Page 60 of Pucking the Grump

At least I’m going out as a hero to the cause.

I just hope this isn’t “out” for good.

I’m a “bright side” kind of guy, but I’m also a realist, and I know just how serious knee injuries can be.

“Hang in there, brother,” Tank says, giving me a quick hug before heading back to the ice.

A hug. From Tank.

I must really be in bad shape…

In the medical room, Dr. Peterson, the team doctor, confirms what I already suspect. “Looks like an MCL sprain. We’ll need an MRI to determine the grade, but there’s definite instability.”

“How long will I be benched?” I ask, bracing for the worst.

“If it’s a Grade 1, maybe a week or two. Grade 2, more like three to four weeks.” He continues probing the joint, cataloging my winces. “Grade 3 would be longer, but this doesn’t feel that severe to me.”

A month. Possibly more.

I close my eyes, wincing as the reality sinks in.

“But let’s get you to the hospital for some imaging before we worry too much,” Dr. Peterson says with his usual compassion before calling over his shoulder, “Go ahead and call the ambulance, Hitch. It’ll be the fastest way to get him the care he needs.”

“My phone,” I say suddenly. “I need my phone. It’s in my gear bag in my locker. It should be open. I didn’t lock it before I went out.”

One of the trainers digs my cell out of my gear bag, handing it to me as Hitch calls for transport.

My fingers tremble as I pull up my messages with Remy.

As I suspected, there’s already a new one from her waiting for me—I’m going to murder that piece of shit! If he isn’t suspended for that, no one on that ice has eyes. Are you okay, babe? You’re going to be okay. I know this is scary, but you’re strong and in fantastic shape. Just let the doctors take care of you and try not to freak out, okay? And call me when you can. Love you so much, and I’m so sorry.

I’m about to respond when Coach walks in, his expression grim, but controlled.

I tuck my phone screen to my thigh. “Hey, Coach.”

“How’s it look?” he asks the doctor.

“MCL sprain, likely Grade 2, but could be Grade 3,” Peterson says. “We’ll know more after imaging.”

Coach nods, then turns to me. “Stupid move, Stone. Noble, but stupid. I hope you know I didn’t expect you to throw yourself on the grenade out there.”

“I know, but Grammercy would have been destroyed,” I say. “Shields is too much for a rookie.”

Something that might be compassion, or even admiration, flickers across his face. “Well, you’ll be glad to know the team really came together after your hit. That might have been the best third period I’ve ever seen from the Badgers. Grammercy scored again to win 5-1.”

Despite the pain, my heart lifts. “Hell, yeah. That’s how we roll.”

“We need to get him downstairs, Coach Lauder,” the doctor interrupts. “The ambulance is already here.”

As they prepare to move me, Coach asks, “Do you need us to take care of anything for you while you’re getting checked out?”

I think of Remy, alone in Seattle tomorrow for what should have been our first mini-vacation together. There’s no way I’m making that trip now, but I can’t very well ask him to send apology flowers to his daughter for me. “Nah, I’m good thanks.” Barb is already with my neighbor, Sophie, who watches her when I’m away. I took her over earlier this afternoon so I wouldn’t have to bother Sophie late tonight or at the ass crack of dawn tomorrow.

Coach studies me for a moment. “All right. Hang in there, Stone. Focus on getting back on the ice, and I’ll check in on you soon.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

As they wheel me out to the waiting ambulance, my phone buzzes with another text from Remy—The internet is already exploding with Shields hate. Even the Nebraska fans hate him. But they love you. You’re a hero, babe, and I’m so proud of you. (But you’d better not do anything like that again because you almost gave me a heart attack.)

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