Several people sat in the seats in the orthopedics waiting room. Rusty didn’t see anyone who screamed “hockey team” to him. After they touched base with the nursing station, who said Cross was off in imaging, Marie grabbed Rusty’s wrist again, half-pulling him over to a pair of chairs right by the doorway. He didn’t resist. She let go as they sat, staring down at her own hand like she was surprised, then up at him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to touch you without asking.”
“It’s all good. You’re thinking about Cross.” He restrained himself from rubbing his arm and lowered his ass to the vinyl seat next to hers.
She pulled out her phone. “I should let our parents know, but I wish I had an update first.”
“Maybe keep it low key. He’d hate for them to get upset.” Rusty was pretty sure about that. Cross seemed to have a friendly but not close relationship with his folks, and Rusty was sure he’d hateanyonefussing over him.
“You’re right.” She tapped something in briefly. “I guess you know my brother pretty well, huh?”
That rang alarm bells. Rusty cleared his throat and shrugged. “Not really. We’ve hung out a few times, with the other guys mostly.”And not.“He’s a mentor, kind of.”And not.
“Mm.” Marie went on texting.
Rusty got out his phone and fiddled with it, trying to look calm and busy. He didn’t want to see video of that hit on Cross, no doubt already circulating online. He pulled up rental websites for Eugene. ECHL housing allowance only went through the end of April. He’d suddenly have no income and no place to stay, come May. He’d planned to head back to Kansas and Scott’s ranch, but now… Not that all the wishing in the world would help him afford even half of what the ECHL was paying for his current room. And nothing out there cost less than half.
Several people bustled into the room, led by Unger, the publicist. They went to the nursing station, mentioning Cross’s name. Rusty stuck his phone away. Marie stood and strode over to them. “I’m Marie LaCroix. Who are you all?”
Wendy Unger introduced the others as the Rafters’ public relations intern, team doctor, a trainer, and an assistant coach. “If you’d care to come with us,” Unger told Marie, “I’ve arranged a private waiting area out of the public eye. You understand,details of your brother’s injuries are confidential. Right this way.” She gestured out of the room.
Rusty was resigned to falling out of the loop, but Marie turned to him. “Come on, Rusty. I imagine you’re as ready for some answers as I am.”
“Uh, sure.” He stood quickly.
“Who’s this?” the coach asked.
“A family friend.” Marie came over and tucked her hand into Rusty’s arm. “Now, where are you taking us?”
The coach hesitated, then shrugged. Unger said, “This way.”
Rusty stuck with Marie as they headed down the hall and into a smaller room. This one was furnished with several loveseats with actual upholstery, a glass-door mini fridge holding waters and sodas, and a coffee maker.Huh, I guess the other half really do get all kinds of perks.Rusty remembered the uncomfortable vinyl chairs and hard metal arms, the vending machine food and drinks, from a host of hospital visits over the years with his mom and siblings, waiting around for births and ear infections and all the usual. They’d never been shown into a comfy private room like this.
Marie led him over to one of the loveseats and tugged him down beside her. “Right,” she said to the team doctor standing nearby. “Now talk.”
“I need to verify your ID and PoA.”
Marie clenched her teeth but handed over her license and phone again. The doctor scrolled the document on the screen, then passed it back.
“That seems in order. And this gentleman?” He raised an eyebrow at Rusty.
“He’s staying.” Marie looked cool but her foot tapped an agitated tattoo next to Rusty’s.
“Very well. Your brother’s down in imaging right now,” the doc said. “He’s getting an MRI and a CT, in addition to initial X-rays, to let us evaluate bone and ligament injuries.”
“Injuries towhat?” Marie sounded exasperated.
“Oh. Yes. As near as we can tell, when the other players fell on LaCroix, they landed stick-down across his legs.”
“Fuck,” Rusty muttered, imagining a crosscheck to the legs with four hundred pounds of combined player weight behind it.
The doctor gave him a frown. “The impact broke LaCroix’s left leg mid-tibia with minimal displacement and caused trauma to his right ankle. The left leg is probably a simple fracture repair but the specialists are still evaluating his ankle.”
“But no head injury,” Marie emphasized. “No back or neck injury? No broken ribs?”
“Not on initial exam. We will be monitoring him closely, of course.”
“Thank God.” Marie sagged against Rusty, and he put an arm around her, same as he did with his mom when— He cut off the trip down memory lane. Marie needed support. Rusty was right there. Simple as that.
Will he be able to heal up and play hockey like before?Rusty didn’t voice that question. Too soon for an answer, no doubt. But he was sure that was the only thing burning in Cross’s brain right now. He tried to wing some mental support to wherever Crosswas being poked and prodded and imaged.Bones heal. Ankles heal. He’ll be back.He made himself put positive energy out into the universe.
