Page 48

HAYES

Doctor Ableman is a middle-aged man with a kind face, a large mustache, and a no-nonsense demeanor. He asks Jacob about his symptoms, taking notes as Jacob hesitantly describes the migraines, light sensitivity, trouble sleeping, nausea, and mood swings. As I hear him list what he’s been going through without sharing it with Shawn and me, I lean against the wall. We’re supposed to be brothers who share everything. He kept telling us that, but I guess it only works one way.

On the bed, Jacob looks pale and drawn, his eyes watery and mouth tight. He’s removed his helmet but is still wearing his gear, which the doctor asks him to remove for a brief examination.

When the assessment is complete, Doc takes a seat on the edge of the bed and folds his hands in his lap. “Jacob, these symptoms are consistent with concussion, more specifically post-concussive syndrome. We’ll need to run more tests to confirm, but, for now, I’m recommending immediate rest and a complete stop to all hockey-related activities.”

Jacob’s face pales, and his eyes close. “For how long?”

The doctor hesitates. “It depends on how your body heals. Recovery can take weeks, months. Sometimes even longer. The important thing is to give yourself the time and care you need.”

Coach, who’s been listening quietly, exhales heavily. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Drayton?”

Jacob stares at his feet, the official diagnosis weighing on him in a way I can’t appreciate. How would I feel in his shoes? Raw. Terrified. Relieved. I don’t even know.

“I didn’t want to let the team down,” Jacob says, his voice cracking. He clears his throat. “And… I need to get drafted to win the cup.”

Coach’s face softens, but his tone is firm. “Your health is more important than anything else. More than hockey, more than this team. We’ll figure it out, but for now, you’re benched until the doctor clears you.”

Jacob nods, but the tension in his body doesn’t ease.

“We’ll leave you to get ready,” Doctor Ableman says, nodding to Coach to leave the room. I stay with Jacob, worried he might pass out while he’s trying to dress himself.

The first thing he says when we’re alone is “fuck.” Then he slides his legs off the bed and reaches for his shirt. His back is covered in tattoos of twisting snakes and flowers, a duality he’s never fully explained to me. I always thought he saw himself as the reptile, sleek, quick, and deadly, but now I’m wondering if he’s the flowers and hockey is the serpents, always circling, constricting, slowly killing. I gulp.

“Jacob… I’m not going pro.”

His shoulders stiffen, but he doesn’t turn to look at me. “What?”

“I’m done after this season,” I say, the words steady but difficult. “I’m going to tell Coach. I’m not pursuing a professional career.”

He turns and stares at me through narrowed eyes, like I’ve just told him the sky is green and the ice is hot. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah.”

The disbelief in his eyes shifts to something else. Betrayal. “Why the hell not? Hockey’s always been your thing, Hayes. You… you can’t. Why would you just walk away?”

“Because I don’t want it,” I say plainly. “I never really did. Hockey’s been a part of my life for so long that I convinced myself it was what I wanted, but it’s not. I’ve been holding onto it because it’s what we did together… it’s who we were, but I’m ready to leave it behind.”

Jacob looks like I’ve knocked the wind out of him, and he stands still, body braced so tight that I worry he’s on the brink of exploding. Then, his voice drops, quieter now. “So, what? You’re just giving up?”

“No,” I say firmly. “I’m choosing something else. Something that makes me feel like I’m building a future I want.” I rest my hand on his back. “You know, when Coach asked you why you didn’t tell him, you gave him reasons, but you never said that you love hockey and couldn’t face not playing again. It was all about expectations but nothing about passion. If hockey’s not what you want any more, that’s okay. You can do the same, Jacob.”

He shakes his head, his hands raking through his hair. “It can’t be that simple.”

“It can. It is.”

He exhales sharply, his hands falling to his sides. “What if I’m not good at anything else?”

“Do you even know you? You’re good at everything. You’re smart, you’re stubborn, and you give a damn about everything. Whether it’s business, coaching, or something else entirely, you’re going to be successful.”

Jacob doesn’t respond right away, but the weight of his fears shifts as he leans forward, elbows on his knees, and shakes his head. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start with getting better,” I say. “Take the time to focus on yourself for once. Me and Riley and Shawn—we’ll be here. You’re not alone.”

“Thanks,” he says, his voice low, meeting my eyes, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him look like this since we found out about Dad. Hopeless. Scared. Guilty.

I just need him to know that this isn’t the end. It’s the beginning.

“Do you remember what Chuck Kowsinski said when he retired?”

Jacob shrugs, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt.

“He said that hockey had been his life up to that point, and now he was writing chapter two. It’s time for you to do the same.”

When we were growing up, none of us ever imagined life without hockey, but things change, and people grow, and once Jacob accepts how he feels, he’ll be free. But will he accept the truth?