38. Van

38

Van

T wo days of hospital food has me wanting to jump out of this bed and run to Wolfie's as soon as the doc signs my discharge papers.

But that's not happening. I won't be running anywhere anytime soon. Hell, I can barely walk right now.

In less than a second, everything changed. The docs aren't saying anything definitive now, and I get that. It will take weeks for the swelling to go down, and then I'll have surgery. It's like freshman year, but so much worse. A meniscus tear hurt like hell and took months to heal. But Corey Bradford's illegal hit caused way more damage. I could hear my knee pop when I hit the boards at a bad angle, but when he caught my skate with his stick, my knee twisted at an unnatural angle, tearing three ligaments.

Basically, the only thing holding my knee in place right now is the brace I'm wearing.

"Mr. Vandaele," a nurse calls as she pulls the curtain open. "Bet you're ready to get out of this place. I've got your papers ready to go, I just want to go over some instructions with the person who's taking you home."

A vision of Josie's face pops into my mind, but I'm blaming that on the pain meds.

There's a list of people who are helping me recover and shuttling me back and forth to rehab and appointments, and Josie's not on it.

Pete rounds the corner right on time and sits in a little plastic chair. "That's my job," he says.

The nurse goes over the instructions and Pete listens like the good student he is. I've heard it all and watched enough videos from the internet that I know exactly what my future looks like. I'll go to rehab for the next few weeks and then have surgery. The recovery from that will be painful as hell and will take a lot longer. And at the end of all the pain and ice and therapy and elevation and fucking sitting on my ass? My big reward is that I'll be the best guy in the beer league.

My hockey career is over, and it's barely just started.

Between my coach, my mom, and my teammates, I've had about all the positivity I can handle.

I appreciate it. I really do. But I saw the trainer's face when he looked at Coach while we were still on the ice. I felt a burning, searing pain in my knee that I've never felt before and that hasn't let up yet. I saw the scans. I know the facts. A few days ago, I was a strong, healthy player that a couple teams were looking to take a chance on.

Now, though? I'll be twenty-three in a few weeks, and close to twenty-four by the time I can even think about playing at a competitive level. It's hardly ancient, unless you're a hockey player with a history of knee injuries who's just starting his pro career. I'd be going against guys five or six years younger than me. A few days ago, my speed and power put me on a lot of scouts' radars. By the time I build those back up, I'm playing a losing game.

The guys brought my bed downstairs, so now it sits in the same place as the couch Mickey lit on fire. Conveniently (and strangely), there's a toilet and shower in our living room, so my setup could definitely be worse.

On one hand, sleeping downstairs is great because I don't have to fuck around with stairs yet, and I'm close to everything. On the other hand, I hear everything. There is literally no privacy down here, which means that no matter how quiet they think they're being, I already know that Josie's here and she's talking to Pete and Will.

My best friend knows I'm not ready to see her, but it's been three days since I got hurt, so I guess I can't put this off any longer.

"Van, you awake?" Will calls from behind the shower curtain the guys hung to give me a little space of my own. It was a nice thought, but it's a clear shower curtain, so it just looks weird as hell and offers no barriers at all.

"Yep," I say, struggling to adjust my pillows and sit upright.

Josie's by my side in a flash and she fluffs them perfectly, because of course she does. I don't think there's anything Josie Reynolds has ever tried that she hasn't been great at.

"Thanks," I mumble.

"I brought you cookies," she says, holding a box proudly. "Tillie and Milo helped. Iris was the taste-tester."

"Nice. You can just put them…" my voice trails off as Pete swoops in and grabs the box to take it to the kitchen.

I can't bear to look at Josie because I'll see the hurt and the hope on her face. That makes me an asshole, but at least I own it.

"So…I tried visiting you in the hospital…"

"I know. I wasn't really in the mood for visitors." My words land I blow I hadn't planned, but maybe it's better this way.

"Did you get my messages?" she asks.

I shake my head. "Haven't really been looking at my phone. The meds make my head a little fuzzy."

She nods.

"Look Jos?—"

"Van, I?—"

We talk over each other, but I stop myself and gesture for her to continue.

"You, um, you missed tutoring last night, which is fine, obviously. Pete said you have a busy rehab schedule, so I thought we could adjust our original schedule. I have a little more time on my hands for the next few weeks, and I want to help you get ready for finals."

She's picking at a loose thread on the edge of her shirt. I hate that she's nervous. I hate that I'm causing her stress. I hate this whole situation, but most of all, I hate what I'm about to say.

"I don't need tutoring any more, Jos. I'm not staying at BU."

"What? Why not?"

She's shocked, but she shouldn't be. Hockey's the only reason I'm here to begin with. Now that it's gone, what's the point? "Hockey's over, Jos. My life, as I know it, is over. I'll head home at the end of the semester. Work construction, like my cousins. Be the guy who used to be great. That'll be me."

"Your mom said there's a possibility you could recover. It would take a long time, but she said there's a chance."

"My mom also thinks I'm her brilliant baby boy who just learns a little differently. I love her to death, Josie, but she's biased. She wants me to get better, so that's what she thinks is going to happen."

"Okay, but even without playing hockey, you can stay at BU. You're so close to earning your degree. Your future isn't over, Van. It's just different." Like my mom, Josie sees a bright side in every situation.

And that leaves me to be the only one who sees things for what they are. "Why would I stay, Jos? My grades are awful. I'm a dumb jock. Well, I used to be a dumb jock. Now I'm just dumb."

"Don't say that. You're smart. You just—" She looks like she either wants to smack me for saying those words or she wants to hug me and make it all better. But there's no coming back from this.

The stress and pain of the last few days are too much for me to handle and I end up taking my frustration out on the purest person I know. "What? I'm smart in a different way? Save it. That's all bullshit. Maybe it's true for some people, but not for me. My brain doesn't work right. The only thing I had going for me was hockey, and now that's gone. There's no future for us. It's time to face facts. We don't fit. This isn't gonna work, Jos." The bullets of my words hit their marks, but Josie isn't going down without a fight. I fucking love her bravery, but this is a fight she can't win.

"Van, you're overwhelmed. The past few days have been awful. Now isn't a good time for this conversation. Maybe we should take a few days and?—"

I cut her off because it kills me to see her standing here. "You can take all the days you want, Jos. This is over."

I'm a coward because I close my eyes and drape my arm over my face. I want to turn onto my side and stare at the damn wall, but my knee feels like it's on fucking fire and the thought of twisting in any way makes me feel like I'm gonna pass out.

A couple minutes later, I hear Pete's voice as he walks Josie out. He's going to give me hell for being a dick to her. But what they don't see is that I'm doing her a favor.