He frowns. “Okay. Whatever.”
Now I’m even grumpier. I pull out my Nintendo DS and start a game to keep me from being more of an asshole to a guy who doesn’t deserve it.
* * *
Nikki’s absence is like a knife turning slowly in my chest. My insides feel shredded and I don’t think it’s getting better.
Do I regret having her stay with me all that time?
Nah. I’m gonna hold on to those memories forever.
Sometimes when I go into the bathroom I think I can still smell her exotic scent, flowers and honey and her skin, and it’s still intoxicating. I’ve watched YouTube videos of her singing over and over, which I know is just picking at a scab, but I can’t seem to stop myself. It’s like I’m addicted to her. I check her Instagram all the time. She hasn’t posted anything there for months. And I scour online blogs and entertainment sites for mention of her. That’s pretty meager, too; one site just says they’ve heard she’s back in L.A. and getting back to work. I knew that. I’m glad it’s working out for her. She’s so fucking brave.
After practice one day, Levi corners me in the players’ lounge. “Hey. I need you to visit a sick kid at Fineberg Children’s Hospital.”
Fuck. This again. “I can’t do it.”
“Come on, Marek. The other guys have all done it.”
Except Alfie. But he has a valid reason.
I have a valid reason, too. But I haven’t told anyone.
“I just can’t.”
He gives me a long, slitty-eyed look. “This kid specifically asked to meet you. He has Hodgkin’s lymphoma. He’s having surgery and chemotherapy and Hopeful Hearts is helping make his wish come true.”
Fuck.
“After he’s done chemo, we hope to bring him to the arena for a practice and a game. Next season.” He pauses. “He’s five years old.”
I haven’t been to a hospital since that skate blade sliced my throat open. Luckily I haven’t had a pressing reason to; my family’s all healthy and I’ve been able to avoid these community visits. Thinking about the hospital gives me a sour curdling feeling in my gut.
I’m still smarting from Alfie calling me chicken shit.
Coming from him, that actually stung. I know what absolute hell he’s been through. Still going through.
And I think about Nikki. About how wrecked she was by what happened, and how she’s managed to fight her way back to her life. Having seen her going through the nightmares and flashbacks and fears, I know she didn’t just get up one day totally fine; she has to be still going through it and that takes fucking balls. Ovaries.
I remember talking to her about it, confessing my fear of hospitals.You could do it. I know you could.
I look back at Levi. “Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll do it.”
“Great. I’ll email you the details when we get it set up.”
A five-year-old kid with cancer. Jesus fucking Christ.
* * *
My hands are sweating as I enter the hospital, a vast empty feeling in my stomach. I meet up with a rep from Hopeful Hearts, Janice, and a rep from the hospital.
“Thank you so much for doing this,” Janice says. “We hoped you could meet with Will before his surgery. There’s always a chance that things may not go well.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, but her eyes shadow. “But we’re also hopeful that the surgery will go well and the chemo will go well and he’ll be fine.” She smiles.
We all go up to the fourth floor and they lead me to Will’s room.
I don’t know what to expect. The smells and beeping machines bring back memories of that night I got cut. I’m a little worried I might pass out when I see the kid.
His mom is with him and jumps up from her chair on seeing me. This is a surprise for Will and his mouth opens into an O and his eyes are as big and round as hockey pucks. He’s a small kid, lying in a hospital bed. “Marek Smits!”
