Page 4 of The Rest of the Story
“I’ll ask. We’ll see what the league says. The most they’ll do is push to the next planned start.”
“They need…” I turned to the guys. Docs, head shrinkers, big bags of weed, and vacations to Tahiti. “They need a lot, Kit-Kat.”
She nodded. “Do you remember my teammate, Hailey Stanton?”
“I do. She was one of your captains.”
“She’s a sports psychologist now, and she works with athletes who have suffered major traumas. She spent time with the American gymnastics team. I’m going to give her a call, tell her I need her to fly in overnight. Brody needs her, and so do a lot of the other guys.”
“Brody can’t play. He’s done for the season.”
“He’s on the injured reserve as of now. Same, obviously, with Shea. And if anyone else needs to step away, they can. Lawson might need to.”
I had a feeling about Lawson, a feeling like maybe the only thing keeping him going was being inside his net and seeing Brody skating out in front of it. I needed to talk to him, man to man, one-on-one.
“You need to get to the hospital,” Kathy said. “I know a gal who broke her femur once. She got a rod drilled down the shaft of her bone and enough pins and nails put in to clear Home Depot of their stock. But she was in an external fixator and on her feet with crutches a week after surgery. She only needed a wheelchair when she was wiped out.”
I’d imagined Shea wrapped up like a mummy, his leg attached to a pully over his bed, immobile for the next six months while his muscles withered away, so the thought of pins and rods being drilled into bone and external fixators was fucking joyous. “Really?” I actually managed a tiny smile. “Fuck, I hope he’s that lucky.”
“He’s going to be all right. Especially with you there at his side. He’s going to be just fine.” She reached out and squeezed my elbow, tried to give me a reassuring smile. “Go. I will take care of the guys. I’m going to send them home, but I’m going to put them all in chauffeured cars. None of them need to be driving.”
“They’ll want to be together. Take them to the rookie house. Call the wives—”
“Already got them notified on the group chat.”
I smiled again. Out of all the ways we’d been fucked, we’d been given a blessing in Kathy. We wouldn’t be anywhere near where we were without her. “Have them meet everyone there. They’re going to need each other tonight.”
“And you? What do you need?”
“Shea.” My response was automatic. “I need Shea. I need to be with him.” My hands went through my hair, and the rush of things I needed to do, that I’d been pushing off, slammed into me. “I’ve got to call Amelia and John—”
“Done. I called them earlier, told them to get to the airport and get on the next flight out. I said you’d be following up on another call, but that it might be a while.”
Bless Kathy. Jesus Christ, bless her to the ends of the earth. “I also need to call Brody’s parents.”
This time, Kathy nodded. “I didn’t know to phone them earlier. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I need to do this.” Of course, I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was going to say. “I’ll call them at the hospital.”
“Do you want a ride?”
I shook my head. “No, I need my wheels. But thank you. Kathy… thank you. For everything. Every single fucking thing.” Everything, from day one, minute one, to now. For taking these guys under her wing, and knowing what they needed before they did, and loving them like they were her own family. For taking charge today when my heart exploded and my thoughts liquified, and all I could see was Shea’s immobile body over that steel counter.
“Always, Moogs. I’m always here. Call me for anything, anytime.” Another squeeze, and she dropped her hand. “We’re going to get through this. We will.”
I wanted to believe her, but I still had Brody’s scream ringing in my chest and battering my heart. Shea was on an operating table, and the rest of the guys were ghosts with pulverized souls. And me? I didn’t know what the fuck I was. Bent, battered, and breaking, parts of me shredded and scattered across the arena and the dressing room and in Shea’s hospital. There wasn’t enough of me to go around.
* * *
At the hospital, I was ushered into the surgical waiting room as soon as I said Shea was my husband, settled into a comfy recliner, brought a steaming mug of coffee, and then left alone for hours. “We’ll bring you updates,” the nurse lied to me. I didn’t see her for hours.
The time alone meant I could make the calls I needed to. First up was Amelia, and she answered before the initial ring had completed, like she was holding her phone in her hand and staring at the screen, willing me to dial.
“Morgan?” Her voice was high and tight, unlike anything I’d ever heard from her. Over the line, I heard boarding announcements and paging calls at an airport terminal. “Morgan, what’s going on?”
“Shea…” God, this was fucking brutal. My throat clamped shut, and I pinched my closed eyes as I fought to breathe.
I’d put myself forward to Shea’s parents with a promise:I’ll keep your son safe. I’ll love him, and I’ll cherish him, and I’d rather die than let any harm come to him.I had broken those promises.
