Page 66 of Offside

Jesus, I don’t remember drinking that much.

Why is there a flashing strobe light in my eyes?

Where the hell am I?

What’s covering my nose and mouth?

I blindly lift my hand to my face and find an oxygen mask attached to my head. My eyes spring open and although they are slow to track, I take in the tubes and equipment and realize I’m in the back of an ambulance.

A latex-gloved hand covers mine gently. “Please keep that on for a bit longer, Mr. Keeney. Until your oxygen is back up to at least ninety, we need to keep this on.”

“Did I pass out?” It feels like there’s cotton in my mouth.

The young male EMT nods. “You took a doozy of a spill. Got an ugly goose egg on that head of yours, too. And your nose was a gusher. We finally got that stopped with a cotton roll under your lip.”

Ahh. So, thereiscotton in my mouth.

I try to piece together everything leading up to this moment but don’t remember too much of it. That can’t be a good sign.

Maybe it has something to do with the collision I had on the ice tonight when I slammed into the Boston player as we battled for possession of the puck. I’d checked him with my shoulder and his stick got stuck in my skate blade and I careened forward. Because we were at the glass, I hit my helmet hard against it, sending my head snapping back sharply.

Under normal circumstances, it’s nothing to worry about. However, due to my recent concussion, I was immediately evaluated on the bench, taking me out for the remainder of the third period. I felt fine at the time. No blurry vision. No memory loss. Not even a headache.

But damn, now I’m not so sure it wasn’t a secondary concussion. Obviously, it wasn’t the beer that had me passing out at the bar.

I notice Ax standing outside the truck, talking animatedly on his phone, and staring at me with wary eyes. I narrow my eyebrows into awhat the fuck you doingscowl.

He notices me watching him and nods, quickly putting an end to the call and walking toward me sheepishly.

“How you feeling, lightweight?” He chuckles, but something in his eyes tells me none of this is funny. I know what’s going to happen next without so much as a word.

I know the score.

“Who was on the phone, Ax?” I ask brusquely, tugging the mask away from my nose and mouth to give him a menacing look.

Ax’s eyes avoid me as he shrugs. When he returns my gaze, there’s apology in his expression.

“I’m sorry, man, but I had to call Coach. It’s for your own good. You didn’t see how bad you looked.” He blinks and looks toward the ground, giving his head a shake. “You went down hard.”

I let my teammate off the hook, reaching for his hand to fist-bump. “It’s okay, man. You did me a solid. I would’ve done the same if I were in your situation.”

“Thanks. It just—well, when you collapsed, Keeney, it freaked me the fuck out. I thought you were dead. I’m glad you aren’t and the EMT says you’re okay and don’t have to go to the hospital.” Then he leans in for emphasis, poking a finger in my thigh. “But you cost me a hookup tonight. You owe me.”

I laugh at the young kid.

“You’re not exactly my type,” I joke. Then I notice the murderous glare I’m receiving from the EMT and snap the mask back over my mouth. Ax laughs and sucks in his bottom lip.

“No offense, but I’m not into you either, bro. But next time we hang after a game, you can’t be pulling these stunts to be the center of attention and scaring off the puck bunnies. You feel me?”

My phone starts blowing up from inside my pocket before I can answer. I wiggle onto my side to pull it out and check the ID.

Damn, Coach Thomas.

I lift my brows and wave the phone at the EMT, who concedes with a resigned sigh.

I give a salute of appreciation and answer the call. “Hey, Coach. I suppose you’ve heard? Yeah, I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.”

“Keeney, you’re on speaker. I have Jerry from PR and Karis on the line with me.”

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