Page 61 of Best Man on Campus

Near the end of the period with the score tied at zip, Stone gets tripped up, his helmet comes loose and when he gets up there’s blood. I almost stop short on my way over to him, but I keep going. The horn sounds to end the period with the refs calling a penalty on our opponents to be taken at the beginning of the second period.

When I reach Stone, his mask and helmet are off and I see the cut is above his eye and fuck, it’s going to need stitches. Breathing heavy against the roil in my gut, I escort him to the gate because he can’t see with the blood in his fucking eyes.

“Shit, this thing hurts like a son of a bitch.” Stone spits and the guys move aside as we rush to the training room with Dr. Walt on our heels.

“Let’s get him stitched up,” Walt says as he closes the door behind us. Stone jumps up on the table, throwing his gloves on the floor and a wave of dizziness hits me. Turning away to get the bandages and antiseptic, Doc puts on his sterile gloves and gets some gauze to clean away the blood. “Ben, get on your gloves and put some pressure on this for me.”

Doing as he says in spite of my strong reaction threatening to overpower me at any second, clenching down on the heaving in my gut and breathing as deep as I can in spite of the reflex in me to breath shallow and fast, I put on the gloves and take a gauze pad to hold the cut.

Doc preps the needle for stitches and says, “Too deep for a butterfly bandage.” He motions my hand away and applies the antiseptic. “This might sting,” he says a beat too late as Stone sucks in a breath and swears.

Then Doc turns to me and says, “This is your big chance, Ben, if Stone doesn’t mind, how about if you do the stitching—with my guidance?”

Panic wells with the bile in my throat and I feel the fuzzy border of dizziness encroaching at the edge of my sightline and fight it back. I flick a glance at Stone, who shrugs.

“Let’s get this over with. I don’t care who does it.”

Doc hands me the needle and I take it, willing my hand to steady. He administers a shot of Novocain and I hope it’s fast-acting because we don’t have time to wait.

“Lie back on the table,” Doc instructs Stone and he comes around to my side, telling me to hold the folds of skin together as blood continues to seep out and I feel the slippery texture through the gloves.

“Insert the needle there.”

I do it, pulling it through and a blast of triumph goes through me at successfully completing one stitch.

“Motherfucker. That hurt—”

“Sorry, the anesthetic will kick in any second now…” My stomach roils and my fingers slip because they’re shaky. More blood gushes and a violent heave clenches my gut. Turning away from the table I rush to the sink and vomit violently, heaving as blood roars in my head and in my vision. I’m not aware of Doc at my side until I stop, sucking in air and dripping sweat as I spit into the sink.

“You going to be okay? I’ll finish the stitches.”

I give him the needle that I still had clutched in my hands. He tosses it in a bucket, shaking his head. Dizziness makes me unsteady on my feet.

“Go lie down on the cot. Now,” Doc Walt barks at me as he pushes Stone back down on the table. Stone gawks at me in disbelief, blood dripping down his face and I turn away, knowing my body can’t tolerate the sight right now. Thank fuck he doesn’t say anything, but who knows what he’s thinking. Or what Doc is thinking.

That I have no business becoming a doctor if I can’t take the sight of blood.

It takes me a few minutes to settle. Doc slaps a cold, wet cloth on my forehead and Stone, all stitched and bandaged, hovers over me, so I sit up, blinking away a mild wave of dizziness. Fuck.

“I’m fine.” Putting the cold cloth aside, I stand, trying to figure what to say to Doc and Stone. The truth. “I have an aversion for blood. Always have. I’ve been able to deal with it. Up until now.”

Doc shakes his head and Stone laughs, smacking my shoulder. “Maybe you ought to reconsider that med school idea, buddy. Let’s get out of here, back on the ice where we belong.” I follow him from the room. Doc doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he agrees with Stone’s assessment.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m fucked.

But I can’t think about it now because the horn blows as Stone and I make our way from the training room, so we head straight to the ice. He taps my shin with his big goalie stick and says, “We need some goals.” Then he pulls his mask down over his face, and swears when it rubs against his cut.

“Take it easy,” I say. “The last thing I need is more bloodshed.” He laughs and I join the others in a skate around to warm up before lining up to take the face-off at center ice. There’s nothing like the ref standing with his black-and-white striped arm raised, poised to drop a puck to snap your head into the game. I feel my adrenaline kicking in and get an added boost because this is do-or-die time. Win or go home.

Two goals later, we win and I’m pleased with my two assists. Stone gets another shut-out in spite of his stitches—or maybe because of them—and Kace gets the two goals. They both get to spend time with the media after the game on the ice, giving me a break. When I get off the ice with the rest of the team, Mom is waiting for me with open arms. I could use a hug right now, so I don’t hesitate, sweat dripping and all.

“Great win, honey. You did so well, I’m so proud of you. I know you work so hard.” She gives me an extra squeeze then lets go and I smile at her, but she’s not exactly smiling back. Something’s off with her forced half smile. It’s not like her.

“What’s going on, Mom?”

“Where’s Jazzy? I was hoping to see her here?”

“She didn’t come.”