33. Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

Luke

It’s still dark outside when I wake up to Cody whimpering next to me. At first, I think that he’s having a nightmare—he has them from time to time, often about Danny or his dad—but then his frail voice cuts through the darkness, his fingers clawing at my back.

“Luke?” I recognize the undertone of pain in his voice, and when I reach out to touch him, his hair is drenched with sweat, and he’s shivering like a leaf. In a flash, I’m up, turning the bedside lamp on, then back by his side.

“Baby, what is it?” I ask, reaching for him and pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. He’s impossibly pale, his forehead beading with drops of cold sweat, his eyes blinking against the intrusive light. “Are you sick? Do you have a fever?”

“It’s my knee,” he cries, wincing when he moves, and for a minute, he looks like he’s going to pass out, his eyes rolling back in his head. Shit. I can’t have it. I can’t have Cody in pain like this. It hurts me physically, too.

“Let me have a look,” I say, trying to put as much calm into my voice as possible. His hands are clenching the sheets now, his teeth biting into his bottom lip. Lifting the blanket away from his lower body, I notice it instantly. The angry red skin around this knee. How swollen it is. That motherfucker Dennis! He did this. I’m going to fuck him up. Once I get my hands on him, I’m going to—a loud groan leaves Cody’s lips and I pull the blanket back up around him, tucking it carefully around his shoulders like he’s made of glass.

“Stay here. Don’t move, okay, baby?” I brush my fingers along his clammy cheek, and he nods, his raspy voice coming out clipped, labored, his teeth clattering against each other, “Ok—okay, Luke.”

“I’ll be right back,” I reassure him. Jumping from the bed, I quickly pull on some random sweats from the floor—could be mine, could be Cody’s—and grab a team hoodie hanging over the back of my chair. Cody’s small whimpers fill the room, feeling like small stabs to my heart. Once I’m dressed, I lean in over the bed and press a quick kiss to his forehead, while murmuring, “It’s okay, baby. I’ll be right back.”

On my way to the bathroom, I grab my phone from the bedside table and once I’m out of earshot of Cody, I pull up Dr. Matthews’ number on my screen. As the lead team physician, it’s mandatory to call him first in case of any injury. He answers on the second ring, his voice groggy with sleep.

“This better be important, Carrington,” he groans, the sound of sheets ruffling in the background.

“It is,” I say, and he must notice the seriousness in my voice because he immediately goes into professional doctor mode.

“Give me the details.” I hear paper rustling as I start telling him about Cody. For a second, I contemplate keeping the knowledge of Cody’s past injury to myself, but this is serious, and I know Matthews needs the full picture to assess the situation. So, I tell him everything, answering his questions as well as I can. Eventually, he sighs. “Give him some Tylenol and then meet us down at UCHealth. Go straight to the Orthopedic Department. I’ll call ahead.” Us . Out of everything he says, that little pronoun stands out . Of course. He needs to call Coach. As soon as I’ve croaked out my okay , he hangs up.

I look at my reflection in the mirror above the sink and I almost don’t recognize myself. My eyes are spilling over with worry, my mouth nothing but a grim line tearing through my face. My cheeks are flushed, my hair sticking out. I turn on the faucet and quickly splash some water on my face. I contemplate brushing my teeth, too, but then a loud whimper pierces through the quiet.

“Luke?”

“Hang on, baby,” I call out over my shoulder. “Be right there.” I try to put as much reassurance into my voice, but the truth is, I’m freaking out. I open the cabinet below the sink and grab a packet of Tylenol. Then I jog to the kitchen, getting a bottle of water.

Back in the bedroom, Cody is sitting up, his hair plastered against his forehead. He’s put on a T-shirt, wearing it inside out, and he’s trying to put on a pair of sweats, pain painted across his face.

“Here, let me help you.” I go to his side, sitting down carefully next to him. “Take these,” I hold out my hand toward him, two Tylenol resting in the palm of my hand. As soon as he takes the pills, I uncap the water bottle and hand it to him. He throws down the pills and finishes the water in two large gulps. “You okay?” I ask, but clearly, he’s not okay. He shakes his head at me, tears falling from his eyes. He looks so scared and on instinct, I reach out and pull him against me, tucking his head against my neck.

“I’m scared, Luke.” He sniffles against my skin. “I’m so fucking scared.”

“I know, baby. I know you are.” I can’t lie to him. I can’t feed him any bullshit. I won’t. What Cody is going through right now is a hockey player’s worst nightmare and I’m not going to sugarcoat it. “I spoke to Dr. Matthews. We gotta go. He’ll meet us at UCHealth.” I pause. “He’s calling Coach, too.” Cody stiffens, but nods against my neck. He knows the drill. Of course he does. I help him with the sweats, grabbing his phone for him from the nightstand. “You ready?” I murmur against his forehead. He nods again.

“I’m ready, Luke.”

“You need me to call your mom?” A shadow flashes across his face as he nibbles on his lip.

“I’ll send her a text from the car,” he sighs.

“It’s okay if you—”

“No, she needs to know,” he interrupts me. He rubs at his forehead, then he stands up, limping out of the bedroom, me trailing closely behind him, my hand lingering at the base of his spine. In the doorway, he comes to a stop. Turning around, his eyes connect with mine, a silent plea in them.

“What is it?” I ask.

“When we… when we get to the hospital. Will you please stay with me? All the time. Even if my mom…” He sounds so defeated; like it’s the end of the world. Or at least life as he knows it.

“Of course,” I rush out. “I promise. I’ll never leave you.” Cody’s eyes widen at my words. He, too, catching the enormity of what I’ve just promised. Never. Implying that unspoken always .

Three hours, an MRI scan, and two orthopedic surgeons—one a sports medicine specialist—later, and the verdict is clear. Cody should’ve had surgery after the initial injury to his meniscus a few years ago, and the fact he didn’t has made his knee a ticking time bomb, especially since he’s a professional athlete and his knee is under constant pressure. The recommendation from the orthopedic surgeon at the University of Colorado Hospital is meniscus repair surgery as soon as possible. It’s minimally invasive and apparently, the prognosis is good considering Cody’s age, overall health, and physical condition and the fact that the initial tear wasn’t complete.

Matthews and Coach ask a ton of questions, their expressions grim, but it’s not like they haven’t been in this situation before. Professional athletes in a physical sport like hockey get injured all the time. It’s just unlucky that it’s Cody—our replacement for McKinney and, no doubt, our most valuable player this season.

Like I promised, I never once let go of Cody’s hand. Not during the drive to the ER and not at the admissions counter in the Orthopedic Department where we met up with Coach and Dr. Matthews. The latter threw us a quick glance, his gaze resting a few seconds on our entangled fingers, and then he was back to talking to Coach in a hushed voice, a serious expression on his face.

I hold Cody’s hand in mine all while the orthopedic surgeon explains the surgery and drones on and on about the recovery time and rehabilitation regime.

“It will typically take four to eight weeks to recover fully following the repair. It will take several more months of physical therapy and rehabilitation, however, to ensure your knee has the strength and stability it needs to return to sports with minimal risk of reinjury.”

The surgeon looks at Coach and Dr. Matthews, who stare back at him like they’ve just been told that the WHO has issued an international ban on beer. Cody won’t be able to finish the season, that’s for sure.

Shortly after, Dr. Matthews leaves the room with the surgeon to get the operation scheduled and to provide the administration with the team’s insurance details. The room goes eerily quiet after that. Several months. What does several months even mean? I can tell that Cody’s head is spinning with the same questions. I lean down and pull him against my chest, his entire body stiff, unmoving.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles on repeat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Coach.” It’s pure torture, his voice so frail and… and broken. Coach looks devastated too, but I can tell that he does his best to swallow it down. Coming up on Cody’s other side, he pats his shoulder awkwardly.

“It’s okay, kid. We’ll figure it out,” he hums. “You’ll have the surgery, and we’ll figure it out.” I know Coach is upset. Cody is his favorite, although coaches aren’t supposed to have favorites. But still, there’s no doubt about it. Cody is Coach Bassey’s golden boy . His voice is different, somehow gentler when he addresses Cody, a softness in his eyes that is only reserved for him. “Buckhammer is getting better, too,” he continues. “And we’ll find an extra goalie,” he rubs at his forehead. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it, Mitchell. Just wish you would’ve told me, kid. I could’ve looked after you better…” Coach deflates, his large bear paw squeezing Cody’s shoulder again. Then he quietly leaves the room, and it’s still; only the sound of Cody’s muffled sobs against my chest filling it.

I lose track of time, my stomach complaining occasionally over the level of activity at this hour without any food in sight. Cody is clinging to me like I’m his safe place. I hope I am. I want to be. I want to be strong for him now; someone he can rely on. Someone who’ll have his back through what’s coming next. Because it won’t be easy. The physical side is one thing, but mentally I know it’s going to be a hard blow to him. He won’t be able to finish a season that so far has had Mitchell written all over it. It’s heartbreaking, to put it mildly.

Eventually, he pulls away from me, his gray eyes nearly as black as the night, red-rimmed and tired. During our stay at the hospital, Cody’s phone has been going off at short intervals, but aside from his initial text to his mom, he has ignored it. Now, he picks it up from the table next to the hospital bed and shoots her a quick text; then he shuts off the phone. Leaning back, his head resting against the pillow, his eyes find mine again, his voice barely audible when he speaks, “I can’t do this, Luke.” He shakes his head like a small kid who’s just been asked to walk up a long flight of stairs all on his own or eat an entire plate of Brussels sprouts. “They’ll kick me off the team,” he whispers. “I just know they will.”

“They won’t, baby. They won’t. You heard Coach,” I try to reassure him, once again tangling my fingers through his.

“But I lied to him. I lied to everyone. I… I fucked up, Luke.” He looks so small and broken and my heart hurts for him because I just know what’s going through his head on repeat. He blames himself. It’s so easy for him to blame himself; it’s second nature to him. It hardly takes any effort for his mind to go to that dark place. I know how Cody’s mind works by now, so I try to beat him to it.

“This is not your fault, you hear me? This could’ve happened to anyone. It’s the risk we take playing the game that we love more than anything. You and I both know that. The team knows it. Coach knows it and he’s going to have your back through this.” My hands move to his shoulders, wrapping firmly around them, forcing him to look at me.

“But what about the management?” He hiccups.

“What about them?”

“The team can drop me, can’t they? For being deceitful. For holding back essential information about my injury history.” His voice is trembling, his eyes searching mine like I hold the answer to every goddamn question in the universe.

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “Maybe. Possibly. I don’t know. I guess we have to wait and see.” They probably could, but why would they? They’ll follow Coach’s recommendation. They usually do. And I think his mind is set on keeping Cody on the team. Seeing this through.

“What if they drop me, Luke? What if they won’t cover the surgery? What if…” he trails off, shaking his head, his messed-up hair almost dry now since the meds kicked in and he’s no longer in pain. At least not physically. I shush against his forehead like one would a small child, rocking him back and forth.

“Shhh, baby, it’s okay. They won’t drop you. It’ll be okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

And I just pray to anything that might exist that I’m right.