“I know, baby. I know you are.” I can’t lie to him. I can’t feed him any bullshit. I won’t. What Cody is going through right now is a hockey player’s worst nightmare and I’m not going to sugarcoat it. “I spoke to Dr. Matthews. We gotta go. He’ll meet us at UCHealth.” I pause. “He’s calling Coach, too.” Cody stiffens, but nods against my neck. He knows the drill. Of course he does. I help him with the sweats, grabbing his phone for him from the nightstand. “You ready?” I murmur against his forehead. He nods again.
“I’m ready, Luke.”
“You need me to call your mom?” A shadow flashes across his face as he nibbles on his lip.
“I’ll send her a text from the car,” he sighs.
“It’s okay if you—”
“No, she needs to know,” he interrupts me. He rubs at his forehead, then he stands up, limping out of the bedroom, me trailing closely behind him, my hand lingering at the base of his spine. In the doorway, he comes to a stop. Turning around, his eyes connect with mine, a silent plea in them.
“What is it?” I ask.
“When we… when we get to the hospital. Will you please stay with me? All the time. Even if my mom…” He sounds so defeated; like it’s the end of the world. Or at least life as he knows it.
“Of course,” I rush out. “I promise. I’ll never leave you.” Cody’s eyes widen at my words. He, too, catching the enormity of what I’ve just promised.Never.Implying that unspokenalways.
Three hours, an MRI scan, and two orthopedic surgeons—one a sports medicine specialist—later, and the verdict is clear. Cody should’ve had surgery after the initial injury to his meniscus a few years ago, and the fact he didn’t has made his knee a ticking time bomb, especially since he’s a professional athlete and his knee is under constant pressure. The recommendation from the orthopedic surgeon at the University of Colorado Hospital is meniscus repair surgery as soon as possible. It’s minimally invasive and apparently, the prognosis is good considering Cody’s age, overall health, and physical condition and the fact that the initial tear wasn’t complete.
Matthews and Coach ask a ton of questions, their expressions grim, but it’s not like they haven’t been in this situation before. Professional athletes in a physical sport like hockey get injured all the time. It’s just unlucky that it’s Cody—our replacement for McKinneyand,no doubt, our most valuable player this season.
Like I promised, I never once let go of Cody’s hand. Not during the drive to the ER and not at the admissions counter in the Orthopedic Department where we met up with Coach and Dr. Matthews. The latter threw us a quick glance, his gaze resting a few seconds on our entangled fingers, and then he was back to talking to Coach in a hushed voice, a serious expression on his face.
I hold Cody’s hand in mine all while the orthopedic surgeon explains the surgery and drones on and on about the recovery time and rehabilitation regime.
“It will typically take four to eight weeks to recover fully following the repair. It will take several more months of physical therapy and rehabilitation, however, to ensure your knee has thestrength and stability it needs to return to sports with minimal risk of reinjury.”
The surgeon looks at Coach and Dr. Matthews, who stare back at him like they’ve just been told that the WHO has issued an international ban on beer. Cody won’t be able to finish the season, that’s for sure.
Shortly after, Dr. Matthews leaves the room with the surgeon to get the operation scheduled and to provide the administration with the team’s insurance details. The room goes eerily quiet after that. Several months. What does several months even mean? I can tell that Cody’s head is spinning with the same questions. I lean down and pull him against my chest, his entire body stiff, unmoving.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles on repeat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Coach.” It’s pure torture, his voice so frail and… and broken. Coach looks devastated too, but I can tell that he does his best to swallow it down. Coming up on Cody’s other side, he pats his shoulder awkwardly.
“It’s okay, kid. We’ll figure it out,” he hums. “You’ll have the surgery, and we’ll figure it out.” I know Coach is upset. Cody is his favorite, although coaches aren’t supposed to have favorites. But still, there’s no doubt about it. Cody is Coach Bassey’sgolden boy. His voice is different, somehow gentler when he addresses Cody, a softness in his eyes that is only reserved for him. “Buckhammer is getting better, too,” he continues. “And we’ll find an extra goalie,” he rubs at his forehead. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it, Mitchell. Just wish you would’ve told me, kid. I could’ve looked after you better…” Coach deflates, his large bear paw squeezing Cody’s shoulder again. Then he quietly leaves the room, and it’s still; only the sound of Cody’s muffled sobs against my chest filling it.
I lose track of time, my stomach complaining occasionally over the level of activity at this hour without any food in sight. Codyis clinging to me like I’m his safe place. I hope I am. I want to be. I want to be strong for him now; someone he can rely on. Someone who’ll have his back through what’s coming next. Because it won’t be easy. The physical side is one thing, but mentally I know it’s going to be a hard blow to him. He won’t be able to finish a season that so far has hadMitchellwritten all over it. It’s heartbreaking, to put it mildly.
Eventually, he pulls away from me, his gray eyes nearly as black as the night, red-rimmed and tired. During our stay at the hospital, Cody’s phone has been going off at short intervals, but aside from his initial text to his mom, he has ignored it. Now, he picks it up from the table next to the hospital bed and shoots her a quick text; then he shuts off the phone. Leaning back, his head resting against the pillow, his eyes find mine again, his voice barely audible when he speaks, “I can’t do this, Luke.” He shakes his head like a small kid who’s just been asked to walk up a long flight of stairs all on his own or eat an entire plate of Brussels sprouts. “They’ll kick me off the team,” he whispers. “I just know they will.”
“They won’t, baby. They won’t. You heard Coach,” I try to reassure him, once again tangling my fingers through his.
“But I lied to him. I lied to everyone. I… I fucked up, Luke.” He looks so small and broken and my heart hurts for him because I just know what’s going through his head on repeat. He blames himself. It’s so easy for him to blame himself; it’s second nature to him. It hardly takes any effort for his mind to go to that dark place. I know how Cody’s mind works by now, so I try to beat him to it.
“This isnotyour fault, you hear me? This could’ve happened to anyone. It’s the risk we take playing the game that we love more than anything. You and I both know that. The team knows it. Coach knows it and he’s going to have your back throughthis.” My hands move to his shoulders, wrapping firmly around them, forcing him to look at me.
“But what about the management?” He hiccups.
“What about them?”
“The team can drop me, can’t they? For being deceitful. For holding back essential information about my injury history.” His voice is trembling, his eyes searching mine like I hold the answer to every goddamn question in the universe.
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “Maybe. Possibly. I don’t know. I guess we have to wait and see.” They probably could, but why would they? They’ll follow Coach’s recommendation. They usually do. And I think his mind is set on keeping Cody on the team. Seeing this through.
“What if they drop me, Luke? What if they won’t cover the surgery? What if…” he trails off, shaking his head, his messed-up hair almost dry now since the meds kicked in and he’s no longer in pain. At least not physically. I shush against his forehead like one would a small child, rocking him back and forth.
“Shhh, baby, it’s okay. They won’t drop you. It’ll be okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
And I just pray to anything that might exist that I’m right.
