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Chapter Nineteen

“Covering sports in the Richland & Three Corners region isn’t just a job, it’s a passion. Behind every game, every win, every loss is a story waiting to be told. #LoveMyJob #LocalLegends #Renegades #IBleedSilverAndBlue.” Renegades Rinkside Report

Novy

We hit P.T. and the team doctor removed his cast. While I’d intended to hang out near the team chef, somehow I got swept into the exam room with Boh instead of going to wait in the player dining area. He wasn’t cleared by Brightside yet, so the Renegades staff kept things simple. The visit flew by as my mind was consumed by all the details Boh hid from his concussion doctor.

When we returned to the apartment, Boh headed straight for the couch, pulling up his latest K-drama and by the looks of it, settling in for a serious veg-out in front of the television. Probably too much stimulation with the vibration of driving, with the bright lights of Brightside, and noise at the Renegades facility.

But then, Boh wasn’t keen on revealing the truth of his medical condition, that was for sure. I felt torn again. I didn’t want to call him out on his deception, but I hated that he could be putting himself at risk for further injury.

I headed to my room and turned on my laptop. Dr. Altman’s words replayed in my mind. He’d asked so many specific questions, targeted questions about mood swings and sensory issues, both of which plagued Boh. While he no longer winced looking out the window and quick movements no longer seemed to phase him, he’d held back about the mood swings.

Google helped me out as I pulled up articles about hockey and concussions. I felt dumb for not having thought it through, despite my research for Scout. I read about cases of hockey players dealing with rage issues not unlike boxers and NFL players. I read about TBIs and CTE and an hour later, my insides had turned to mush and chills prickled between my shoulder blades.

I was terrified for Boh.

Boh’s swift shifts in mood, his catapulting from easy-going to enraged, his struggle to calm down, all fit the profile of a serious brain injury. He’d lied and lied and lied to Dr. Altman.

I charged out of my bedroom, geared up to take a rip into Bohdan Zacha. How dare he put his health at risk? How dare he be so frivolous about his future?

He sat on the couch, his arms spread wide along the back, his feet propped on the leather ottoman. I rounded the couch to see his face. His gaze flitted to mine before returning to the drama playing out on the screen behind me.

He looked tired, little lines carved into the sides of his mouth, a looseness to his jaw. My heart clenched. I sighed and plopped onto the sofa beside him. Staring at the shadow of a beard along his jaw, I thought of the best way to voice my concern. What if I upset him? I didn’t want to upset him, but I didn’t like his choices.

But who was I to have an opinion on his choices?

I was his Designated Medical Guardian, his not-a-date dinner companion.

“Yes, Novy,” he said, eyes trained on the television.

“What?”

“Say whatever you’re dying to say.” He slanted me a quick glance. “And stop staring.”

I sighed. “Look,” I said, “I sat right there beside you at your appointment, Boh. I heard the questions Dr. Altman asked. Heard your answers, too. And it got me thinking—”

“Of course it did.” He turned to face me on the couch.

“And I know about your symptoms, Boh. I know you have had headaches—”

“Because I slept in after your derby match?”

“Because you took pain meds and slept in and all the times when you touch your temple when you think no one sees. And besides headaches, some of those things you told Dr. Altman—”

“Not sure when I asked your opinion, Novy.”

I slumped into the couch, locked my gaze onto the television, read the subtitles as they flashed on the screen. He wasn’t wrong. I shouldn’t meddle in his business. While he didn’t remember me from any of the Renegades events—and who could blame him? I never sought him out, either. But he hadn’t felt like a stranger to me for a long while now. What happened to my decision to be his friend? He’d flirted at dinner then turned into a ragey jerk, but that shouldn’t axe my determination to be his friend.

And if these were the decisions he was making on his own, he needed a friend. Someone to point out the risks and demand he be honest with himself, at the very least. If he accepted those risks with his eyes wide open, I could respect his decisions. But I got the idea that Boh was operating from a place of fear, denial. As though if he didn’t admit to any perceived weaknesses, that would make them disappear.

I understood. At least, in theory I understood. But I’d never lived with a life-changing condition or had my future at risk because of an injury.

“I’m living with you,” I finally said. “You’re a human being I care about. We’re living together—”

“ Sakra, don’t make it sound like it’s more than it is. You were hired to do a job.”

I winced, the blow landing just as brutally as he intended. So much for friendship. “And yet the fact remains that I am living with you and I can see how things truly are. And you flat out lied to that doctor. What if your symptoms get worse because you pushed too hard too early?”

He fumed, staring straight ahead, a little muscle along his jaw popping as he clenched his teeth. “I don’t need you to worry about me.”

I wiggled to face him again, one leg bent up beneath me. “You do. You really need someone to worry about you.”

He shoved up off the couch, tossed the remote down where he’d been sitting. “Keep your pity. I know the concussion spiel. I know what to watch out for. I fucking know what my body is capable of. What I am capable of. And a little headache now and then is not going to keep me off the ice.”

“It’s not pity—”

“You think Coach Trasier is sitting there holding my spot, just waiting for me to get back on my skates? He is not. He is training up my replacement. My replacement is doing drills, learning our systems, and preparing to take my place on the team.” He slashed his hand through the air. “My entire life is hockey. They’ll have to carry me off the ice in a body bag. You wanna tell me some doctor in his little box at the crazy house is going to take the only thing I give a damn about away? Not fucking happening.”

“You have to be honest with the doctor. He is looking out for your health, Boh. He’s not working against you, not trying to keep you away from your work. He just wants you to be safe.”

“We’re not having this conversation. I don’t remember reading anything in our contract about you sticking your nose in my business.”

I jerked back, fingers rolling into a fist in my lap. Before I could say anything more, he stormed into his office.