Chapter 3: Forever Wild: Chapter 2

“What are you doing?” Sandra, the nurse sent to check on me today, glares at me as I stand after her assessment of my knee (it’s still fucked) and start toward the kitchen with my phone in one hand. “Where is your cane?”

“I think I left it in the bedroom.” I carefully hobble the short distance, using furniture and the wall to help keep me upright.

“I still need to run a few more vitals and then help you through some exercises. The doctor asked me to bring a walker. It’s out in my van. We could take a short walk down the sidewalk. It’s a beautiful day out.” Her voice brightens and she smiles at me. Why the fuck is she smiling at me? That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Maybe she’s kidding.

Pushing to a stand, she says, “I’ll go grab it while you take a short break.”

It’s bad enough that I’m holed up in my house in this condition. There’s no way I’m going outside for the whole world to see me like this. I shake my head, “Thank you for stopping by, but I don’t need anything else. I’ll do the therapy on my own.”

Her smile falls into a disapproving scowl. “That isn’t how this works. I have orders from the doctor.”

“And my orders are that you’re no longer needed.”

With a huff, she heads off in the direction of my room, presumably to get my cane and beat me with it.

My attention falls to the phone clutched in my hand. I stop once I’m in the kitchen and read the news alert that popped up while she was examining my surgery incisions.

Florida Wins Cup!

Last night Florida defeated Colorado in game four, winning the series in a blowout 8-0 and adding their name to the Cup. For many fans it was a lackluster end to the hockey season.

The heavily favored Wildcats lost captain Jack Wyld after a severe car accident last month. Without the center and six-year captain, the Wildcats fell to Colorado in the semi-finals.

My grip on the phone tightens until it slips from my hand, clattering onto the counter. It’s just one of many articles that have been written about how my fuck up derailed my team’s season, but each one cuts deep.

Before I can reach for my phone, it starts ringing. I want to ignore it. Actually, what I want to do is throw it out the goddamn window, but when Nick’s name flashes on the screen, I know I have to answer. If I don’t, he’ll show up here. And more people invading my space is the only thing I can think of that would make this day worse .

I take a few steadying breaths before I accept the call.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” I force a cheeriness into my tone as I squeeze my eyes shut and bring my other hand up to rub at the throbbing headache pulsing in the middle of my forehead. Only, when I spot the black cast on my left arm, it just makes me more irritated.

“I was calling to ask you the same thing,” Nick says. The sounds of the rink in the background. Skates gliding over the ice and the slap of a stick.

I drop my bad arm back to my side. “All good here.”

“I’m heading out this afternoon, but I thought if you were up for it, Aidan and I could drop by and bring you some lunch before we hit the road.”

“Wish I could, but I have physical therapy.”

“We can just do a drop off then, if you want.”

“No, no. I’m good. My, uh, nurse is cooking something now.” I glance around the kitchen at the takeout boxes lining the countertop. Sandra and the other nurses do not cook but sometimes they answer the door to get my delivery, if I ask nicely. Which admittedly is challenging in my current state.

“Of course. I should have known.” He chuckles softly. “I was offering greasy burgers and fries and here you’re enjoying home-cooked meals.”

My stomach grumbles. I don’t remember the last time I ate, though the evidence that I did is all around me. I feel like I’m running on coffee and fury alone.

“You’re going back to Kansas City for the entire summer?” I ask, steering the conversation away from me and the lies that are starting to stack up like noodle containers.

“Yes, but don’t worry. I’m going to use the time off wisely, Captain.

”

Off-season conditioning is the furthest thing from my mind. The old me would have cared about that, and buried deep beyond my own selfish rage-filled feelings I know I still do. The team means everything to me. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

Someone shoots a puck and it bangs off the goal post. The sound is so familiar, but it’s been weeks since I’ve heard it. What I would give to be out there. I think this is the longest I’ve been away since I started playing hockey as a kid. I miss it, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to swing by yet. I know what I’ll see. Pity from everyone and questions, so many questions.

How are you doing? When will you be back? Will you ever be back in the same way? Is everything you worked for over just like that? Why did you swerve off the fucking road and destroy everything?

If they weren’t asking the questions, they’d be thinking them all the same. Just like me.

So it’s better on my own. I’m not exactly mobile anyway. My left arm is broken and in a hard cast and my knee is fucked. The accident, combined with years of getting busted up on the ice, meant I needed a complete replacement. They were finally able to do surgery last week, but recovery is slow. I’m looking at a month, maybe longer, before I can do any meaningful activity.

My knee takes that particular moment to twinge with pain. I lean onto the counter and breathe through it until the discomfort abates.

Nick’s voice cuts through the haze as I grit my teeth. “All right. I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you. Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, you too. Enjoy your time in Kansas City.” As I end the call, I carefully turn around and blow out a slow breath. Sandra is standing eight feet away with one hand propped on her hip and both brows lifted in surprise. My cane is in her other hand and I’m a little frightened. I’m not quick enough in my current state to dodge it if she decides to throw it at me.

“You don’t want me to do my job, but you expect me to cook for you?!” Her glare intensifies, daring me to ask her to do something besides check on my well-being and provide medical care.

“Of course not. I didn’t mean⁠—”

“I am too old for this bullshit,” she mutters under her breath as she heads for her bag, shouldering it like she’s leaving. I should be more apologetic, but I’m just glad she’s going.

“Thanks for coming by,” I say.

She’s still talking to herself, swearing and mumbling as she goes. All I feel is relief as I hear the door open.

She’s the fourth nurse they’ve sent me since I left the hospital last week, and they all leave in a similar fashion. I don’t need someone to dote on me. It’s unnecessary. My agent, James, coordinated my rehabilitation schedule. I didn’t fight it because I was still out of it on pain meds. But someone coming to check in on me every day and reminding me that I’m basically helpless? No thanks.

I can manage just fine on my own.