“They can deal with it,” I bite out. “I can’t think about their feelings. Not right now.”
“Then we’ll keep it small. I’ve got you, Teddy.”
The knot in my chest loosens a fraction. “Thanks. Really.”
“Anytime. Now that that’s settled, I’ll be heading out. Don’t get too comfortable here.”
I nod, not knowing if she’s looking at me or not. “Take care, Em.”
“Always do. Try not to drive your care team wild while I’m gone.”
The conversation with Em and Uncle Jake brought comfort, but it also acted as a reminder of everything I lost. My career, my independence, the future I’d always imagined…it’s all hanging in the balance.
I close my eyes, though it makes little difference. The absence of sight has turned everything into an endless void. Exhaling slowly, I press my palms to my temples. The growing pounding behind my eyes is relentless, each throb dragging in intrusive thoughts I can’t seem to shake.
No matter how much I try to push them aside, the truth remains; even if I miraculously recover from my injury, I’ll never be the same. I better get used to the idea sooner rather than later. But today’s not the day I magically accept this new reality.
8
TEDDY
DECEMBER 8
Avicious pounding behind my eyes wakes me up, like a hammer slamming into my skull with every beat of my heart. I open them instinctively, but there’s nothing. It’s not the kind of dark you get when you close your eyes to sleep. No, this is an absence eating away at the edges of everything I once knew.
My mind swims with disjointed images and fragments, the world slipping out of my reach. Taking a deep breath, I gather some semblance of control and focus on my breathing.Inhale, exhale.Repeat.But it’s not enough. The ice did more than rattle my brain; it shook my whole damn body. Each bruise is a sobering reminder of how quickly everything can change. One wrong move and you’re fucked.
Every inch of my body aches, stiff and sore from hours of lying still. My limbs are heavy and unfamiliar. My chest heaves with shallow breaths, and for a terrifying second, I’m convinced I might suffocate with the pain. It takes me back tothatday. I vaguely remember the start of the third period. Then it’s a blur.There’s the hit and the crash of my body on the ice. Then nothing.
Here’s what I do know: I’m in the hospital and have my own professional care team, including Ivy. There’s something about her that I can’t get out of my mind. When she speaks, my heartbeat steadies and I feel calmer. I don’t actually know her, but she has been a source of comfort in the middle of this turmoil.
To my horror, the pain doesn’t ease as minutes pass at a snail’s pace. The pounding is constant behind my eyes. I want to rip the feeling out with my bare hands, claw it away until my skull is empty.
Footsteps pull me out of my spiraling, unclear thoughts. The words that follow are muffled and distant like I’m underwater. I barely recognize a deep masculine voice as Dr. Royce’s from earlier.
“How are you feeling today, Teddy?” he asks, standing next to the bed.
I pause to collect myself, trying my best to push through the fog filling my mind. “I don’t feel great.” My voice comes out scratchy from disuse. “My head is killing me.”
“We’ll up your pain meds. I’ll get some ice packs as well. Have you had anything to eat or drink?”
“Just give me something to take the edge off, Doc.”
“Consider it done.” He says and presses a few buttons. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
The effort of talking leaves me drained, like every word is being dragged out of me. I close my eyes, the rhythm of the machines syncing with the pounding in my skull. Beep.Throb. Beep.Throb. Beep. Shifting my position slightly, I look for relief, but there’s none. I’ve been injured before, hurt plenty, but this is different. I want to punch something, or skate until my legs give out, or scream until my lungs burn.
“Teddy.” Ivy’s voice cuts through the annihilating pain.
“I don’t feel too good.”
She sits down beside me, the mattress tilting, her presence solid against my aching body. “What hurts? Your head? Your body?”
“Everythinghurts. I’m reaching the limit of how much I can take.”
Her fingers brush mine in a feather-light touch, but it’s enough to make me feel less alone. Her skin is smooth against the rough calluses I’ve earned from the years of playing. The contrast makes me hyperaware of the contact.
“How can I make you feel more comfortable?” she asks gently.
