Page 51 of Man Advantage

Ford unfolded Friedman’s instructions before they reached the highway. He read the first line, then the second. No skating. No loading the joint. Theo would set the rest.

“He wrote no skating three times.”

Cole glanced over, and the worry he had kept contained in Friedman’s office surfaced before he faced the road again. “He knows you.”

Ford’s mouth twitched. The almost-smile died when he reached the line about reassessment. He read it twice.

“Five games.” Saying it aloud made his chest tighten.

Cole’s shoulders pulled rigid beneath his coat. “At least.”

“You’re supposed to tell me it’ll only be five.”

Cole’s jaw flexed. He stared straight ahead, giving Ford time to take it back. “Do you want me to?”

Ford tried to say yes. The answer lodged behind the pressure in his throat.

“No.”

Cole nodded once. His next breath shook on the way out. “Okay.”

That was worse. Cole wasn’t going to tell him Friedman was overreacting. He wasn’t going to promise the swelling would come down or that Ford would be back in net before anybody had time to miss him. There was nowhere left for Ford to hide from what the doctor had said.

“Tell me Halsey isn’t ready,” Ford said.

Cole went quiet.

“Fuck, this sucks,” Ford whispered.

“I know.”

Ford shoved the instructions against the dashboard. The page bent and slid back toward him.

“I did everything right.” His voice broke anyway. “I changed how I trained. I took the injections. I gave Theo every goddamn morning I had off. I was supposed to get through June.”

Cole put on the turn signal and took the next exit. He pulled into the empty end of a gas station lot, shifted into Park, and killed the engine.

Ford kept his face toward the windshield.

“I can’t lose it yet,” he said.

Cole unfastened his seat belt. “I know.”

Ford looked at him. Cole wasn’t reaching for him or trying to make the diagnosis into something it wasn’t. He was just there, looking as scared as Ford felt.

Ford leaned across the console.

Cole caught him and held on. Ford pressed his face into Cole’s shoulder. His breath broke once, then again, and he stopped trying to keep it quiet. Cole didn’t tell him it would be fine. He didn’t tell him hockey wasn’t everything.

When Ford could breathe again, Cole said, “Whatever happens in two weeks, you don’t do it alone.”

Ford shut his eyes. “The three of us?”

“The three of us.”

Theo told Ford to go home.

Ford ignored him and lowered himself onto the end of the bench. Practice had already started. Cole spotted him as he circled back into line and missed the pass coming to his tape. Ford gave him a small nod. Some of the tension left Cole’s stride, but he held Ford’s gaze for another second before he turned back to the drill.