Refusing to believe it, I whipped out my phone and texted her. Seeing the last few messages between us all from her—with no response from me, made me pulsate with regret …maybe even fear…that I’d royally screwed up.
Two days later I helped my brother check out of the hospital.
“Where are we going?” he asked when I hit the highway going in the other direction.
“I’m taking you to Staten Island. You’re staying with mom and dad during your recovery.”
He groaned. “I can take care of myself August, take me back to Brooklyn.”
“Neither of us have a choice here. It’s only for a few weeks, then you’ll come back to the city for your physical therapy. You’ll be back on the ice before you know it,” I assured.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“It’s noon on a Monday, you’re not behind your desk, working your life away…I don’t think you’ve ever taken a day off.”
I shrugged. “I’ll head over later. I transferred most of my accounts to my colleague Jason. He’ll do just fine. He’s turning gray at twenty-six, but he’ll do fine,” I laughed, feeling slightly relieved and empty at the same time.
Troy eyed me suspiciously. “He just took on your work? What does he get out of it?”
I grinned, knowing I got the better half of our deal. “I gave him my bigger office.”
There was some silence between us for a short distance and then he finally said it.
“Ryan told me they’ve offered you a spot next season.”
I shook my head, keeping my eyes on the road. “It doesn’t work that way, there are draft rules and regulations—”
“So you’ve considered it.”
I glanced at him. “It’s not possible.”
“You won four games in a row and barely broke a sweat. Trust me, our GM can make it possible.”
I ignored him, not ready to approach the topic of leaving a job I’d been married to since I graduated just to toss around a puck and be slammed into from every angle for the next ten years.
Even if the thought was kind of invigorating to say the least. Not just about playing hockey.
About quitting my job.
Dad helped carry Troy to the living room sofa, the entire time raging against the other team for his injuries. “Penalty box…you kidding me with that…we should be pressing charges.”
“Dad, back off. I’m fine,” Troy groaned as he settled into the corner.
“You need anything, just ask your mother. By the way, did you see this?” He handed me and Troy the paper. “Look who made front page. And in a good way…”
I looked at a familiar sketch of number nineteen and the distant crowd surrounding him. Their signs held high, their cheers practically coming to life through the page. The audience was in black in white, but the back of the player himself, centered and enlarged was shaded in the blue and white uniform colors.
The fan signs all read words of encouragement for his recovery and return.
We’ll Miss You #19
Come Back Strong
We Believe In You
We’ll Be Here When You Get Back
