Forever Pucked(19)

I'm surprised when Darren doesn't automatically go to Charlene. Instead  he comes to me. I stand. My mouth is dry, my palms are sweaty, and when  he hugs me, I almost fall apart all over again. He isn't the person I  need right now, but it's better than watching all the people I love care  for each other, reminding me what's at stake.

When he lets me go, Lance steps up beside him. His face is bruised, and  his lip is bloody. He has a fly bandage holding a split in his eyebrow  together. I glance down to where his thumbs are hooked into the pockets  of his jeans. His knuckles are wrapped, but blood seeps through them,  red spreading unevenly across the white.

"Have you seen a doctor? You should see a doctor."

His half-smile is distorted by the swelling on the right side of his face. "Aye, I'll be fine. It's just surface wounds."

In this moment I hear clearly the accent that's hidden most of the time.

I raise a trembling hand to his face. His eyes flare, but he doesn't  move away when I press my palm to his cheek. "Thank you for fucking up  Cockburn."

"It was worth the five-game suspension."

A laugh bubbles up in me, but it breaks free as a hysterical sob.  Lance-the hardest of these boys, the one I know the least about, but  who's clearly loyal beyond comprehension-pulls me into a hug.

"I don't understand what's going on," I mumble into his hard chest.

"He's tough. He'll make it out of this."

I'm just concerned about the condition he'll be in when he comes out the other side.

-&-

It feels like we wait forever for news. Sidney has disappeared twice to  check in with a nurse. Ten minutes after he returns with no news, Darren  gets up and leaves the room. I look at Charlene.

"He'll get answers," she assures me.

I don't see how he'll be able to make things happen when Sidney hasn't, but the anxiety of nothingness is the worst torture.

A nervous nurse none of us has seen before appears in the doorway with  Darren behind her soon after. She looks over her shoulder, and he  smiles. Now, Darren is a nice-looking guy. His features are angular,  almost severe, but when he smiles, everything softens and he's stunning.

The nurse turns back to us and we wait. "Alex is responding-"

I'm out of my chair before she can finish her sentence. "He's awake? Can I see him? I need to see him."                       
       
           



       

She puts her hand up, her smile patient and practiced. I want to punch her sweet face.

"He's awake, but the doctors need to finish setting his shoulder. As soon as they're done, someone will be out to see you."

"Is his shoulder broken? Is he okay?"

"The doctor will have the results of his X-rays and his CT scan shortly."

I hate the non-answers almost as much as I hate the waiting. Darren  stops her before she can walk away and murmurs something. Instead of  heading back toward the emergency entrance, she takes off in the other  direction.

"She's getting a doctor now," he says softly. But then that's the only  way Darren ever speaks. Softly. He's deliberate with his words. He's  usually more of an observer. I don't know why I'm noticing this, or why  it matters.

Fifteen minutes later, a doctor comes in holding a clipboard. Alex has  what he says is a "moderate to severe" concussion. He was unconscious  for more than a few minutes, which is a big concern. He's also  experiencing some loss of memory, the doctors call it retrograde  amnesia, which is apparently not unusual for this kind of head trauma.

The phrase head trauma causes more tears. My mom puts her arm around my  shoulder, but I'm numb, so I can't feel anything other than bubbling  panic.

The doctor keeps talking. Half of it is medical jargon, but I get the  important parts. He sustained no injury to his spinal cord, thank  Christ. The thought of Alex having to spend the rest of his life in a  wheelchair starts a whole new round of tears. I can't get a handle on  myself at all. I should be embarrassed, but I can't find it in me to  care that I'm such a mess.

Alex has a dislocated shoulder, a fractured collarbone, and a cracked  rib. It could've been so much worse. He's lucid, but on pain medication,  and he experienced confusion and some aggression when he initially came  around.

"Aggression?" I ask.

"It's not uncommon after a concussion like this one. Is he usually an aggressive person?"

"No," I say.

"Sometimes," Darren says at the same time.

We look at each other.

"Not outside of hockey," I say.

Buck coughs.

"Or when it comes to me, or his sister." I wring my hands as more than  one throat clears. "Okay, sometimes he's aggressive. But only when he's  really, really upset." God. I sound so defensive. "He's never aggressive  with me. Ever."

"Locker room," Buck mutters.

I spin to face him. "That was hot sex! I've never been afraid of him."

The room is silent apart from the doctor tapping his pen on his clipboard.

Buck sighs. "I'm not trying to be a jerk, Vi. I'm just saying, Alex has a  history of aggressive behavior, and while it's generally directed at  someone other than you, it's important to remember he's been concussed,  and sometimes people get weird and act in ways they usually don't after  something like that. Right, doc?"

The doctor's eyes shift between me and Buck, and then he nods.  "Sometimes the trauma to the brain causes atypical behavior. We'll  observe him closely for the next forty-eight hours and decide if we need  to monitor him longer. There are additional tests scheduled for the  morning."

"What kind of tests?"

"Just standard tests after this kind of injury."

I know what he's saying between those words. He wants to make sure  Alex's brain is working properly, that he hasn't sustained lasting brain  damage. Beyond being an amazing hockey player, Alex has a gorgeous,  intelligent mind. Thinking about that part of him being affected by this  is too scary.

The doctor will let us see him, but we're only allowed in two at a time, and the visits must be brief. Sunny and I go first.

"He's no longer aggressive, but he's experiencing some difficulty with memory and some confusion, so be patient with him."

If Alex can't remember me, it'll be like that Adam Sandler movie where they go on their first date over and over.

I take Sunny's hand when the doctor opens the door, because I'm relieved and terrified at the same time. He's okay, but not.

"You have visitors, Alex."

I'm unprepared when he comes into view. The lights are dim, but I can  still see the damage, and that's only the obvious stuff. He has black  shadows under his eyes and the bridge of his nose is stitched and taped.  His arm is braced and his shoulder wrapped. I can see it under the  hospital-issue gown. His eyes are tired and glassy, medication making  him slow to react.

As big as he is, he looks fragile hooked up to all the monitors and  beeping machines. And what's worse, he regards me with curiosity, not  familiarity.                       
       
           



       

I shield my face with my hair so he can't see my fresh tears. I can  still see him, though. Confusion is the strongest emotion on his face  apart from pain.

"Oh, Alex," Sunny whispers brokenly.

"I look that bad, eh?" He cracks a weak smile.

"You've been prettier," she says. It's a joke, but it comes out with a stuttered sob at the end.

Neither one of us is really good at this whole keeping-it-together thing. I wish I could be stronger.

I let go of Sunny's hand and rush over to him, stopping when I reach the  side of his bed, unsure where or if I should touch him. "I was so  scared." I wipe away my tears, but they keep falling.

He focuses on my hand, the one with the huge rock. I don't know if he  actually knows who I am, or is drawing conclusions based on deduction.

"C'mere, baby." He pats the edge of the mattress.

I sit gingerly beside him and take his hand. There's an IV needle taped  to it, and it's cool and clammy. I lift it to my lips and kiss his  knuckles, then rub my damp cheek on the back of his fingers.

"I love you," I tell him. "I thought-I didn't know. It was so fast, and  you weren't moving, and I didn't kn-kn-know-" I can't take a deep-enough  breath to get the words out.

Alex cradles my cheek in his palm. "It looks a lot worse than it is," he whispers hoarsely.

I don't believe him. The pain in his eyes and his voice are obvious.

Sunny comes to stand on the other side of the bed. Alex glances at her  without moving his head. She gives him a small smile, then reaches out  to brush his hair off his forehead before giving him a tentative  one-armed hug. He needs a haircut. He's been putting it off for a while.

"You had us worried," she says quietly.