Cement Heart(26)

The chaplain?

My heart starting pounding so hard I was worried it was going to explode right there in the waiting room. “The chaplain? What the fuck for?”

“He has no brain function… at all. Michelle’s decided to donate his organs while they’re still viable.”

No brain function.

Donate his organs.

My brain repeated what Brody said over and over but refused to comprehend it. How could this be happening? It was just hockey. You’re not supposed to die from playing hockey. You’re also not supposed to kill your best friend. My hands started to tingle as I wiped away a thin layer of sweat that had formed above my lip.

Louie turned away from the group and around to face me. His eyes grew huge and his jaw dropped when he looked at me. “Viper, are you okay? You look like shit.”

Ignoring his comment, I moved over to a chair in the corner, as far away from him and everyone else as possible.

I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening. I didn’t understand it. How could a young, healthy man be alert and smiling one minute and the next his brain was gone? How was I ever going to look at Michelle or his kids again? It was hard enough when I was worried that I’d broken his arm or something stupid. I would give anything for a broken arm instead of this.



Throughout the day, people filtered in and out of the room, each going in and taking their turn saying good-bye to Mike. I pretended to be asleep most of the time so people would leave me alone. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to hug. I just wanted to be left alone.

With my eyes shut and my head leaning against the wall, I felt someone sit down next to me. “You can pretend all you want, but I know you’re not sleeping,” Brody said.

“Yes, I am. Go away,” I insisted.

“Almost everyone is gone, you know. You can sit up now.”

I opened my left eye just enough to see that the only people left in the room were Taylor, Brody, Michelle, Louie, and Ross. “Where’s Kacie?” I asked.

Brody’s elbows were resting on his knees, his hands folded out in front of him. “She’s in with Mike,” he answered quietly, wiping the corner of his eye.

I took a deep breath. “Did you already go in?”

He nodded and then looked at me. “You’re the only one left, other than Michelle, who’s going in last.”

Fuck.

I hadn’t seen Mike at all since they’d wheeled him off the ice on a stretcher, and this was the last place I wanted to have a reunion  .

“I don’t think I’m going in,” I said flatly, closing my eyes again so I didn’t have to see Brody’s disapproving glare.

“What the fuck do you mean you’re not going in?” His voice was low and stern. Turns out I didn’t need to see his glare when his voice was that thick with judgment.

“Just what I said. I’m not going in,” I repeated.

“Why?”

I finally lifted my head off of the wall and grimaced as I turned toward him slowly. “Why do you think, Murphy? What am I supposed to say? Sorry for putting you here?”

Brody stared down at the floor and sighed. “No, of course that’s not what you’re supposed to say, but I think you’re going to regret not going in. I really do.” He lifted his head toward me. “He was your best friend, Viper. Don’t you want to say good-bye? Tell him you love him? Anything?”

I sighed.

Do not cry.



Even before I walked through the sliding glass doors, I could hear the rhythmic beeping coming from inside Big Mike’s room. I knew that what I was about to see would be permanently burned into my memory. It wasn’t something I wanted to see once, let alone forever. But Brody was right—I would always regret it if I didn’t go in.

I took a deep breath.

Do not cry.

The beeping got louder as I pulled back the privacy curtain. Mike was lying still in the hospital bed. I stopped and stared at him, surprised by what I saw. He had a big bandage wrapped around his head, and other than a small white tube going up his nose and a blue hose taped near his mouth, he looked like he was sleeping, not brain-dead. The machine next to him hissed as it went up and down. I watched it for what felt like an hour.

Up and down.

Up and down.

Up and down.

Up until that point, I was mad at myself for what had happened, but being in that room with him, I started to get pissed at everything else too. We were in a hospital, a good fucking hospital. There had to be something they could do for him. Hockey doesn’t kill people. The longer I stood there staring, the longer that machine would move up and down, which meant the longer he would be alive, which meant the better chance he had of waking up. He just needed time. Mike was one of the strongest guys I knew, and he could absolutely come out of this; he just needed time.