One text from her, time-stamped just minutes ago.
Mom - Call me. It’s Patrick.
His chest tightened, all the air punched out of him at once. The locker room noise—the laughter, the banter, the showers running—blurred into static. His hand clenched around the phone, knuckles white, as panic coiled low in his stomach.
Whatever was happening, it wasn’t good.
Murphy sat there on the bench, still half in his gear, the phone heavy in his hand. The locker room noise faded, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe right. His thumb hovered over his mom’s message, the wordsIt’s Patrickburning into him.
The room was almost empty when Conner’s voice cut through.
“Murph?”
Murphy blinked up, finding his teammate lingering by the stalls, a crease of worry pulling at his brow. Conner rubbed the back of his neck like he didn’t know how close to get.
“You’ve been sitting here forever, man. You okay?”
Murphy swallowed hard, shaking his head once, still staring down at the phone. He wanted to answer, but the words stuck in his throat.
Conner took a step closer, guilt still etched across his face from earlier. “Listen, I was a dick out there. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’m sorry.”
Murphy let out a shaky breath, finally looking up. His eyes were raw, voice low.
“It’s not that. It’s . . . my mom. It’s Patrick.”
Conner’s face changed, all apologies giving way to pure concern. “What happened?”
Murphy’s throat bobbed. He didn’t know yet. He hadn’t called. Because calling made it real.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice breaking. “I don’t know yet.”
Murphy hit the call button. Conner sat down beside him, not crowding but not moving either, steady as a wall at his back.
His mom answered on the first ring.
“Murphy?” Her voice wobbled, tight and too fast.
“Mom,” he breathed. “What’s going on?”
“They—” She stopped, took a shaky breath, but he could hear it, the tears she was holding back. “They found some internal bleeding. He’s back in surgery now.”
Murphy closed his eyes, the world tilting under him. “Internal bleeding? How—how bad is it?”
“They don’t know yet.” She sniffed. “He’s gone through so much already.”
Murphy pressed a hand to his eyes, forcing the burn back. He wanted to be there. To hold her. To sit in that damn hospital waiting room and not be a million miles away while his brother was on a table.
“You shouldn’t be there alone,” he whispered.
“I’m not. Your dad’s here. Your sister’s here. We’re okay.” Her voice cracked, brave but breaking. “You just keep doing what you’re doing. Patrick’s proud of you. We all are.”
“Mom—” His throat closed. He wanted to tell her he’d drop everything, be on the next flight, anything. But the weight of the season, of everything, pressed down on his chest.
She seemed to know, like she always did. “Just pray for him, baby. That’s what he needs most.”
The line went quiet for a second. Murphy sat there, staring at the floor, feeling hollowed out and helpless. Conner stayed silent beside him, a solid presence.
“Okay,” Murphy finally managed, voice hoarse. “I love you, Mom.”
