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“And ten plus three is?”
“Thirteen. What does this have to do with anything?” I finally ask.
Doesn’t this man understand I have a headache from Hades? And his googly eyes and pop quiz are only making it worse.
“Well, Mr. Henderson, we’ll have to do some scans to confirm, but my preliminary assessment is that I don’t think you suffered any permanent brain damage from your injury.”
“What injury? Did I get a concussion?”
Concussions are pretty common in any contact sport at this level. I’ve had a few. Far less than some of my teammates, mainly because I spend most of my time in the net.
“I don’t think he, um, remembers all the details of that night.” Gia cuts in.
“Short-term memory loss is normal. It’s the body’s way of protecting our minds from trauma. Residual shock, if you will. Your memories might stay foggy. They might not. You didn’t get a concussion, Damien. Your carotid artery was nicked during your confrontation with the opposing team.”
“My what was what? I answered every single question you asked me correctly.” I’m going to need a little more clarification. So, what, I don’t remember who won the game. Big deal.
“You were cut. Just barely.” Please, all this over a cut? “The cut lacerated one of the main arteries in your neck. Hell, you might be one of the luckiest men I’ve ever met.” Do not give my wife eyes again, fucker. “Had the incision fully punctured the artery you would have completely bled out within seconds. We lost you twice that night before getting you back. You underwent surgery and a blood transfusion. You have been in a medically induced coma since.”
“You lost me?” I ask, still confused.
“When you arrived here you had no pulse.” He answers with zero bedside manner. Zilch. Who gave this guy a medical degree?
“I died?” I ask him incredulously. Not possible. I look at the machines that are hooked to me again and have to wonder if this isn’t just a touch dramatic.
“Yes. But you aren’t dead, and we intend to keep it that way. That’s why we have a lot to discuss before we can get you ready to transfer back home. I’m not sure how much anyone has told you, and it’s not our policy to bombard you with information after such a traumatic event, but you have been here since last weekend’s game. It’s Friday.”
Friday? Fuck. I’m tossed a piece of humble pie by the good doctor, and it’s not going down easily. It’s been an entire week already? I lost an entire week of my life.
“Where’s Astria?” I ask Gia, suddenly realizing that she’s here and we’ve been without our girl for almost a week. We’ve never been away from her for that long.
“She’s with my mom. They’re at our apartment. She’s fine, I’ve spoken to her every day. I promise.” That explains the phone call - the voices.
“I want to go home, Doc. I want my baby.” A feeling of helplessness washes over me, and I forget all about my irritation with the guy. I just want my family.
“I understand completely, but you’re going to have to stay with us a little longer. We need to make sure you’re stable and get your care plan worked out. You’ll need rehabilitation.”
“Rehab?”
“You’re looking at three to six months.”
We’re at the end of the season. It’s time for summer. Most of the guys will be taking off for a few weeks anyway, especially since we lost. I’ll miss some practice and conditioning, but three to six months sounds reasonable. I’ll have it done in three.
“Good, I’ll be ready to play next season. I might miss a few games, but I’ll work harder. I’ll be ready.”
Gia and the doctor exchange a look that makes my stomach sink.
Doctor Silver Fox looks over at Gia, but this time I see nothing in his eyes but pity that I don’t want to acknowledge.
“I’m sorry son, but the likelihood of you playing hockey professionally again is, well, it’s not likely at all.”
Not a fucking chance.
Chapter Sixteen
Gia
We haven’t spoken a word about what happened between us at the hotel room in Chambliss. Not a single word.
