someone the fans could cheer for, someone the ladies wanted as theirs, and someone the team could depend on. Someone who could walk into an arena and feel for a few hours that every sacrifice I made meant something.

I thought I had succeeded, but now I am lying in the hospital bed watching other people do the thing I built my entire life around. And for the first time, I allowed myself to entertain a thought. What if hockey was all I had? What if I got back to it and discovered that it wasn't enough? Or worse, what if I never got back at all?

I pressed my fist against my mouth, trying to bury the sound that threatened to rise in my throat but it didn't work. I bent forward, my shoulder shaking, and I cried until my ribs hurt and I had to stop to catch my breath. I cried because I missed the ice. And I cried because I was afraid. The door swung open and standing in the doorway was my mother. She stared at me with pitiful eyes.