The doctor checks his iPad. “No, I don’t think sending him home commercial would be a great experience. He looks at Louis. “Let’s bring you to Edmonton with us. We’ll get the MRI done there first thing tomorrow morning. The University of Alberta has a world-class facility and some of the best doctors in the field.” He gives Louis an encouraging smile. “They’ll take good care of us up there.”
“Fine,” Carson says. He pulls out his phone immediately. He taps the screen and puts it to his ear. “Yeah, it’s Wells,” he says, turning away and stepping into the corner. “I need to call up Casey McWhittier. Tonight. We need him in Edmonton to back up Sinclair tomorrow night.”
Lou exhales sharply, like he’s been punched in the gut, and he grips the edge of the exam table so tightly his knuckles go white.
Jesus.Next man up.The poor guy’s getting a front-row seat to watch the business of pro hockey move forward. Less than an hour after his injury.
Coach Shaw stops in front of Lou and reaches out to give his knee a comforting squeeze. “Hey, Louis,” he says in a low voice while Carson continues his conversation and Doc Kendall types more notes into his iPad. “We’re gonna get you through this. Try not to get into your head, okay?”
Louis doesn’t say anything, just gives him a curt nod without making eye contact.
Coach notices me hovering by the door, Lou’s bag in one hand and his warm-up suit draped over my arm. He gives me a nod. “Sinclair. Good. Give him a hand getting dressed, and we’ll see you both on the bus in—” He checks his watch. “—twenty-five minutes.”
Carson ends his call. “McWhittier’s flight leaves Seattle in two hours. He won’t get much sleep tonight, but he’ll be at morning skate.” He looks at Louis, his expression softening. “Try not to worry too much, Lou. We’ll know more tomorrow.”
“Right,” he rasps. “No problem.” The fact that he doesn’t attempt to make any kind of joke is one more sign that Louis Tremblay is rattled.
He sits still for a long moment after management and the doc file out, staring at the closed door like he’s waiting for someone to come back and tell him this is all a mistake. When no one does, he turns his attention to me.
I’m still standing awkwardly next to the door, holding his stuff.
He holds his good arm out. “Give me the shirt,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.
I hand him the gray team T-shirt. He slides off the table, turning his back to me. He tries to shake it out one-handed, but the soft cotton tangles around his wrist. He curses under his breath and tries to get it over his head using his one good arm, which is surprisingly difficult, and his agitated movements pull at the muscles in his chest.
He hisses sharply, and the T-shirt drops to the floor.
“Fuck!” He clenches his good hand into a fist. “Fuck, fuck,fuck.” He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing hard through his nose, trying to ride out the wave of pain.
He doesn’t want help. Nothing could be more clear. But he needs it.
I cross the room and grab the shirt off the floor.
“Stop,” I say quietly.
His eyes snap open. “I can do it. Give me my damn suit.”
“No. You’re not wearing the suit. Don’t be stupid, Lou.” I step into his personal space, shaking out the soft T-shirt. “We’ve got two bus rides and a flight to get through. You’re already going to be uncomfortable enough. You’re wearing the sweats.”
“I don’t show up looking like a slob,” he argues, but the fight is draining out of him.
“You show up looking like a guy who left everything he had out on the ice. Let me help.”
He stares at me, his chest heaving.Is he going to tell me to get the hell out?
“Fine,” he whispers. “Just… be careful.”
I nod and step closer, engulfed in his scent. Sweat, Tiger Balm, and man.
“We’ll go slow.”
I get the T-shirt over his head without too much trouble. He holds his breath as I pull it down as gently as possible over his injured side, careful not to jostle him. Bruises are already starting to bloom underneath the compression bandages, the dark purple beginning to spread across his chest like spilled ink. My stomach turns.
“Breathe, Lou,” I murmur.
He lets out a shaky exhale as I pull the hem the rest of the way down.
“Okay. Let’s do your hoodie next.”
