Page 24 of Defensive Zone (Chicago Thunder #3)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Zach

We’re less than two weeks away until the start of the postseason, and tonight we’re facing off against Toronto. I haven’t heard from Brody since his trade, and I haven’t seen him since we played in New Jersey before the holidays. I would usually be a little cheerier about seeing my brother again, but this headache I’ve had since we played in Denver has put a damper on my mood. First I put it down to the altitude and the powerful tidal wave of endorphins that came from having sex with Carter, but it hasn’t eased up.

If anything, it’s progressively getting worse.

So, this morning I decided to skip out on the optional skate to play two-on-two soccer with some of the guys instead, then after I had lunch, I went home for my pregame nap and slept for longer than usual in hopes it would help.

It didn’t make a single bit of difference.

But am I going to tell anyone about it? Hell no. We’re about to head into the playoffs, and I’m not going to let it get the better of me. I’ve played through injuries multiple times over the years, and this headache will be another one to add to the list.

I will not let my team down now.

The mood in the locker room is calm and collected as we get dressed ahead of warm-up. I have my headphones, listening to my pregame playlist as I lace up my skates. Occasionally, I close my eyes, willing the dull throb behind the back of my eyes to go away.

Ten minutes later, we’re heading down the tunnel and stepping out onto the ice. I immediately wince as the glare off the ice burns my retinas and the sound of the loud music hits my ears. A wave of nausea comes over me, but I push through a few laps of our end of the ice.

Movement catches my eye in one of the corners on one of my laps. I look up and come to a stop when I see Jackson’s kids, Isabela and Ryan, standing up against the boards with wide, excited smiles on their faces. They’re both wearing Thunder jerseys with “Daddy” on the back and Jackson’s number. Isabela jumps up and down, slapping her little hands against the plexi as she tries to get our attention.

“Well, if it isn’t the coolest Wildes!” Elliot grins, knocking his blocker against the glass.

“I would take offense to that if it wasn’t true.” Jackson chuckles, appearing next to me to greet his kids.

Picking up two pucks from the ice, I take off my glove and pass them to the kids through the small opening photographers use before heading back to the bench and having a drink. As I squirt some water into my mouth, I look up toward where Carter normally sits a few rows behind home bench with Alex. He’s watching me with a slight frown on his gorgeous face.

Sometimes I hate that he knows me so well, because he can read me like the back of his hand, and he knows something’s up.

But before I can react, Elliot knocks his shoulder against mine and asks, “You okay, big guy?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I’m not going to confess my pain.

The doctor said that it could be months until it eases up—if ever—but it’s not good enough, and the more headaches I have, the more I wonder if the decision on when my career comes to an end is going to be taken away from me.

“Have you spoken to the big bro yet?” he asks.

I glance over to where Toronto are warming up on the other side of the ice, and a lump thickens in my throat when I spot Brody waiting at the blue line, watching me with a scrutinizing glare. That’s nothing new. Brody always seemed to have an issue with everything I did, even about the way I tied my laces or the way I taped my stick. I would always do something wrong in his eyes, and clearly, there’s something he’s unhappy about now.

“No, but I better go as it looks like I’m being summoned.”

Elliot snorts, tapping my ass with his stick before skating off toward the net.

With a sigh, I skate over to the blue line where he’s shifting from skate to skate. His brows pinch as I get closer, and I’m about to make a snide remark when he asks, “Are you okay?”

I let out a choked noise in surprise. Holy shit. This is new, and I’m not quite sure how to take it.

“I’m fine,” I say, trying to hide my shock at his genuine concern.

His frown deepens, but I’m glad when he doesn’t push me on it.

“Shall we get this over with?” I ask, motioning to the waiting reporter.

We smile for the mandatory brotherly love photo we always have to take for the media whenever we play against each other, then he motions for me to follow him to center ice.

“So, how are you liking Toronto?” I ask. Hopefully I can distract him from the fact that he knows something’s up, and he’ll leave me alone.

“It’s good. I like it. Nice city, nice people.”

“It’s Canada, what do you expect? Everyone’s nice in Canada.” I chuckle, and that earns me a small laugh.

Holy shiiiit. What is going on right now?

“True, but… I dunno, I feel better now that I’m out of New Jersey. I didn’t realize how much I needed to get out until I got out, if that makes sense.”

I nod. “Yeah, it makes sense.”

He eyes me for a beat, his gaze bouncing over my face like he’s trying to figure me out. My shoulders stiffen on instinct beneath my pads, preparing myself for whatever verbal jab he’ll throw my way, but it doesn’t come.

“How’s your head? Mom mentioned you’ve been getting migraines.”

“It’s fine,” I quickly dismiss. “I’m fine.”

The muscle in Brody’s jaw ticks as he seems to bite back his response.

“I better go warm up.” I motion behind me with my stick. “It was good to see you.”

I don’t turn around to see if he’s gone back to his own warm-up as I skate off, dropping down onto the ice and going through my stretches before I join the rest of the guys taking shots on net. As I skate around, my vision begins to swim. My teammates become blurry, and the dull, throbbing pain begins to grow behind my eyes.

Fuck, not now.

Taking off my glove, I rub at my eyes under my visor, trying to do it as subtly as possible so I don’t get the attention of eagle-eyed Ethan, but it’s no use. The brightness of the ice causes my head to pulsate, the pressure increasing until it feels like it’s about to split in two. Yep, it’s definitely turning into a migraine.

I startle slightly when Jackson skates up to me and places a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, man, are you okay?” he asks, but his voice sounds so far away.

There’s only two minutes left of warm-up. Maybe if I head back to the locker room now, I can sit down and drink some water, and it’ll pass. Maybe Joe will be able to give me some pain meds to take the edge off so I can get through the game, then I can rest tonight and all of tomorrow. The painted lines on the ice blur as I make my way toward the bench, stumbling slightly when I step over the ledge and head down the tunnel.

“Zach?” someone calls out, but I ignore them and move toward the locker room.

I feel so fucking woozy, like I could throw up from the pain in my head. If I could sit down and close my eyes for five minutes, I’d be okay.

I’m aware of someone gripping my bicep and guiding me into the training room. I slump onto the nearest chair, dropping my stick and gloves to the floor before taking off my helmet. Pressing the heels of my palms into my temples, I close my eyes and rest my elbows on my knees.

Fuck, it’s like my head is trapped in a vise and the only bit of relief is the pressure I’m applying to my temples, which sounds crazy as fuck considering the pain I’m experiencing is the pressure building in my head.

I take slow, measured breaths through my nose, hoping the nausea will soon subside. An ice pack is pressed to my forehead, and I stiffen. When I open my eyes, Joe is crouched in front of me, concern etched into every inch of his face.

“How long have you had a headache for?” he asks.

“When do I not have a headache?” I grumble. “Sometimes it’s fine, it’s more tolerable. But this one has been here for days. It started when we were in Denver. I didn’t say anything because if I told anyone I have them that often, I’d never get out on the ice.”

He frowns. “Zach, you need to tell us when you’re struggling. Migraines are common after a concussion, but we can’t help you if you don’t work with us.”

Rubbing a hand over my face, I let out a heavy sigh. “I know. It’s just… It’s exhausting, you know? Every day I wake up and I don’t know how I’m going to feel. I’m constantly on edge, wondering if one is going to strike and knock me on my ass.”

“I understand that, but if we don’t know, we can’t try and prevent it from progressing into a full-blown migraine. Chris is a magician, if you didn’t know,” he says teasingly.

I huff out a laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He taps my knee pad. “Just talk to us. We can help you, but you’ve got to stop hiding how you’re feeling.”

“I’m going to be scratched tonight, aren’t I?”

He nods solemnly. “Yeah, most likely. I’ll go and speak with Coach Harris, but I think it’s best.”

I close my eyes again as he leaves the room to find Coach, and I rest my head back against the wall. The ice pack gives some relief, and I’m thankful the training room is pretty quiet and dark.

I’m so fucking pissed at myself, at my head, at Mueller for knocking me into the boards in the first place.

I’m not sure how much time has passed until the door creaks open, and I hear Carter’s voice. “Zach? What happened?”

Opening my eyes, I tilt my head to look at him and give him a small smile. “Tried to be strong. Thought I could fight through it.”

He sighs, sitting down on the seat next to me and curving his hand over my thigh. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Maybe instead of putting you on IR, they can assess it game by game?”

“Mhm, yeah, maybe.”

Carter wraps his arm around my shoulders, hauling me closer. It’s awkward with my padding, but I rest my head on his shoulder as his hand finds my hair, massaging my scalp in that relaxing way he always does.

As expected, Coach agrees with Joe that I’m going to be scratched from tonight’s line-up, and I need to see Chris tomorrow for an assessment. I stay in the training room with Carter until the nausea eases off, and then during the first period, I head into the locker room and take a shower with the lights off. Carter sticks close by in case I need him.

“I saw you speaking to Brody. Did he have much to say?”

I shrug. “No, but it was really weird… He seemed genuinely concerned about me. He didn’t make any backhanded comments or anything.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “Wow. Maybe this move has been good for him?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

I hope so. I know we haven’t always gotten along, but I do want the best for my brother. So, I hope this move to Toronto works out well for him.

We wait until the first intermission before leaving so I can say goodbye to the guys and reassure them that I’m okay, and as we head down the corridor and pass the visitors’ locker room, I stop in my tracks when I see Brody step out.

“Hey, lil’ bro,” he says, a sheepish smile on his face.

We couldn’t be any more different. His hair is cut short on the sides with only a few inches of length on top. His eyes are brown, matching our dad’s. He’s a few inches shorter and a hell of a lot lighter than me too.

“Hey.”

Nothing could have prepared me for Brody wrapping his arms around me in a hug. This is the first time I think he hugged me since he was drafted at eighteen, and that was only because it was being aired on national TV and he had to keep up appearances.

I eye Carter over Brody’s shoulder as I return the hug, and his expression tells me he’s just as shocked as I am.

When Brody takes a step back, he runs a hand through his damp hair and lets out a shaky exhale. “I know I haven’t always been a good brother to you, and I’m really sorry for everything. I just… Fuck.” His voice cracks as he looks up at the ceiling, as if the concrete beams will give him answers. “If I hadn’t been such an asshole to you over the years, maybe I could have been there for you through all of this. I didn’t realize how severe your concussion was. I didn’t know that it was still impacting you like this, and I wish there was something I could do to help.”

My mouth drops open as I blink at my older brother. If it weren’t for Carter standing beside me, I would think I’m imagining it.

My brother just… apologized.

To me .

I didn’t think he was capable of showing remorse toward me.

“I appreciate that, Brody. I’m doing okay in the grand scheme of things. Yeah, I struggle with migraines, but I’m okay.” I squeeze his bicep and clear my throat. “Thanks for this. It means a lot.”

He nods a few times, rolling his lips between his teeth. The door to the locker room opens, and he thumbs over his shoulder. “I better get back in there.”

“Yeah… It was good to see you.”

He nods again, then looks at Carter. “It’s about time you realized he’s the best thing to ever happen to you.”

Carter’s eyes light up in a smile as they meet mine. “I know. I’m one lucky guy.”

“You are. Make sure you look after him.”

“Always have, always will,” Carter replies.

Brody smiles, then disappears back into the locker room.

“Whoa,” Carter says in disbelief as we make our way to the parking lot. “Who would’ve thought the day would come when he acknowledged he has been an asshole to you?”

I shrug, taking his hand in mine. “I didn’t, but I’m glad he did. Like you said, maybe the trade has been the best thing that could happen to him.”

We’re quiet as Carter drives us back to my apartment. I close my eyes, resting my head against the headrest, and twenty minutes later, we’re in my bedroom. Carter closes the blackout curtains as I strip out of my clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor before climbing under the duvet as he quickly gets undressed and slips under the covers with me.

On instinct, I curl into him. Reveling in his body heat and the feel of his warm skin against mine and the prickly hair on his legs as he thrusts his thigh between mine. He wraps his arms around me and presses a kiss to my forehead, and my eyes burn at the tender move.

“I’m sick of feeling like this, Carter.” My voice breaks as I allow my emotions from the night to come to the surface. “I’m sick of these headaches. I’m sick of them impacting my game.”

“I know, baby. I wish there was something I could do to make it better for you.”

“But what if they don’t go away? I don’t know if I’m ready to give up hockey just yet.”

I always thought I would retire on my terms. Right now, I’m not so sure, and I don’t know how to feel about that.