by Ellen Devlin
The answer surprised Paige, and her face showed it. “What do you mean?”
Liz thought for a moment, trying to put together the best way to describe what she was thinking. “I’m having a hard time coming up with the right way to get this across, so please bear with me and don’t get upset, but I’m talking about self-worth.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s fair. I know my worth. I know that I’m good at my job, and I don’t allow myself to be treated badly.”
“Yes, that’s true. But…” Fishing around a bit more, she said, “But that’s just it, Paige. You know your worth as a teacher. You know your worth as a friend—shit, at least I hope you do—you know your worth as a sister. But you measure your worth by what you give to others. I’m not sure you really understand that you, just you, have worth separate and apart from what you contribute. That just you, standing here, right now, deserve good things for yourself. Not because you have done anything. Just because.”
Paige was quiet for several long moments and then simply said, softly, “Keep going.”
Liz paused another moment, a bit nervous to broach the subject that they had avoided all this time.
“If one of your teacher friends came to you and told you that she was dating someone amazing…someone like Chris…you would be thrilled for her. You would never for one second doubt that your friend deserved to be happy. Never.”
Paige flinched, visibly affected by what Liz was saying.
“You would tell your friend that she deserved every minute of happiness; you would do everything possible to convince her to believe in herself.” Liz touched her arm gently to get Paige to focus on her. “Wouldn’t you?”
Paige’s eyes were bright.
Liz repeated quietly, “Wouldn’t you tell your friend to believe that she deserves every sliver of happiness that life is offering her?”
Paige gave her a little smile but said, “I need some time to think, okay?”
“Of course, Paige.” She walked around the counter and hugged Paige. “I love you like crazy. You know that.”
“Love you too.”
Liz walked down the hallway to her bedroom but stopped suddenly and turned around, looking intently back at Paige.
“What?” Paige asked.
Liz stared at Paige until she asked again, “What, Liz? You look like you’ve just solved a puzzle or something.”
“Chris can take care of you.”
Paige’s eyes got wide—she very briefly looked like a deer in headlights—but after a pause she said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You have spent your entire life being the one who takes care of other people. And yet this man has every means at his disposal, and the desire, to take care of you.”
Paige’s face was almost an unreadable mask as she looked at Liz.
“I just want you to realize, Paige, that just because he can take care of you doesn’t mean that all of the horrible things your mom says are true. It doesn’t mean you’re taking advantage of him. It doesn’t mean you’re not able to take care of yourself or that you are somehow a failure. You deserve happiness, and you are worthy of love.”
“I need time,” Paige whispered. “Let me think about this.”
“I will. Sorry. I just realized that, and it caught me off guard.”
As Liz disappeared into her room, Paige whispered, “Me too.”
Chapter Thirty
Chris moved robotically through pre-game preparations and the on-ice warm-up. Nothing had been quite right with him since Paige broke things off, but the team had just gotten back in town from the last road trip of the season, and with the time change and travel schedule, he had been feeling more fatigued than usual and a bit irritable. And sometime over the last two days he had managed to tweak an ab muscle.
“Becks, you okay? You’re looking kinda gray, man. That is not a good color for you.”
“I’m fine,” Chris snapped back at Navee. Derek Navikov played center and was normally the third forward on the line with Chris and Zee. Chris softened his tone and added, “Sorry, man. I have some fucked-up pre-game jitters tonight. I just puked like a rookie. I’ll get my shit together before the puck drops.”
“No worries.” Navee slapped Chris on the back of the head. “We expect this shit from you. Everyone knows you’re a slacker, asshole.”
Chris managed a grin at the jibe.
The first period passed without incident. With no score, no penalties, and only ten total shots on goal between the two teams, there were very few play stoppages other than the TV time-outs. Both teams were moving fast, and the lines were rapidly cycling on and off the ice as each team tried to break through the other’s defense to get to the net. At the first intermission, players were breathing hard in the locker room, trying to catch their breath and get their legs ready to keep up the pace in the second period.
Chris leaned on his stick with his head down as he sat on the bench in the locker room, trying to listen to the coaches and not think about his personal life. He rehydrated, hoping that would help with the headache that had started pressing behind his eyes, and joined the team back on the ice as the second period started.
The two teams were very evenly matched, and the blazing pace continued through the first ten minutes of the second period. The tide finally started to turn with a hooking penalty against the Winnipeg Rockets, putting the Guardians on the first power play of the game.
Dmitry sent a rocket of a slapshot top shelf over the goalie’s glove and into the net, and the arena exploded with lights and sound. Every Guards fan was on their feet cheering as the big right-winger glided over the ice and pumped his arm in his “just scored a goal” move. His teammates swarmed him on the ice, and he skated over to tap gloves with everyone on the bench.
The Rockets needed to win this game to make it into the playoffs, and tempers were starting to fray as the second period wound down with the score still one-nothing in favor of the Guardians. Play was becoming increasingly more physical, and as the Rockets got frustrated, it was pretty clear there would probably be at least one fight before the game was over.
Chris took a cross-ice pass from Zee and was zooming up the rink when he was caught by a Rockets defenseman in a huge open-ice hit. With a shoulder to his right-hand mid-section, Chris was knocked up off his skates and went down, sprawling across the ice.
He started to get up, managing to get one skate under him before he simply fell face first onto the ice.
And stopped moving.
***
Paige was sitting in her room, spending a bit of quiet time reading for pleasure rather than grading papers or prepping for class. As usual, she could hear the occasional exclamation from the living room as Liz watched yet another hockey game. She felt her heart catch for a moment thinking about Chris as she heard Liz shout, “Yes! Goal! Hot damn!” She pushed the twinge down, determined to ignore the lump in her throat that happened when she imagined his smile.
She had just finished a chapter and was closing her book when she heard Liz calling her.
“Paige!”
She started to get up to go to the living room to see what was happening.
“Paige!”
Liz sounded worried, not excited.
“Paige! Hurry!”
Paige raced down the short hallway, alarmed by the fear in Liz’s voice, and arrived in the living room to see Liz standing in front of the couch, staring at the TV.
“What? What’s going on?”
Liz pointed to the television, and Paige turned to see that there was a player down on the ice. One of the Guardians.
“Oh no! Who is that?”
Liz looked at Paige, who felt her stomach plummet to the floor. Her breath caught, and it felt like her heart stopped as she looked back at the screen.
Paige shook her head slowly and whispered, “No.”
It was Chris, the number fourteen on his jersey unmistakable as he was lying almost entirely face down.
“No. No. He’s not mov
ing.” Paige turned to Liz, her face ashen. “What happened?” Her voice was wavering, rising as the fear spread. “No, no, no, why isn’t he moving?”
“He got hit.” Liz looked back at Paige, wide-eyed, for a split second before returning her gaze to the screen. “He got hit,” she repeated. “It was hard, but it wasn’t dirty.”
The trainers were on the ice with a stretcher when they saw Chris move his arms and legs, like he was trying to get up.
Paige felt her heart start beating again, but the panic wasn’t going away.
“He started to get up after the hit, but then I think he passed out.” Liz turned her attention back to Paige when Chris was wheeled off the ice on the stretcher, and the coverage cut to commercial.
Paige was standing stock-still, eyes wide, heart racing.
“Oh God. Oh my God.” She turned to Liz. “What’s going on? What’s wrong with him? Is he going to be okay?” She put her face in her hands. “This can’t be happening.” No no no no no no.
Liz took her hand and looked her in the eye.
“Paige. Look at me.” When she had Paige’s focus, she added, “Listen. Go to your room and get a bag. Put in a sweatshirt, socks, underwear, deodorant, your toothbrush, and your phone charger. Then come back here. We’re going to the hospital.”
Paige nodded mutely and scurried to her room, following the simple instructions without question, relieved to have directions. When she got back to the living room a few minutes later, she found Liz waiting with her own bag, and she dutifully followed Liz to the garage and got in her car. Distantly, she thought, Am I in shock? Maybe I’m in shock. Is this what shock feels like?
There’s one line of the poem left.
She sat quietly in the passenger seat as Liz drove out of the garage and onto the main road but snapped out of her zombie-like state when Liz turned on the radio and tuned it to the station broadcasting the game play-by-play.
“What?” Paige was stunned, suddenly furious. “What the hell, Liz? How can you care about the score of the game? Chris is hurt! He was unconscious! He wasn’t moving! I can’t believe you care who wins!”
“Paige,” Liz said in a soothing voice. “Every fan is worried about Chris. The announcers are going to give an update on his condition as soon as they hear. We might find out from the radio before we can find out from the hospital.”
“Oh.” Paige’s anger evaporated, realizing that of course Liz was worried about Chris. But now that one emotion had broken through her veneer of shock, the rest were following, and she was starting to cry. “I’m sorry.” She was shaking again. “Oh my God, I’m so scared.”
“I know, Paige. I know.”
“He has to be okay. He has to.” She turned to Liz, pleading, “He has to.”
I have to get the last line of the poem.
Liz took Paige’s hand and squeezed it for a moment. “He will have the best possible care. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was just dehydrated or something really simple like that.”
But neither of them believed that it was something simple. Pro-athletes are more careful than that. Chris was more careful than that.
“Okay,” said Liz, taking a breath. “Let’s think positive for a minute. We know that he was conscious and moving all his limbs before he left the ice. So there’s that.” She briefly looked over at Paige to see that she was listening.
“Yes. That’s good.” Please let him be all right. Please let him be all right. I need the last line. He can’t leave me before the last line. Paige tried to keep the waver out of her voice, asking, “What could have happened, do you think?”
“I’m really not sure. It was a big hit—highlight reel material—but it didn’t look like it would knock him out. I mean, he even started to get up again before he lost consciousness.”
They rode a few minutes without speaking, listening to the radio. The third period had just begun, and while the announcers confirmed that Chris had been taken to the hospital, there was still no word on what was wrong.
“How do you know where he is?” asked Paige, realizing suddenly that there were several major hospitals in DC itself, not to mention in the immediate suburbs.
“I asked Zee once where they would be taken if something happened on the ice. I was just curious.”
Paige managed to snort out a small laugh. “Of course you did. Because you ‘like to know stuff.’”
Liz smiled and added, “‘About things. Lots of stuff about lots of things.’”
It was a catch phrase that Liz used to describe herself, with her penchant for asking tons of questions about almost anything. The normalcy of the quip helped Paige to relax just a bit.
“We’ll be there soon, Paige. They will have taken him to Washington Hospital Center. It’s going to take us a bit of time to find out where he is and what’s going on, but as soon as the game is over, I’ll be able to talk to Zee to find out more information.” She took Paige’s hand again for a moment. “He’s going to be okay.”
Paige started to cry again. “I hope so.” And then added, almost too quietly for Liz to hear, “He has to be.” Please, please, please…
Chapter Thirty-One
Paige was pacing. She had called and made arrangements to miss work for the next few days. She had talked to Chris’s mom to make sure she knew the latest. The team had already contacted his mom, but Paige felt she needed to talk with Emily directly. To make sure that his mom knew that she was at the hospital.
That Chris wouldn’t be alone when he woke up.
That Paige hadn’t abandoned him.
Except he didn’t know that, because he was still in surgery. He was unconscious, having emergency surgery for a ruptured appendix, and he didn’t know she was waiting for him, her heart twisting in her chest.
And so she paced, having nothing more of substance that she could do.
“Paige, sit.” Liz patted the seat beside her. “Just for a minute.”
Paige focused on her friend and then walked over and slumped into the chair. “I don’t know what to do.” Her breath caught. “Why did he play when he was sick? He must have known he was sick. How the hell can a person not know that they have appendicitis?”
She knew she was repeating herself—she had asked this same question out loud several times already and too many times to count in her head—but she was stuck in a loop, and until Chris was safely out of surgery, she didn’t think she could break out of it.
Liz put her arm around Paige’s shoulders and gave her a sideways hug.
“Hockey players play through minor stuff all the time,” she said. “It’s possible that he had only minor symptoms, not enough for him to think twice about it.” At Paige’s wry look, she added, “Or he was a big fucking idiot and wouldn’t take himself out of the lineup because guys are dumbasses.”
Paige barked out a small laugh and then sighed. “He’s been in there a long time, Liz. I don’t think that a normal appendectomy takes this long, even with a rupture.” She stood up and started pacing again, unaware that she had done so.
“I’m sure they’re taking extra time to make certain they have cleaned out all of the infection,” Liz said, and Paige’s face blanched.
“Oh God, what if he ends up with peritonitis? Or sepsis?” Her eyes welled again as her stomach clenched.
“Paige, breathe.” Liz stood up and walked over to her. “He’ll be out of surgery soon. It’s going to be okay.”
Zee came down the hall, carrying a tray with coffee for all of them, and asked, “Any word yet?”
“No,” Paige replied, accepting the coffee with thanks and sitting down again, wrapping her hands around the warm cup.
Zee told her, “I’ve sent the other guys home and told Coach that I would keep him informed. No need for there to be a whole entourage here.”
Just then a nurse came out, asking, “Christopher Beckman?”
Paige sprang up, almost spilling her coffee, and rushed over.
“Yes, I’m here for Chris. How is he?
Is he okay? Can I see him?”
The nurse smiled and said, “He’s out of surgery and in recovery. Please come with me and you can speak to the doctor.”
Air flooded back into Paige’s lungs. He had made it through surgery. She felt a little wobbly.
The news was good—the surgeon felt confident that they had managed to clean up everything, but it had been a longer than normal surgery due to the trauma. Piecing together what they could based on information from Zee and other players, Chris had probably been suffering from appendicitis for several days prior to the game. The on-ice hit had been hard enough to cause a rupture, and that pain had been severe enough to make him pass out.
The prognosis was excellent, and Paige felt a bit like she was going to ooze to the floor as the weight of that worry lifted from her.
“He’s still coming out of anesthesia, but we will be transferring him to a regular room within the next half hour. We’re going to keep him pretty heavily sedated through the night, and of course he’s going to be on IV antibiotics for several days. We want to make sure there are no complications.”
The doctor smiled reassuringly at Paige and added, “He’s not going to be aware of anyone until tomorrow morning at least, but you will be able to sit with him as soon as he’s admitted and in a regular room.”
Paige started crying from relief, and Zee and Liz walked her back to the waiting room to sit down.
“I’ve gotta make some phone calls,” Zee said, looking at Paige and Liz. “You two gonna be okay for a few minutes?”
“Yes,” Paige replied. “Of course.” She sniffed and sat up straighter. “I need to call his mom right away and let her know.”
***
It was the wee hours of the morning before everything was settled, with Chris in a regular room. There was a small couch that folded down into a single bed and a recliner that pushed back almost flat.
Liz had grabbed the extra sheet, blanket, and pillow from the closet and was making up the couch in the hopes that Paige would get some sleep. Paige was currently sitting in a chair at Chris’s side, holding his hand. He was, as the doctor had said, heavily sedated.
