Page 9 of The Recovery Coach
Lover passed the soccer ball to Beanie, who sent it straight toward Hazy.
Beanie said, “I’m excited to meet her.I feel like she’s this adorable little secret you’ve been keeping from us all these years.”
Hazy rolled his eyes and passed the ball to Beanie, who did some juggling of his own as Hazy said, “I’m not keeping her a secret.She hasn’t been around much.”
“Why?”Lover asked.
“Her boyfriend didn’t like me.Apparently men and women can’t be friends.”
The guffaw Lover let out startled Hazy, who miscalculated as he passed the ball and sent it careening over a ducking Beanie’s head and into the rafters.
“Shit,” he said.
Lover dragged a chair directly under where the ball was stuck as he said, “Men and women can be friends.Look at Daisy and Patrick.They’ve been besties forever.But think about how we perceived them at first.”Even with the chair, Lover couldn’t quite reach the ball.
Hazy ground his molars to dust.They’d assumed Daisy and Patrick were having an affair.He gave Lover a boost.
“Beanie at least gave Patrick a chance, and they hated each other!”
Lover retrieved the ball and tossed it to Beanie.He juggled it while he waited for Hazy and Lover to return to their game.
“If Hazy and Olivia had the same relationship as Patrick and Daisy, Olivia would have spent a lot more time with us by now.I’m sure you’re close.But it’s something to consider.”
Irrational irritation swept over Hazy, but he needed to save his aggression for the ice.He changed the subject.
Taking the ice was as fraught with tension as Hazy had expected.The taunts and chirps started well before the puck dropped.By the time the teams met at center ice Toma Novikov—the defenseman the team lovingly referred to as “The Russian”—was ready to drop gloves.Only two seconds had ticked by and they were already taking a TV timeout, the medics and maintenance guys scraping The Russian’s blood from the ice.Both teams would start the game down one man, the players guilty of fighting sitting their five-minute majors in the sin bin.
When, at long last, the game started for real, it only took the Connor line three minutes to bury one in the back of the net.They slammed into each other in celebration, the Nirvana song in the background never getting old.He’d known it would be a great night.His good luck charm remained intact.
A few minutes later, on a power play, Hazy gained another assist.He felt on fire.On top of the world.Giddy and euphoric.Calgary wanted nothing to do with fueling their enthusiasm.
To start the second period, the Connor line took the face-off.After their center, Beanie, flinched a little too early, the ref ejected him from the circle.Hazy took his spot and won possession.But not before a homophobic slur left the mouth of his opponent.
Hazy didn’t register the comment before Beanie’s gloves hit the ice, but he always backed up his linemates.He jumped into the middle of the skirmish, pulling the opposing team off his teammates while Beanie circled the jackass who agreed to fight with him.He grinned as elbows and knuckles intermittently collided with his face.
Everything said and done, Beanie and their team captain, Harland Reese, sat in the penalty box.Only one of Calgary’s players joined them, putting the Freeze on the penalty kill.
The Bulls won the next face-off, but Hazy stole the puck with a sweep check and reveled in the open ice he found.He hadn’t scored a short-handed goal yet that season.With an opponent gaining on him, he tried to fling the puck toward the goal, but his stick got caught up.And then his skates got caught up, and he skidded way too fast toward the boards.
Hazy twisted his body, shifting so his head didn’t hit first.He hit ass first, back second, the wind crushed from his lungs, but he hadn’t hit his head.He had a split second to appreciate his quick thinking before knees were ramming into his splayed legs.His helmet bounced off the ice.
That motherfucker.At first, the pain didn’t register.Only the loud crack, and the rage at being hit hard when he was already down, took his attention.The fraction of a second before the blinding agony took over, Hazy rolled to his knees.On all fours, one of his legs buckled beneath him.Far from himself and the ice and the crowd, a stabbing sensation above his knee caused his vision to blur.Someone screamed.Maybe several someones.Maybe thousands of people let out screams.
The whistle sounded over and over, total chaos coming into focus in short spurts as he failed to orient himself.Bile climbed his throat and, despite his efforts, he vomited on the ice, undigested white cheddar Cheez-Its spewing over the cold surface.He tried to climb to his feet and was met again with white-hot pain.
Fuck.His trainer, Robbie, was going to have to come get his ass.The moment the thought formed, the team doctor’s face floated into view.Robbie and the doctor helped him reposition flat on his back, and the world slowly came into focus.His doctor’s steady murmur was indecipherable but comforting.
His parents were going to be worried sick.He groaned.Oh, God.Livy would be worried.
“I can walk it off,” he said, sitting up.
Robbie placed a hand on his shoulder, pinning him to the ice.“I promise you, you cannot.”
A stretcher came into view, and panic seized him.“No, Doc.I can get up.”
“Connor Hale,” the trainer commanded his attention.“You’re going to make it worse.Stay still and let us take care of you.”
Somebody jostled him.Pain radiated through his body; his head pounded; he felt his heartbeat in his knee.He gritted his teeth and nodded, the realization dawning that he would need to be stretchered off the ice.
