Page 24 of Slapshot Baby

"Charles," Laura says. "This is Ava."

He looks me over once. "You're the one who texted."

"Yeah."

"I'm Kai's father." He uncrosses his arms long enough to shake my hand.

"What exactly did you want to tell him?" Laura asks, squeezing my hand. "You said it was urgent. I don't want to overstep, but if there's something Kai needs to know, something that might help him…"

"It's persona… just work related stuff," I manage, gently prying my hand away from hers.

She steps back. “Of course.”

I try my best not to think they’re crazy. An accident during a hockey game can’t be that bad. Maybe they’re just desperate parents who love their son.

"Can I see him?" I ask.

Laura glances at Charles. Some silent conversation passes between them that I'm not part of. He looks into the room then back at me.

"You can go in for a few minutes."

I step into the room.

It’s dim, blinds drawn against the afternoon light, machines humming their steady rhythm.

A lady, who looks like a younger Laura with dark hair, is sitting by the bed.

“That’s Mira,” Laura says.

“Hi,” Mira says then goes back to staring at the figure on the bed.

It takes me a while to realize the figure propped against pillows and surrounded by machines and tubes is Kai.

He’s emaciated. There’s a bandage wrapped along his hairline. His dark hair is disheveled, his beard rough. His broken nose looks more pronounced against the paleness of his skin.

The hospital lighting is brutal on him, showing every line of exhaustion, every shadow of pain.

My whole body remembers him before my brain finishes processing how he now looks. Even though he’s fragile, he's still beautiful in a way that knocks the air out of me.

I rush to him, place a hand on his cheeks. “Oh, Kai.”

He's supposed to be a mistake. A beautiful, expensive mistake I'm supposed to move past.

He's not supposed to be fragile enough that I want to protect him.

Not supposed to make me want to stay.

His eyes open.

For one suspended second, hot stupid hope detonates in my chest.

Then his brow furrows. He looks at me the way you look at someone you're trying to place at a party. Polite. Searching. Entirely, devastatingly blank.

"I'm sorry," Kai says, his voice rough with disuse. "Have we met?"

I wrench my hand away from his face, stepping back.

The defenses I've spent weeks rebuilding crumble into dust. Foolish tears fill my eyes.