Page 161 of With the Assist

Her face swims into focus, curly hair pulled back in a messy knot. Her eyes are glossy and red-rimmed, making my chest sink.

“Yeah,” she says, breathless. “We came as soon as we could.”

It’s only flashes, but the memories come flooding back. The ice and the pain. The stretcher that I’d woken up on. The hospital lights marked the path to this room, before I dozed off into a pain medicine-induced sleep. I swallow.

“How bad is it?” I ask, though part of me already knows. I’m in a fucking sling after all.

Delaney lets out a shaky laugh, holding back tears. “Not nearly as bad as it could’ve been.”

Before I can push her for more, two more figures move into my line of sight, one from either side of the bed.

My mom’s hand is already on my arm, fingers curling into the sleeve of the hospital gown as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go. My dad stands closer than he ever does.

“We got here while you were sleeping.” My mom’s voice breaks as she speaks. “Nathan, you scared us.”

It’s not meant to grate on my nerves, but it does. I scared them. As if I chose to be knocked unconscious on the ice.

She leans down and hugs me carefully, like she’s not sure where she’s allowed to touch. I can smell her perfume, the same floral scent she’s worn since I was a kid. For a second, I relax into her, forgetting the strain in our relationship.

“Hey,” I murmur. “I’m okay.”

My right arm is immobilized in the sling, strapped against my chest, but I test out moving it anyway. Huge mistake. The sharp stab of pain spreads across my chest.

Fuck.

I definitely broke something.

My dad clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”

I shrug, or try to. The movement sends a jolt through my shoulder, and I hiss, biting back a curse. “Like I got hit by a truck.”

My mom presses her lips together, brushing a piece of my hair, stiff from sweat, away from my face. “They said it was a clean hit, but since you didn’t see it coming, you didn’t brace for it.”

She recites what someone else told her, because of course, they weren’t watching my game themselves. They never have.

“How bad is it?”

My dad chimes in. “You broke your collarbone on impact and sustained a mild concussion when your head hit the ice.”

“Mild?” I repeat. Being knocked out cold surely had to mean that it was more severe than mild.

“You lost consciousness briefly, but they said your scans look good. No bleeding or swelling as of now. They want to keep you overnight for observation, but expect a full recovery.”

My chest loosens a fraction. “So, I’ll be okay.”

A broken collarbone and a concussion are serious injuries, sure, but they aren’t career-ending injuries. I can heal from them and not lose too much ice time.

Being off the ice for any length of time is a risk this season. Just because the team decided to renew my contract before this, doesn’t mean they can’t change their mind.

Delaney steps to my side and squeezes my left hand. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

My parents exchange a look I don’t like. I’ve seen it before, usually when they think they’re about to say something reasonable and necessary that I’m going to hate.

My mom sits down on the edge of the chair. “Nathan, this could have been so much worse.”

“I know.”

Her hand tightens on my arm. “We can’t help but think this might be a sign.”