Page 8

Chapter Eight

Hayden

“From your latest imaging, your hip has progressed to stage 3, which will explain your increased pain and stiffness,” Dr. Moore says.

There’s an MRI of my hips on her computer screen, showing the narrowing space between my joints. It doesn’t come as a surprise because I know my hips are fucked, along with my knees. It’s not uncommon for hockey players to develop osteoarthritis. We use our hips, knees, and ankles a lot more compared to the average Joe, playing through injuries and trauma all in the name of the game, but mine seems more… severe. Or maybe it’s just how my brain is reacting to my body consistently failing me.

I received my diagnosis during a follow-up of my third knee surgery. They wanted to do a full replacement, but the thought of having surgery for a fourth time while dealing with my depression wasn’t a good mix. Instead, I have bi-yearly scans to monitor the speed of deterioration and cortisone injections to manage the pain and swelling. It’s not a long-term fix, as Dr. Moore likes to remind me every time, that it can worsen the damage within the joint the more injections I have, but it gives me more time to come to terms with the fact I will need surgery in the near future. Maybe they can do it all in one go. Hips and knees. Double the surgery, only one recovery time.

“Am I going to need surgery?” I ask, giving voice to the thought.

“It depends on how it progresses, but yes, surgery is likely.”

I open my mouth to speak, but she holds up her hand, a patient smile on her face.

“I know your reluctance around surgery given the history with your knee, which I fully understand. And while I can’t force you to have the surgery, whether it be for your knees or your hip, I can advise it will improve your quality of life, Mr. Cassidy. It will significantly reduce the pain you’re experiencing and give you back some of the freedom you’ve lost over the years.”

Slipping off my glasses, I rub my eyes. I get what she’s saying, but with the way my brain is wired, there’s something that keeps asking, what’s the point? Why go through the agony of recovery after surgery, for what? I’m still going to be a broken man.

“Are there any alternative methods he can try first?” Zara pipes up.

Some might find it bizarre that my ex-wife comes to my appointments, but she knows how these appointments can cause me to spiral, and having her here for support is monumental .

“I know it’ll improve my quality of life, but I’m not ready for surgery just yet,” I say before Dr. Moore can respond. “Can we stick with the injections for now?”

When I put my glasses back on, she’s giving me a pointed look. I’d put money on it that she wants to shake me right now and demand I have the surgery so I can be out of pain and discomfort. I’m sure any other normal person would.

We don’t use that term, Hayden , Roberta’s voice filters through my mind.

I internally roll my eyes. She often has to remind me there’s no such thing as “normal,” but try convincing my brain of that.

“We can stick with the injections, yes, depending on your pain level. When I compared these images against your previous scan, it’s only just moved into the moderate stage of arthritis, so I’m reluctant to give you the injection too early as it won’t have the same impact as it will when the pain worsens.”

I drop my head back and stare up at the ceiling. The sense of defeat settles over me like a weighted blanket. Do these doctors not know how exhausting it is to be so reliant on medication just to get through the day? I know I’m my own worst enemy, and my issues will probably lessen if I go through with the damn surgery, but still.

“Can you rate your pain in your hip on a scale from one to ten? One being minor, ten being completely unable to function in your day-to-day activities?” she asks, typing something into her computer.

“About a five right now,” I murmur.

“Okay, that’s not too bad. I would personally recommend you wait on the injections, but ultimately, it’s your decision as you know your pain.”

I turn my head to look at Zara. She gives me a sad smile before looking back to Dr. Moore when she continues.

“Continue with the anti-inflammatories as and when required, and we’ll reassess in six months. However, if you need to see me earlier, you know you can call me.”

That isn’t any different from what I’m doing now, but I roll with it because I need to get out of this room. Out of this damn building. If I’m not in here, I’m not being made to think about surgery and how fucked-up I am. Not just mentally but physically.

“I can do that.”

“Also, I know your occupation requires you to travel around the country and Canada, but as we move into the winter months, try and keep your visits to places with colder conditions to a minimum. Cold weather can sometimes exacerbate the pain.”

My mind instantly goes to winters in Chicago. The snow, the frigid wind coming from the lake. If the best-case scenario in my plan does come to fruition and Jackson and I do get back together, how will I cope with my pain there? I don’t want Jackson to end up caring for me when I’m in too much pain to get out of bed.

He might not even want you. You’ll be a burden to him, and he’ll end up resenting you. Do you really think he will want you around his kids?

Numbness begins to replace the feeling of defeat, seeping down my body limb by limb. My eyes fixate on a mark in the muted gray carpet while my brain tries to fight off the voice .

It’s not real , I tell myself. Think of the jellyfish.

My vision blurs like I’m underwater, and I squeeze my eyes closed, forcing myself to picture the jellyfish in Roberta’s office. I’m aware of someone speaking, but everything becomes muffled. There’s an invisible heavy weight pressing against my chest, and my breathing spikes as my lungs struggle to inflate.

Baby steps.

One breath at a time.

When I begin to regain feeling back in my arms and legs and my breathing regulates, I open my eyes to see both of them watching me with cautious expressions. Pity flickers through Dr. Moore’s eyes, and that’s enough to get me moving.

“Okay, no problem. I can reschedule some meetings to video calls.” I stand up, ignoring the pain in my joints from standing so fast, and button my suit jacket. “If that’s all, I should be getting back.”

Zara’s frowning, but thankfully, she doesn’t call me on my bullshit. We’re silent as we exit the hospital and head to her car in the parking lot. She usually drives me to my appointments because I never know if I’ll end up getting an injection, and there are strict instructions to rest for a few days after.

“What was that all about?” she asks once we’re in the car.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t act dumb with me. Something happened in there. Like a mini panic attack or something.” Her face softens. “Is it because she said you’re probably going to need surgery? ”

With a sigh, I tell her the thoughts I had about the surgery and the negative voice running through my mind about Jackson.

Her voice is quiet when she asks, “Does he know?”

I shake my head.

“ Hayden .” She scowls. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know. I bet you haven’t told him the reasons for your tattoos either?”

“No, I haven’t told him anything.”

She presses her lips together, clearly wanting to give me an earful of exactly how wrong she thinks I am, but she remains silent. For the entire drive back to my house, I stare out of the window and wonder what Jackson would think. Is this some kind of karma for how I treated him? For abandoning him when he needed me the most? Or have I just been dealt a shitty hand in life, and the only good thing is the multiple figures in my bank account?

We drive back in silence, and when Zara pulls up in front of my house, I’m feeling awkward.

“Thanks for driving me,” I say, then place my hand on the handle to open the door, but she engages the lock, preventing me from getting out.

I turn to her with a frown.

“You’re welcome. You know I’ll always take you because I care for you, Hayden, but I’m pretty sure Jackson does too. I think you need to be more vulnerable with him in order for you to move forward. Open up. Share your thoughts and struggles with him. Give him something to see you’re not the same guy who was scared of his own feelings.” She smiles softly. “He’s shown you a photo of his kids. That’s a big fucking deal. He’s letting you in despite being hesitant, so do the same for him. Give him a chance to see you .”

Zara presses the button to unlock the doors, but I don’t move. I chew on the inside of my cheek, digesting her words.

She’s right. I’ve made the first move to try and make amends, but I’m still filled with fear. Still preparing myself for rejection and going against what I told myself I would do. I can’t grow if I’m cutting myself off at the stem.

“Thanks, Zara.” I reach over and give her hand a squeeze. “I appreciate you.”

“I know.” She winks. “Now, get out of my car because I need a big-ass coffee and an In-And-Out burger before Connor gets home from training.”

I grin and push open the door. “Okay, okay. I’m going. Later.”

We say our goodbyes, and I head inside with my phone burning a hole in my pocket. I place it on the arm of the couch and head into my bedroom to strip out of my suit, swapping my pants for sweats and my shirt for a soft ribbed Henley. In the kitchen, I make myself a coffee and whip up an omelet before taking a seat on the couch, angling myself to look out onto the patio leading to the beach. I bought this house two years before I retired, thinking it wouldn’t be used until I was in my forties and ready to take up golf as a full-time hobby. It’s all one story, with a garage built in underneath, and a patio that backs onto a beach. In hindsight, I wonder if past me subconsciously knew I would need a property like this, with no stairs inside to contend with, a lot earlier than I anticipated .

I finish eating my omelet and put my empty plate on the coffee table. Then, I prop a cushion beneath my knee to elevate it slightly and settle back against the couch cushions. Although I sent Jackson a text this morning with a photo of the sunrise peeking out over the horizon, I take another photo of my view from the couch and send it.

Jackson

Damn, what a view. I would be out on that beach every day if I lived there.

It’s nice. I love falling asleep to the sound of the water, it’s so relaxing.

Jackson

I think I’d be relaxed all the time having the beach outside my back door.

Sometimes it is, but sometimes it can cause discomfort. Walking over soft sand with bad knees isn’t a fun experience.

Jackson

You still struggle after your ACL repair?

You could say that.

Jackson

Shit, I’m sorry. I had no idea.

I suck in a deep breath. Okay, here goes nothing.

It isn’t something I advertise, and the league surely didn’t want it to be known that their recommended specialist doctor did a number on me.

Jackson

Wait, what?

Ah, this wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have over text. Can I call you?

Jackson

Give me ten minutes, I’m just leaving the rink. I’ll call you when I’m home.

My stomach swoops like a damn fun slide, and my palms start to sweat. I can do this, right? I can open up and give him a glimpse into what these last few years have been like for me without trauma dumping on him. He doesn’t need to know about the times I wanted to put an end to things once and for all. He doesn’t need to know about Roberta. But he can know about my struggles with osteoarthritis and how it’s a result of the game. Maybe it’ll give him a mini wake-up call not to ignore the signs and to seek treatment at the first sign of discomfort so he doesn’t end up like me.

Maybe it’ll be an olive branch into something I want more than anything.

A chance.

Unable to sit still while my body trembles with nerves, I get up and put my plate in the dishwasher before making another coffee to keep myself busy.

Why does ten minutes feel like ten hours when you’re waiting for a phone call?

Finally, my phone vibrates on the cushion as I sit back down. I take a deep breath and swipe my finger across the screen to accept, not wanting my excitement to show in my voice.

“Jackson, hey. How was practice? ”

“Hey. Yeah, it was good. Coach has been trying a few new things to get ready for tonight, and I gotta say, it’s looking good.”

“That’s great to hear. I’m sure you’ll smoke Winnipeg into dust.” I swallow hard. “So, uh… What I mentioned in the text, it’s not common knowledge. As far as I’m aware, the guys I represent on the team don’t know, and neither does Peyton.”

So, in other words, please don’t tell anyone.

There’s a moment of silence, and I’m almost certain the call has disconnected until he speaks, and I can hear the sorrow in his tone.

“I saw you had it propped up in your photo earlier. It’s not just your ACL now, is it?”

“No. I was diagnosed with osteoarthritis after my third surgery. I’ve just come back from the hospital, where they told me it’s also in my hips.”

“Fuck, Cas, I…” He trails off. “Fuck. I don’t know what to say to any of that. The fact you’ve had three surgeries or that you’ve got arthritis. Like, you’re thirty-nine. You’re not old.”

I chuckle under my breath, trying not to think too hard about the way he slipped and used his old pet name for me so easily. The times that three-letter word would spill from his lips when I made him come. It’s a sound I’ve never forgotten.

“I appreciate the compliment because I sure feel like I’m seventy-nine most days, but I started playing hockey at a very young age. And you know I wasn’t the best at listening to my body when it was telling me to rest or have a visit with the trainer. ”

He grunts. “You didn’t get any better at that after I left, then, huh?”

“No.” I grin. “If anything, I got worse.”

There’s another beat of silence, but this time, I don’t feel concerned. I can practically hear his brain digesting everything.

“I’m sorry that you’ve had to go through all of this,” he says, sounding genuinely sympathetic. “It can’t be easy.”

“It isn’t, but you know, I’ve got the California sun to ease some of the aches, and the view isn’t too bad either.”

“That’s true. That’s a big perk.” He huffs a laugh, and then his voice takes on an emotion I can’t quite decipher. “Thank you for telling me. I can imagine it was hard, considering nobody really knows, so thank you. For trusting me with it.”

A lump forms in my throat. I didn’t know how cathartic it would feel to tell someone else. Apart from Zara, Roberta, and Dr. Moore, I’ve been battling it alone. And just having someone else know, who understands the struggles athletes face when it comes to either coming to terms with an injury or, in my case, an injury that results in hanging up my skates earlier than I was ready… It feels… revitalizing.

“Thanks for listening.”

Another silence.

“I… I better go and nap ahead of our game tonight, but, uh… I’m here if you need someone to talk to. Or… you know, send more random facts about jellyfish.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

A bark of laughter escapes me. “Hey, don’t diss. Jellyfish are cool.”

“As long as they stay the hell away from me and my kids, sure. I’ll think they’re cool with a thick pane of glass between us.”

My smile is so fucking wide my cheeks hurt.

“Thanks, Jax. I hope you have a good game tonight.”

We hang up, and for the first time in years, there’s a spark of happiness ignited inside of me.