by Raine Miller
Holly had their baby, a girl, just days ago. Little Danya looks like a very tiny, very angry old lady in the photos he showed me, so her name fits since she was named for Evan’s Russian grandmother.
“Why are you even here, Dad? Why not take a game off to be home with them?”
“The team needs me,” he says. “And Holly told me she’d burn my favorite T-shirt if I didn’t come and support the team. I tried to stay home.”
I laugh. “She’s the best.”
“Yeah, she really is.”
We play San Jose tonight, a team that has been losing all season. It should be an easy win but it’s obvious from the first few moments on the ice the team is desperate. They’re sloppy and aggressive, and on the first period break, Evan tells everyone to look out.
“Play smart and pay attention,” he orders.
“These guys are out for blood. Don’t bleed for them,” Coach Brown adds.
We head back out on the ice and Mikhail scores quickly, the first goal of the game. Our home crowd goes wild, but I can see it on the San Jose players’ faces that things are about to get ugly.
I’ve got the puck at about seven minutes in, and a San Jose player comes out of nowhere, high sticking me to the neck, knocking my helmet off and sending me straight onto my back. I see stars immediately, and I think I might throw up. My vision is wonky, but big-ass Viktor comes to my aid, checking the player into the boards.
Annnnd then all hell breaks loose.
I’m struggling to get up. I roll to my side, then force myself to my knees. No one is paying me much attention, because there’s a melee going on against the glass. Everyone is fighting, even Evan, from what I can tell. I stumble to my feet, but I’m woozy as I make my way to the big brawl. I end up getting elbowed in the temple before someone swipes my legs out from under me. I land at a really weird angle, my right leg and foot pinned up under my body. I can’t get up a second time.
As the fight is broken up, the officials send the whole first string to the penalty box, and I’m still on the ground. It’s only then that anyone realizes I need some help, only then that the medics make their way out to me.
“Can you get up?”
No.
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
Don’t…know.
Things are blurry as I’m loaded onto a stretcher. The noises hurt my head. The lights of the arena are too bright.
Eventually, though, everything gets quiet. And dark.
I wake up in a hospital bed. I try to read the white board on the wall to see the date. I have no idea how long I’ve been out. My head feels like I got hit by a sledgehammer. My tongue feels dry and swollen. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was just totally hung over. But my leg is in a big brace, too, and I’ve got an IV in one arm and a heart monitor attached to my chest.
“Well, fuck,” I say, my voice sounding hoarse to my own ears.
“That about sums it up,” a familiar voice says from somewhere.
I look around and see Coach Brown sitting in a chair, reading the paper.
“Hey, Coach,” I say weakly.
“Strained ankle, torn knee PCL ligament, mild concussion,” Coach says.
I sigh. “Length of time for recovery?”
“Six weeks is what they say,” he answers. “The docs will be in soon to review with you. Light rehab can start in one week. We’ll play the rest by ear.”
“I’ll be back on the ice in three. I promise.”
“Hold your horses,” he says. “I want you out there healthy. Don’t push it.”
He tells me we held San Jose and that Evan scored two rapid-fire goals after my injury. “He was on fire, super pissed,” he says proudly. “I haven’t seen him fight like that in a long while.”
“I couldn’t follow what was happening,” I say.
“Yeah, ’cause you decided to get up from the first blow and insert yourself in the mess. You wouldn’t be here if you’d just stayed down, you idiot.”
“Sorry, Coach.”
He makes a face and folds up his paper. “Well, just wanted to catch you awake. Take your time getting better. We need you out there, Georg.”
Evan visits a bit later, and while he’s here he calls Holly on FaceTime. She tells me to get well soon, and shows me baby Danya, who is still a tiny thing but much cuter than in the immediate hours after she was born.
“That was such a wickedly cheap shot,” Evan says. “What a bunch of fucking tossers.”
I nod. “True.”
“What hurts the worst?”
“Head,” I answer. “Worst hangover ever.”
“Ugh,” Evan groans. “Sorry. I saw it coming…tried to get back to you, but it was too late. Viktor leveled the guy, but it was a chain reaction. Craziest fight I’ve seen in a long time. In any game. We’re still all over the highlight reels.”
We talk for a little bit longer but after a dose of pain medication, delivered by a distinctly not-nice nurse, I feel myself slipping into sleep. Evan gives me a fist bump and tells me to feel better soon.
When I wake up, someone is holding my hand. I blink a few times, my vision blurry. But there she is, blonde and pretty and smelling so fucking good. She’s also crying.
“Hey, now, I’m not dead.”
She gives me one of those ugly cry-smiles. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying, really. I just hate seeing you hurt.”
“I’ll be fine. Nothing some time with a really good physical therapist won’t cure.” Thank God she’s actually speaking to me. She had gone completely radio silent. But at least she’s touching me…
“I am up to the task,” she says with a nod and a swipe at her tears. “That’s actually why I came by.”
I’m sure it’s just the injury or the medication, but that statement really hurts. “You just came to talk about rehab?” I can’t hide the hurt in my voice and don’t even try.
“Well, I…” She shuts her mouth and looks out the window. “I am here in an official capacity, yes.”
“Oh.” I pick at the blanket with my other hand. “Well, let’s talk about the plan then.”
We meet each other’s eyes and I can see hurt in hers, though I can’t figure out where it’s coming from. I haven’t been able to work out why she bailed on me at the LINQ.
“What did I do, Pamela?”
Her jaw clenches. She lets go of my hand and backs up, sitting in the chair and pulling out her work notebook and a pen. “The concussion is the trickiest,” she says. “Let’s give you a week to alternate heat and ice on the ligament and ankle. The hospital will recommend a thousand milligrams of Ibuprofen every six hours, and I’ll concur. No need for heavier-duty pain management. Especially not since you…”
She stops mid-sentence but I know what she was going to say. “Have dependence concerns? Am possibly an alcoholic? No need to give me more shit to get addicted to.” I sound bitter.
Pam looks sad. She opens her mouth and shuts it again. She takes a deep breath. “Yes. It seems too risky. And frankly, I know you’ll want to get back on the ice as fast as possible and opioids will dull your reactions and thought processes. You don’t want that in a game like this.”
“Okay. I agree.” I’m abrupt, and so fucking ready to be finished with this conversation.
“With a concussion, it’s hard to know how long it will take for full recovery. I saw the video. You got your clock cleaned pretty good, but that the concussion was fairly mild. I’m sure your doctors will tell you that, on the hopeful side, it might be forty-eight hours, but it could also be weeks. Limited brain activity, big decision making, exposure to electronics…will all help the healing go faster.”
“Well, I don’t use my brain all that much, so it should go pretty fast,” I say with a laugh, which instantly hurts my head and makes me cringe.
Pam barely laughs. She’ll barely look at me. “The ligament and ankle, we can start with electric muscle therapy, heat, and ice. We’ll do some massage work on the m
uscles and then work our way back into stretches and strength. Sound good?”
“It all sounds fine.” I stare at her and wait.
Finally, finally, she looks up and meets my gaze. Her eyes are still watery from crying. I can feel that my mouth is set into a deep frown. “Pam, what happened? I thought we were becoming closer? Now you’re all professional and whatever that was the other night never happened? I don’t get it.”
She’s quiet for a few moments, then says, “It killed me to see you get hurt, Georg. I watched it on television. I wanted to come straight here. To crawl into bed beside you.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“Because I thought maybe I’d have to wait in line,” she answers in a whisper.
“Wait in line?” I ask, not comprehending. “I mean, Coach was here. Evan came by. Is that what you mean?”
She shakes her head and bites her bottom lip, looking out the window for a long moment. She seems to settle herself and with a big sigh, looks back at me once more. “So, now you’re on the IR—what does that mean for a trade?”
Great. Now she’s changed the subject once more. I let out a sigh that’s equally weighted to hers. Let her see I’m frustrated, too. Damn it, I’m the one who’s hurt here.
“No one wants an injured player added to their rosters. I’ll be off the table for trades for now,” I answer flatly. “It’s a good thing. And Coach said he needs me out there, healed up, so I feel like I’m on the other side of all of this trade talk. I really do need to get in there and get something in writing, though.”
I hate this. I hate that she won’t talk to me.
I look up at the ceiling, count to ten…and then push her one more time.
“Pamela.” I wait until she lifts her sad brown eyes and looks at me. “Please, will you fucking tell me what happened the other night?”
Twenty
That’s One Way to Hold Off a Trade
Pam
I put my hand up over my mouth, as if to forcibly keep inside everything I want to say to Georg. He looks so pathetic in the hospital bed, hooked up to wires, his gaze somewhat unfocused. His expression is confused, hurt, even a little angry. There is longing there, too. He’s wearing it all right now, I think because his injury prevents him from controlling himself like he normally would.
He’s never had a very good poker face in the first place. When he feels silly, he looks silly. When he’s happy, it’s obvious. When he’s mad, you know it. Georg really feels whatever is on his face in a given moment. Or rather, his face shows what he’s feeling in a given moment. And right now, I know I owe him an explanation.
“I’m sorry I ran out the other night,” I start. “I really am. It’s just that I saw Devon’s Instagram feed and there was a picture of you two together. Hearts and such in the caption. It was like a blow to the stomach to see it.”
“What picture?” he asks. He seems genuinely confused.
“It looked like you were in her car or she was in yours,” I say. “Taken not too long ago. I mean, I knew you were friends but I…well, we had just done something very intimate and I just—“
“You got spooked thinking I was two-timing you?”
“It’s not that—it’s impossible to two-time someone if you’re not in a relationship with them,” I say sadly. “We’ve never defined this thing between us, and it’s fine if it’s just casual. I just…I don’t know. I work with her. I don’t want there to be weirdness between us.”
“Devon is my friend, yes, but she’s just a friend. She helped me do an intervention with Ned. We drove him to a rehab facility. The only picture I know of is one she took right after we dropped him off.”
“I still don’t understand why she would caption it like she did. It says ‘this guy’ and has a string of red heart emojis. Like she wanted people to know she was with you. That you were special to her.” I know I sound jealous and petty, but I can’t help it. I feel the tears bubble up again and choke them down.
Georg just shrugs. It’s a really frustrating habit he has. “I don’t know what to tell you. She’s my friend. She helped Ned. She’s helping me. But there is nothing else between us. I already told you I’m only interested in one woman, and she is you.”
Just then, Dale comes in. He gives me a fist bump as he strolls past to appraise the patient.
“Got yourself into a bit of a pickle, hey there, champ?” Dale asks cheerfully. “That’s one way to hold off a trade.”
“Yebat’ sebya,” Georg growls in response.
“Yeah, I looked that one up, buddy,” Dale says. “That’s not very nice. Also physically impossible.”
“You’re so loud,” Georg says, teeth gritted in annoyance.
“He does have a concussion,” I point out. “Maybe take it down a notch. We were discussing his rehabilitation plan. It’ll be a few days, I suspect, before we can start any real work. And maybe one or two before some light work in the gym with you.”
“Guess I was late to the rehab party,” Dale says, only somewhat more quietly. “But really I came to wish you a speedy recovery. You’ve been playing great lately, and I hate to see you on your ass.”
“Thank you?” Georg’s response comes out more like a question.
I rehash the plan with Dale with the doctor in the room, but as we talk, I can see Georg nodding off, so we head into the hallway. Once we’re all in agreement, Dale offers to take me to get some coffee.
We head to the hospital coffee shop, and when I take my first sip of my mocha latte, I close my eyes and make a sound of satisfaction.
When I open my eyes, I find Dale grinning at me. “That good?”
“Better than I expected from a hospital. And much needed. Thank you. This was a good idea.”
“You’re welcome. So, are you and Georg a thing or what?”
My eyes about bug out of my head. “What? No. No, we’ve hung out a few times but we’re not…he’s not…”
I’m stammering. And Dale is smirking. “He’s not what? Not your boyfriend? Not interested in you? I have to disagree. He can’t keep his eyes off you when he’s around you. Not that I blame him. I’ve been trying to get your attention since day one. Are you not into guys? Please tell me you’re a lesbian or something, so I can feel better you haven’t noticed me yet.”
“I’m not a lesbian, Dale.”
“Damn.”
“I do care about Georg, though,” I say, not sure if I really should admit that to Dale. I’m not blind, and I have noticed that Dale is interested, but the mutual attraction just isn’t there? I know I’m not supposed to fraternize or whatever, but we started hanging out before I worked for the Crush. I don’t know if it can go anywhere, as I don’t perceive him as a guy who settles down, though he’s told me it’s what he wants. He wants to stay and play here, settle in for a while.”
“Well, that’s what he wants for his career,” Dale argues. “It doesn’t mean he’s ready to settle down in other parts of his life.”
“I get that,” I say. “And I’ve never been a settling-down kind of person either. I don’t even know if I want that, specifically, with him. But I’m interested in figuring it out.”
“So…you’re saying I have no shot?”
“I didn’t know there was a shot requested until three minutes ago.”
“Well, I’m shy. I was scared to ask you out.”
I give him a massive eye-roll in response. “Whatever. Your heart’s not that broken.”
“You’re right,” he says with a cocky grin. “But I do think you’re smart and sexy. When things crash and burn with Georg, I’ll be here to soothe your broken heart.”
“I’m pretty good at protecting my heart,” I answer with wink, standing and tossing my cup into the nearest trashcan. “Boom. Two points.”
I walk away knowing he’s watching, knowing he sees a confident woman walking away. But it’s a façade. I’m a fraud. My heart has already been compromised by someone who makes me feel anything but confident that it w
ill ever work out between us. It’s not that I think Georg is a liar, but he’s been proudly single for a long time now, and I’m not sure if I’m the girl who could truly bring about such a change in him. “I’m only interested in one woman, and she is you.” I want to believe…
I so want to believe.
Twenty-One
Pour Some Sugar on Me
Pam
“I can’t watch this,” Evan says. “I’m feeling seriously sick watching this shit.”
The Crush are playing like total garbage. With Georg out on IR and Evan on a brief paternity leave, the team is relying heavily on Mikhail and Viktor, and they just aren’t playing well together. Viktor is an enforcer. He’s big and solid but he’s not a strategic player. He’s not quick. And Mikhail is struggling without a solid defenseman at his six.
I’m watching the game at Holly and Evan’s house, and while Holly assures me that little Danya could sleep through a hurricane, I’m still nervous every time I yell at the television. This game is brutal.
“What the hell is going on with these refs?” Evan groans. “Seriously bad calls in every period. I shouldn’t have taken this much time off.”
“What, you being there would magically make the refs call the game better?” Holly asks.
“No, but I could be there to help Mikhail. It’s like he’s all alone out there.”
“Well, he needs a lesson like this, babe,” Holly argues. “He thinks he’s hot stuff and it’s good for him to see holding down that level of play is not as easy as he thinks.”
“I suppose,” Evan says dubiously, “but this is just painful.”
Holly gets up and stretches. “I’m going to get a snack, anyone want anything?”
“I’m good,” I say, looking down at the sleeping baby in my arms. She’s a beautiful little thing with a button nose and a head of dark hair.
