Page 23

Chapter 22

Nash

I am as mentally prepared for this conversation as I can be, as I step into Coach Braddock’s office. Gabby is sitting in one of the chairs across from his desk, which isn’t surprising. She’s the one who witnessed the incident and it’s ethical of her to tell him, even if Bryce didn’t… which I’d bet money he did. I think Coach’s grim face confirms it as he leans forward in his desk chair and motions for me to sit down.

The gravity of what I did really sinks in as I lower myself into the chair next to Gabby. I mean, yeah, I knew there would be consequences, but fuck… something in me will die if he pulls me from the next game, let alone the series, or… god forbid… the rest of the playoffs. He would have reason to, I know this. I knew it as I was doing it. But I did it anyway. And I would do it again. So I square my shoulders and meet his eyes.

Only he doesn’t look pissed or disappointed or aggravated or any of the things I thought he should look. Coach Braddock looks… worried? I turn to glance at Gabby who also looks concerned. “I promise Bryce deserved what happened.”

“Yeah. I know,” Coach says, and my jaw unhinges. I quickly snap my mouth closed. “He told Gabby what he did to Tenley a long time ago, but as we both know the passing time doesn’t make it okay.”

My mouth falls open again. He told Gabby.

“We called you in for something else,” Gabby explains.

“What else is there?”

The words have no sooner left my mouth when there's a curt knock on the door I just closed. One hard rap and the team doctor walks in. He looks even more serious than Coach and Gabby and my stomach suddenly bottoms out like I just crested the dip on a roller coaster. I fucking hate coasters.

"Nash, we got your x-rays back," he says and holds up the iPad in his hand. I see an x-ray in outlines in bright greenish-blue and long slashes of white that make my leg look like a ham hock. "See this?"

I lean toward the tablet and narrow my eyes even though I don’t really have to. There’s a bright white blob in the middle of my leg, kind of behind my knee. It looks like someone dropped a dollop of Greek yogurt there or something. “Yeah. What is it?”

“Well, we aren’t one hundred percent sure. However, it looks like a tumor.”

I hear the word, but I don’t understand it. I don’t know what the hell that means, not in relation to me. My leg. I’m healthy. I’m fine. “That can’t be right. Let’s do another x-ray.”

“This is the other x-ray, remember?” Gabby says gently.

Oh. Right. They asked for this one because ‘something was off’ with the last one. “So it’s another tech issue?”

"It turns out it was never a tech issue," Coach says. He's talking softly, which he never does, and his expression is… well, parental. And it infuriates the hell out of me. Because this isn't happening. "Do you want to call your parents? Crew? We can talk about it more with them present. The doctor can explain it to them too."

“No. There’s nothing to explain.” I stand and the throbbing in my leg reminds me that this isn’t a mistake. Oh God. But it’s not that. “What the fuck? This isn’t happening.”

I sit again because my blood pressure just hit the ceiling and I’m panicking, which is making me lightheaded. Gabby puts a hand on my shoulder. Doc clears his throat. “We’re not saying it’s cancer, Nash. I need to be very crystal clear about that. There are many forms of benign tumors.”

I refuse to grab onto the branch of hope he’s waving in front of me. It feels like it’s too good to be true. “Well, so I need to find out for sure.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “I have a colleague in New York. He’s a top orthopedic oncologist. He can see you tomorrow.”

“I have…” I stop mid-sentence. We don’t have a game yet as the series isn’t finished between the Vegas Vipers and the Arizona Rattlers. They have a game six tonight. The earliest we will play, even if the series ends tonight, is two nights from now. But I had been planning on going to Silver Bay tomorrow. I’d already booked a flight and an Air BnB. I wanted to be there for Tenley.

“Nash,” Coach prods gently. God can he please just go back to being gruff and rough. It’s making me itch with annoyance. “We’ve taken the liberty of booking a red eye out tonight for you and Gabby.”

“Gabby?”

“Because the team is paying, we need a representative there and I can’t get away,” Doc explains.

“Oh. Yeah. Fine. I’ll make it work,” I say because I have to. I stand again. “So I will be able to get back in time for the start of the next series, right? It’ll just be a quick thing?”

Coach looks confused and glances at the doctor who looks at me like I just failed an IQ test. “Nash, your season is over.”

“No. Fuck no,” I bark it out like they’re all the biggest assholes I’ve ever met. “That isn’t happening.”

“Nash short of some kind of miracle, this is something that will have to be removed immediately,” the doctor says firmly. “It’s causing nerve pain, which is what you’re feeling. And removing it will require surgery and recovery.”

“But if your guy says I can skate, I can skate, right?”

He looks like I just said I can prove Santa Claus is real. He is that skeptical.

“And I am allowed, under the player bargaining agreement, to seek out my own second opinion, at my own cost. So if they say I can skate, then what?”

“Let’s not talk about second opinions until we get the first, okay?” Coach suggests as he stands behind his desk. “Should we call in Crew now?”

I shake my head. “I am not telling anyone anything until I know for sure what I’m dealing with.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Coach says.

“Okay. Well, I do,” I argue and I can see a scowl flicker across his face and I almost wish he’d get mad. This feels way too real when he’s empathetic. “I’ll tell my family when I have more information.”

Do I want to handle this alone ? I ask myself as I walk out of the office. No. Not even a little bit. But the only person I want to tell at this exact moment is Tenley and there's no way that's possible. She just made herself emotionally raw in front of our families to save my ass. She'll never admit it, but she did. And she's now running headfirst into a huge family crisis. She doesn't need me adding to it. And besides…

I swallow as I reach the parking garage, unlock my car, and slip inside, letting the entire painfully accurate thought finish in my head as my hand wanders to the back of my left knee and I press. Besides… she is not my real wife. She’s not even my girlfriend. She’s not someone who has to deal with this. She may have signed on to play house and dutiful WAG, but she didn’t sign on for this. This could be a life-altering thing. A career-ending thing. And she did not sign up for that.