But I just keep hearing the wordscollapsedandunresponsiveover and over in my head. What if he had an undiagnosed heart condition? My sophomore year in college one of my classmates died playing intramural basketball. He just collapsed on the gym floor. The ref gave him CPR, but he was just gone.
Fuck. Can’t think about that. “It’s going to be okay,” I repeat, just like Cindy told me to.
“Hey.” Blake gives my shoulder a shake. “Of course it is. Did Canning’s mom make that coffee mug?”
“What?” My head is full of doom, and Blake wants to talk coffee cups?
“I washed the dishes in your pad. The bottom of the mug is inscribed.”
Oh. Fuck me. That mug saysJamie loves you and so do we. Welcome to the Canning clan. And when I look up into Blake’s eyes, I see exactly what I’d been worrying about formonths.
Heknows.
“Blake,” I start. Bullshitting him is off the table, so I go with evasion. “It’s not a good time to have this conversation.”
“Says you.” Blake’s voice goes to a place I’ve never heard before. He’s actually kind of angry, and I hadn’t even known that was possible. “We’re about sixty seconds away from fending off a bunch of fans who will decide that it isn’t all that rude to approach the hockey players in the emergency room. And they’re gonna ask why we’re here. I got no opinion at all on what you should say to them. But I’m your friend, and you’re supposed to level with your friends.”
That’s probably true, but I’ve got a whole lot riding on my secrecy. Blake has the biggest big mouth I ever met, and I’m not sure he can really appreciate the situation I’m in.
We’re having a stare down and I win it. Because shutting my trap has become something that I’m really good at.
He sighs and looks away. “Fine. Be that way. But if you’re hell-bent on hiding for the rest of your life, at least take off your jacket, man. That thing is like a beacon.”
Because he’s right, I do it, shrugging off the team jacket and shoving it under my arm.
“Ryan Wesley?” the intercom bleats. “Is there a Ryan Wesley here for Mr. Canning?”
Thank Christ. I spin around and boogie back to the desk. The green-eyed nurse points at a guy waiting there in scrubs. “Go with him.”
“I’m Doctor Rigel, infectious diseases.” He holds out a hand to shake.
Shaking hands with someone who works on infectious diseases seems a little sketchy to me, but I do it anyway.
Blake is right behind me, too. “What can you tell us?” he asks in his booming voice.
He leads us down a hall, talking as we go. “Mr. Canning is stable,” he says, and I practically melt with relief. “He arrived dehydrated and with a high fever. He’s getting fluids and an antiviral that fights flu, though we won’t have a lab test back for another twelve hours or so. We need to rule out what the media is calling the sheep flu.”
Blake shudders so hard they can probably measure it on the Richter Scale. “Dude. That cannot be what J-Bomb has. I refuse to believe it.”
“Well…” The doctor rings for an elevator, and we all stop to wait for it. “You’re probably right. But it would be irresponsible in the middle of a health scare to treat this lightly. And his coworkers indicated that he travels around Canada for his job, so we need to be sure.”
My fear comes roaring back. “He’s not used to this climate,” I babble. “He’s always lived on the West Coast.”
Blake gives me a pointed look that suggests I might want to stop talking.
We get onto the elevator. “Good game last night,” the doctor says into the silence.
“Uh, thanks,” Blake says. “You’re gonna let my man Wesley here see Canning, right? There’s a couple of box seats in it for you if you do.”
The doctor’s face goes through several different emotions in rapid succession, from elation to despair and then to irritation. “I would never make a medical protocol decision for hockey tickets.”
“Of course not,” Blake says quickly. “I only mean that if you’re the guy who tells us when J-Bomb can have one visitor, we’d be mighty grateful.”
Dr. Rigel nods slowly. “Mr. Wesley can see the patient after he puts on protective gear.”
“All right,” I agree immediately.
The elevator doors part, and we step off. A sign on the wall reads: Isolation Unit. The doctor brings us into a room straight out of a psychological thriller. It has multiple sides, each side a glass wall into a patient’s room. A couple of these rooms have the shades drawn. But a few of them are open, and the people inside look sicker than a person should look.
