Page 29

That doesn’t mean I like it at all.

“We can get you into the OR first thing in the morning.”

“What does recovery look like?” I question him, staring down at my limb that has committed the ultimate betrayal against me. “Is there any chance I could play within the next month?”

He purses his lips, shaking his head as disapproval washes over his expression. “Absolutely not. Even if there are no complications with surgery, recovery, and rehab, you’re looking at a minimum of 12 weeks off. I cannot, in good conscience, clear you to play before then.”

Fuck.

Clearance from him will be my first step at getting back into the game. After that, comes clearance being granted from the team's medical staff. They won’t allow me to play without the surgeon okaying it first.

My hands are tied. Figuratively and almost literally.

Disappointment floods me. I’m officially out for the rest of the season.

“Okay,” I tell him, resignation sagging my shoulders as I lie back against the hospital bed. “Surgery it is.”

He rises to his feet, holding his hand out to shake my left. I reach for him, shaking it swiftly. “We’ll get you settled in a room for the night and take you first thing in the morning.”

“Just do whatever you have to do to get me back on the ice.”

He gives me a look—a look that says I better not push my fucking luck, before nodding and leaving the room. I may not always make the best decisions, but I’m not an idiot. I know better than to do something that will jeopardize my entire career...even if it means I have to sit out the rest of the playoffs.

The pain medications weigh my body down and I slowly inch up farther in the bed, careful not to disturb my casted arm. Ilaid awake most of the night last night and they took me in for surgery bright and early this morning. They discharged me after things were determined to be stable and Nate gave me a ride back to my hotel room.

According to the surgeon, surgery went as well as they expected. It was performed as an outpatient procedure, which is why they discharged me hours after cutting me open. They were able to repair the fracture in my wrist and secured things with a few pins. .

The pain meds are strong and my brain swirls with them, my eyelids heavy as I stare at the coffee table. Nate left to go pick up food, since he’s under strict orders to stay with me for 24 hours. Because of the anesthesia and medications, I’m not supposed to be alone, although I don’t need him.

My flight back to Aston is tomorrow around noon. I won’t be flying with the team because of time sensitive schedules, so Nate is planning on flying back with me then too. He’s a bit like a thorn in my side right now. I just want to be alone so I can sit with my fucking feelings over this whole ordeal.

It’s a bit of a mindfuck. We work so hard all season to make it to the playoffs, if we are lucky. It’s such a battle, a fight, and it feels so defeating to be forced to throw in the towel right now. Sure, our team still has a fighting chance, but not being there to help the guys feels like a blow to the chest and I’m not sure what to do with the whirlwind of emotions I’m feeling currently.

This is the first time in my career that I’m being forced to sit out during the most important part of the season.

My phone vibrates on the bed next to my leg, immediately gaining my attention and pulling me away from my spiraling thoughts. The screen lights up and the room shifts for a second. Closing one eye, I pick up my phone, squinting both eyes against the harsh light.

There’s a message notification, but it’s hard for me to make out the name on my screen. Tapping on it, my phone uses Face ID and unlocks the screen, directly opening up the message. My heart immediately skips a beat when I see who it is, a grin sliding across my lips.

Andi

Hey. I saw you’re out for the rest of the playoffs with an upper body injury. Are you okay?

Shit.I didn’t say anything to her about my injury. Hell, the only ones who knew I had to get surgery were the guys on the team. I’m not used to having someone I’m supposed to check in with—not that that is the case with Andi, but for some reason it feels like maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

Holding my phone in my right hand, it feels unnatural and awkward as hell as I attempt to move my thumb across the screen to type out a response. It takes me three different tries to spell out a single word before I let my hand drop with a defeated sigh. Someone probably should have just taken my phone because between the after effects from the anesthesia and the pain meds, I don’t think this is a great idea.

But Andi texted me and, given what has happened in the past, I don’t want her to think I’m dodging her again.

Lifting my phone back up, I tap on the screen, tapping on the video button in the corner. I watch as my face pops up and my eyes are barely open.It’s fine, I’m sure she won’t notice.My brows rise as I try to open them farther, attempting to not look fucked up from the medications. I stare back at myself at what looks somewhat wide eyed.

Andi’s face pops up on the screen, the sound ringing from the phone as my face slides to a smaller box in the corner. I can’thelp myself as a smile lifts my lips, lazy and comfortable as her hazel eyes search mine, her brow furrowing. “Are you okay?”

“I am now,” I tell her, my words slurring as I blink slowly, my eyelids half sticking together.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You look . . . off.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I tell her dismissively, my eyes rolling back before I focus on her again. “You don’t look off. I like looking at you, actually.”