Page 193 of Pucking Them
Is it possible?
I rock with anxiety, pressing closer to the glass. “Come on…”
Shay scoops up the puck.
“Own the ice!” D’Angelo yells in encouragement. “You’ve got this.”
Then his knees buckle.
Shay loses focus and stumbles himself, when he notices. He stiffens with concern.
Eden lets go of me and marches to D’Angelo, wrapping his arm around his shoulder instead.
He tries to drag D’Angelo back to the bench, which is where D’Angelo promised he would sit throughout the game.
I see Cody glancing over anxiously, but when he starts to hurry over, I shake my head at him.
The last thing I want is more press attention right now and headlines about D’Angelo needing medical attention.
It should be the biggest night of D’Angelo’s career.
It will be.
Cody raises his eyebrow in question, but I make praying hands at him. Cody quirks his lips in a way that I know means this is on my head if Michael finds out.
Michael recommended that D’Angelo stay at home and rest for another day. He offered to come over and watch the game with D’Angelo. He obviously didn’t realize that was more of a threat than a reassurance.
D’Angelo looked horrified like he was imagining the fiddly, delicate snacks Michael would be sure to bring with him. And that’s not to mention the classical music that Michael would put on in the background, paired with his chat about wine and cheese pairings.
D’Angelo would never desecrate game night like that.
Sacrilege.
Instead, he had insisted on Eden quietly helping him to dress in his smart, pin-striped suit. Eden had even done up D’Angelo’s tie for him because he still didn’t have enough coordination in his hands, no matter how hard he tried.
I could tell Michael’s weariness over the phone, when I told him that D’Angelo was coming with me to the game.
By now, he must be used to dealing with difficult patients.
“At least make sure that he keeps his ass glued to the bench,” Michael said. “He shouldn’t be getting excited.”
Of course, as soon as Shay scored, D’Angelo leaped off the bench.
He hasn’t sat down since.
See, difficult patient.
Eden pulls D’Angelo closer to him to steady him, as if he’s only hugging him. I rush to the other side, blocking him from the view of the cameras and do the same.
D’Angelo is pale.
Too pale.
“Do you need to leave?” I whisper.
“I may need to hurl,” D’Angelo says through clenched teeth. “I’ll get back to you on that. But I’m not leaving.”
“Stubborn.” Eden curls his arm tighter around D’Angelo’s shoulder.
