Page 111 of Untouchable Player

Dad and I look at her like she’s speaking a foreign language.

“Where are you going?”

“Providence,” she says. She bends down and taps my arm until I move, “come on, don’t you want to be there to make sure he’s okay when he wakes up?”

When he wakes up.

“Shouldn’t we stay and watch it on TV?” Dad asks, “I’m sure they’ll give us an update as soon as they know…”

“You stay here, I’m going to make sure Jesse’s okay, Nate, coming with me?”

I nod dumbly and let her lead me. I’m numb. Jesse going down on the ice and staying there even when his teammates tried to rouse him keeps spinning around in my head.

Please let him be okay, please please please.

I hear Dad get up from the chair with a resigned groan. He insists on driving and taking his car, though Mom’s is way more comfortable.

“You want speed?” he says when she tries to argue, “don’t take an SUV.”

She concedes and sits in the back with me so she can squeeze my hand.

Luckily, at this time of the evening, the traffic is sparce, especially coming out of a college town and onto the highway. It’s not quite dark yet, and it feels surreal, rushing out of the house like this.

Mom keeps telling me Jesse will be alright and checking for updates on her phone.

I know when she has an update, because she sucks in a breath and makes a lame attempt to hide her phone.

“What is it?”

She presses her lips as if she isn’t going to tell me, “concussion.”

I repeat the word under my breath.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“I think so… yes, yes, of course he is, people get concussions every day.”

“Yeah,” Dad agrees, “I got a concussion once, some idiot didn’t put the scaffolding up right and a piece came right down and hit me on the head, I was out cold for two hours, woke up in the hospital with the worst headache of my life, puking my guts up.”

Mom gives him a warning look in the mirror and he shuts up.

She squeezes my hand, “honey, if they know he has a concussion then he’s awake and he’s okay.”

I nod. My lips are tingling. What is that?

“Oh honey,” Mom strokes my face and I realise I’m crying.

You’re being ridiculous,I tell myself,he’s fine, why are you crying?

“I’m sorry,” I say as Mom tries to hug me with our seatbelts on. I gently pry myself out of her arms and wipe my face.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Dad says, “you care about him and he got hurt, it’s a normal reaction. I’m on the edge of my seat every time your brother plays.”

“Shit, you’re missing Harrison right now.”

“Don’t worry about it, your brother’s like a cat,” Dad chuckles, “always lands on his feet, and has good defencemen to take the hits for him.”

Once I know that Jesse is awake, the journey feels even longer somehow.

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