Page 97 of Scoring Grey

“Yes…” She furrows her brow as though a thought just occurred to her, but before I can ask her about it, the doctor returns.

“Ahh, Mr. Balfour, our patient is awake. How are you feeling?”

“Sore and parched.”

“Oh, let me get your drink.” Eloise moves quickly to my side and brings the water cup on the table to my lips.

I take countless large pulls, downing half the cup before getting any relief. “That’s better. Besides my incredibly dry mouth, I feel like I got hit by an army tank.”

“Yes, well, you did take a substantial hit on the ice before your tendon was cut. The surgery and meds aren’t doing you any favors either. Your body is used to the physical stress of such a physically demanding game. However, it is not used to the stresses from surgery. The incisions, the tissue manipulation, stitches, and anesthesia affect how fit you feel now.”

“Surgery?” I question as I look down at my body.

“After you took the initial hit, you collided with two other players. As you all fell, one of the Cyclone defensemen’s blades sliced the back of your leg right above your skate, severing your Achilles tendon and cutting a few minor arteries, which caused for more blood loss than usual.”

I grimace. That sounds disgusting. I wouldn’t say I have a weak stomach. I’ve seen my fair share of injuries but fuck.

“I’m afraid you won’t make it back on the ice this week, but with rest and physical therapy, there’s no reason you shouldn’t make a full recovery.”

I close my eyes. Finding out I won’t be able to help my team in the most important games of their careers is devastating. We worked our asses off for a shot at the cup. I was already doubting my ability to lead them before getting hurt, and now I feel like a complete failure.

“Cal, are you okay?” Eloise squeezes my arm. “Can we get him something to manage his discomfort?”

“The nurse will be in shortly with some medicine. I’d like to stay away from opioids unless the pain is unbearable. Anti-inflammatories should be sufficient for pain management,” the doctor remarks.

“Extra strength ibuprofen will be fine,” I say, halfway wishing I hadn’t opened my eyes. This was not a diagnosis I was expecting. “When will I be discharged?”

He looks at his watch. “It’s evening now. I’d like the nurses to walk with you at least once. We’ve already taken X-rays from head to toe and checked your vitals, and now that you’re awake and conscious, I see no reason you can’t leave first thing in the morning.”

“Can we expedite that? I’d like to recover in my bed tonight because I’ll be going to the stadium tomorrow.”

The doctor nods in understanding. “I’ll get your release paperwork drawn up. I assume you want a boot over a cast.”

“Hell yes, no cast.” Casts fucking suck. They completely immobilize the area they are put on, and you can’t take them off to shower.

“I’ll start working on getting you out of here,” he says before leaving the room.

“I’m so sorry, Cal. I know hearing you can’t finish out the season is hard, but at least you’ll make a full recovery.”

“Did we at least win?” I ask, feeling dejected.

“We did.” She sighs. “I think they were pumped to avenge you after watching you get hauled off the ice, but we lost today.” She shrugs. “If you’re serious about going tomorrow, I think it could help. The guys are aware of what happened, but hearing you’re awake and seeing you in person will boost morale.”

I let my lungs deflate and release that which I can’t change. This diagnosis sucks, but the fact that it’s not soul-crushing says something. The last thing I have space in my mind for is processing those emotions. My son is at home, waiting for an update, and my father… “Have you heard from Iverson? Has he been able to find my father?”

“We don’t have to talk about that right now?—”

“No, I need something to take my mind off this.” I nod toward my useless leg. “Finding him and ensuring he pays for every crime is something I can still control.”

“I get that.” She rolls her lips. “He’s in New York.”

I run my hand through my hair. “What’s in New York?”

“He’s staying at a hotel close to JFK, but the room isn’t in his name. He’s staying with another woman. It appears he’s having an affair.”

That news would surprise most but not me. He’s vile. I’d expect nothing less. “Where’s Keely?”

“We don’t know.” She sits on the edge of my bed. “She’s been missing since the night of our accident. Apparently, after she called Blair, she went dark.” Her eyes find mine. “We don’t think it’s your dad.” She holds her hand up and makes a face. “Let me rephrase that. We don’t think your dad is responsible for her disappearance. When I spoke to Iverson last night, I told him about the visit Austin paid us at the bar. He believes there’s a good chance she’s MIA because she’s going after him.”

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