“It was. I want to do it as often as possible.”
“We will.” She leans up on her toes and presses her lips to mine. “Promise.”
Thursday is here before I know it and my SUV is full, as Victoria, Juliet, and I head to the children’s hospital in downtown Fort Lauderdale. I’ve been here before, but usually it’s just a couple of us visiting the cancer ward. Today is a bigger event, half the team is coming, and not only is Juliet providing cookies, cupcakes, and juice, we’re all bringing swag. Tons of swag. I have 500 pucks in the back, along with tote bags and small plastic sticks. Supposedly, there’s enough for all the kids and some of the staff too.
The girls carry in the cookies and cupcakes while I make a couple of trips to get the drinks and everything else. By the time I get back inside, they’ve set up a table and there’s excitement in the air. The ladies have changed into Knights T-shirts similar to the ones the team is wearing, and the staff seems happy to see us.
I’ve been here half a dozen times in the last two years so I recognize a lot of faces and the charge nurse comes over to me with a smile.
“Hey, Jordan. How are you?” She’s a no-nonsense woman in her fifties with a huge heart and an even bigger love of hockey. She’s probably one of the team’s biggest fans.
“Hey, Terri. How are you?” I give her a quick hug.
“I’m good. Getting excited for the playoffs.”
“You’re getting tickets?”
She gives me a disgusted look. “Is that a serious question?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, sorry.”
“The kids are really excited so this is going to be a long afternoon for you.”
“The cookies and cupcakes probably aren’t going to help keep them calm either,” I joke.
She smiles softly. “Well, this is a treat for them. There are a few who can’t partake so if you could spend a little extra time with them, I’d appreciate it.”
“Just tell me where to go.”
“Manny is in the cancer wing. He’s terminal and really can’t keep food down. You want to start with him? C-4401.”
“I’m on it. Let me grab Milo and maybe we can cheer him up.”
“You’re a good man, Jordan.” She squeezes my arm before bustling down the hall.
Milo and I make our way to the assigned room and I mentally steel myself. The terminal kids are gut-wrenching. It breaks my heart, but I force myself to do it because it means so much to the kids and their families.
“Hey, Manny.” I stick my head in, knocking lightly. “Are you up for company?”
A tired-looking woman—probably his mother—glances up in confusion. Then I guess she realizes who we are and nods.
“Come on in.” She gently shakes her son. “Manny, guess who’s here? It’s the guys from the Knights.”
The boy on the bed is probably around ten and his eyes flutter open. They look glassy and he seems disoriented for a beat, but then recognition flashes and he shifts, trying to sit up.
“Jordan Palmer,” he whispers.
“That’s me.” I walk over to the bed with as much of a smile as I can manage. The kid has deep, dark circles under his eyes and he’s hooked up to all kinds of monitors and IV’s. “And this is Milo Holland.”
“Hi.” Manny smiles weakly. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course. How are you feeling?”
He sighs. “Not good. The doctor says…it won’t be long.”
“Manny, don’t say that,” his mother protests.
“I heard him,” he tells her. “Don’t lie.”
