Page 71 of Defensive Zone

I don’t turn around to see if he’s gone back to his own warm-up as I skate off, dropping down onto the ice and going through my stretches before I join the rest of the guys taking shots on net. As I skate around, my vision begins to swim. My teammates become blurry, and the dull, throbbing pain begins to grow behind my eyes.

Fuck, not now.

Taking off my glove, I rub at my eyes under my visor, trying to do it as subtly as possible so I don’t get the attention of eagle-eyed Ethan, but it’s no use. The brightness of the ice causes myhead to pulsate, the pressure increasing until it feels like it’s about to split in two. Yep, it’s definitely turning into a migraine.

I startle slightly when Jackson skates up to me and places a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, man, are you okay?” he asks, but his voice sounds so far away.

There’s only two minutes left of warm-up. Maybe if I head back to the locker room now, I can sit down and drink some water, and it’ll pass. Maybe Joe will be able to give me some pain meds to take the edge off so I can get through the game, then I can rest tonight and all of tomorrow. The painted lines on the ice blur as I make my way toward the bench, stumbling slightly when I step over the ledge and head down the tunnel.

“Zach?” someone calls out, but I ignore them and move toward the locker room.

I feel so fucking woozy, like I could throw up from the pain in my head. If I could sit down and close my eyes for five minutes, I’d be okay.

I’m aware of someone gripping my bicep and guiding me into the training room. I slump onto the nearest chair, dropping my stick and gloves to the floor before taking off my helmet. Pressing the heels of my palms into my temples, I close my eyes and rest my elbows on my knees.

Fuck, it’s like my head is trapped in a vise and the only bit of relief is the pressure I’m applying to my temples, which sounds crazy as fuck considering the pain I’m experiencing is the pressure building in my head.

I take slow, measured breaths through my nose, hoping the nausea will soon subside. An ice pack is pressed to my forehead, and I stiffen. When I open my eyes, Joe is crouched in front of me, concern etched into every inch of his face.

“How long have you had a headache for?” he asks.

“When do I not have a headache?” I grumble. “Sometimes it’s fine, it’s more tolerable. But this one has been here for days. It started when we were in Denver. I didn’t say anything because if I told anyone I have them that often, I’d never get out on the ice.”

He frowns. “Zach, you need to tell us when you’re struggling. Migraines are common after a concussion, but we can’t help you if you don’t work with us.”

Rubbing a hand over my face, I let out a heavy sigh. “I know. It’s just… It’s exhausting, you know? Every day I wake up and I don’t know how I’m going to feel. I’m constantly on edge, wondering if one is going to strike and knock me on my ass.”

“I understand that, but if we don’t know, we can’t try and prevent it from progressing into a full-blown migraine. Chris is a magician, if you didn’t know,” he says teasingly.

I huff out a laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He taps my knee pad. “Just talk to us. We can help you, but you’ve got to stop hiding how you’re feeling.”

“I’m going to be scratched tonight, aren’t I?”

He nods solemnly. “Yeah, most likely. I’ll go and speak with Coach Harris, but I think it’s best.”

I close my eyes again as he leaves the room to find Coach, and I rest my head back against the wall. The ice pack gives some relief, and I’m thankful the training room is pretty quiet and dark.

I’m so fucking pissed at myself, at my head, at Mueller for knocking me into the boards in the first place.

I’m not sure how much time has passed until the door creaks open, and I hear Carter’s voice. “Zach? What happened?”

Opening my eyes, I tilt my head to look at him and give him a small smile. “Tried to be strong. Thought I could fight through it.”

He sighs, sitting down on the seat next to me and curving his hand over my thigh. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.Maybe instead of putting you on IR, they can assess it game by game?”

“Mhm, yeah, maybe.”

Carter wraps his arm around my shoulders, hauling me closer. It’s awkward with my padding, but I rest my head on his shoulder as his hand finds my hair, massaging my scalp in that relaxing way he always does.

As expected, Coach agrees with Joe that I’m going to be scratched from tonight’s line-up, and I need to see Chris tomorrow for an assessment. I stay in the training room with Carter until the nausea eases off, and then during the first period, I head into the locker room and take a shower with the lights off. Carter sticks close by in case I need him.

“I saw you speaking to Brody. Did he have much to say?”

I shrug. “No, but it was really weird… He seemed genuinely concerned about me. He didn’t make any backhanded comments or anything.”

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