Page 63 of Rise Above

Once my feet were in front of her, she tugged my skates off, her fingers faster than my eyes could track. Tears still flowed down my cheeks. “You need to go to the hospital.”

“No.” The last time I went to a hospital, my dad

died. I refused to go near one. I hated them. My shoulders tensed, bunching up near my ears.

“Yes,” she said with a sharp glare. “Have you even

looked at your wrist?” She stood up, motioning for my team to come help get me upright again. “I’ll go with you.”

“Promise?” My voice was weak, too soft to my own

ears.

“I promise.” Aife picked up my skates. “I’ll hold

your hand the entire time.”

Hospitals were always the same: clean, sterile, and

bright. I hated them. There were no good memories in places like these. To me, hospitals meant death. The constant beeping was grating, making my jaw clench. They had pulled me back about thirty minutes ago and hooked me up to some IVs. They didn’t even take x-rays, just immediately grabbed a doctor to re-break my wrist and then put me in a cast. Now we were waiting for discharge 141

Rise Above

medication and instructions. Really all I cared about was how long I’d be out. How long would I be away from hockey, the ice, the rink, the adrenaline? The things that kept me sane? My feet bounced, my anxiety hitting my chest.

Aife looked at me carefully. She was reading my

face, trying to figure out my emotions. I’d been quiet since we got here. She kept her promise and stayed. Maybe Davis was right, and Aife had wormed her way into my cold heart. I hated when he was right. The worst part of all of this was not knowing who broke my wrist. Did he ruin my career? My feet bounced faster.

“Talon, where’s your head?” Aife traced a thumb

over the hand she was holding, squeezing it gently. “You haven’t said a word since we got to the hospital.”

I looked at her. She had been so calm throughout

this. She asked all the questions for me, wrote down things, and advocated for me in ways I didn’t think I needed. I couldn’t tell if it came from her social work background or her own experience.

“How do you know what to ask?” My voice was

strained, frayed from crying.

“I do this for a living.” The words didn’t quite

match her expertise or the expression she wore. If I wasn’t still in so much pain, I would have called her out.

“Aife…” My voice was almost pleading. “What if

my wrist is permanently fucked up?” I finally asked the question that was really on my mind. My feet stopped bouncing for half a second.

142

Rise Above

“Don’t play the what if game, honey. It will only eat

you alive. The anxiety and fear will destroy your mental health. Our brains do that in an attempt to protect ourselves, but it only feeds the fear monster.” Her beautiful hazel eyes met mine. “You have to push the thoughts out and away. I know that’s easier said than done, but most things in life are.”

“That’s not just you being a social worker.” My