Page 74 of Man Advantage

Ford understood too late that Cole wasn’t withholding anything. He was giving Ford exactly the distance Ford kept asking for.

Friedman called while Ford watched practice from the seats behind the Stags bench. Ford saw his name on the screen and let it ring once before answering.

“Tell me something changed.”

Friedman was quiet long enough to answer the question. “We need to schedule the surgery.”

On the ice, Halsey drove across the crease, caught the next shot cleanly, and sent the puck into the corner for the defenseman to collect. Ford watched him reset.

“You said we could keep waiting.”

“We did. The inflammation isn’t coming down enough to restore the movement you need. At this point, more time off isn’t creating a realistic path back this season. It’s delaying the operation and your rehabilitation.”

Ford leaned forward, forearms against the rail. Cole waited at the blue line for the next repetition, head bent while Deluca corrected the winger beside him.

“If I do it now, can I play next season?”

“That’s the goal.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“Because I can’t promise it.” Friedman’s voice stayed level. “The damage is reparable. You’ve got a strong chance if the procedure and rehabilitation go the way we expect. You also have twelve professional seasons on that joint. Anyone who gives you certainty is lying.”

The whistle blew. Cole pushed off with the line, took a pass through the middle, and moved it to the wing before Halsey could set for him. He belonged in every part of the play. Ford had spent years believing he did too.

Friedman said his name, and Ford forced himself to ask, “How soon?”

“My office can give you the available dates.”

Ford shut his eyes. Once he scheduled it, there would be no version where he surprised everyone by returning for the playoffs. Halsey would finish the season. Ford would watch.

“I’ll call your office after practice.”

“Do that.” Friedman’s voice softened without giving Ford any room to misunderstand him. “Look at the dates today. Waiting longer won’t make the decision different.”

Ford swallowed. “I hear you.”

“Call me when you’re ready.”

The call ended. Ford kept the phone against his ear until the next whistle brought Cole back to the blue line.

Cole found him watching. The concern was immediate. Cole straightened, his attention leaving the drill long enough for Deluca to shout his name.

Ford raised the phone so Cole could see it, then pointed toward the ice. Cole turned back to practice, and Ford stayed in the seat and made himself wait.

Cole didn’t look up at him again until the final whistle. Ford let the team pass him on their way down the tunnel and followed far enough behind that nobody tried to pull him into conversation. By the time he reached the locker room, players were already showering and changing, their plans for the evening carrying over the rows of stalls. Ford stayed near the door while the room emptied around him. Cole remained in his stall, taking longer with his skates than the task required.

Halsey left with Novo. His gaze caught on Ford as he passed, but he kept walking.

When the last voices faded down the hall, Cole set the skate aside. “Friedman?”

Ford nodded. He crossed the room and sat in the stall beside him. “He wants to schedule surgery.”

Cole’s shoulders lowered with the breath he released. He didn’t tell Ford it was the right decision or ask how soon he could return. “What do you want?”

The question hurt because it offered a choice Ford no longer had. Friedman, Theo, and everyone else responsible for getting him back on the ice had accepted where this was headed. Ford was the only one still delaying, like it might change the answer. What he wanted was to play. What he had to decide was whether clinging to this season would cost him part of the next one too.

“I want to play.”