“Game went to overtime. We won in a shootout.” I pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. “That doesn't matter right now.”
“It matters.” He tried to shift and winced, pain flashing across his face. “Fuck. Everything hurts.”
“That's because you got hit into the boards at full speed.” I kept my voice level, controlled, even though I wanted to reach out and touch him. Couldn't. Not here. Not now. “The doctor told me about your shoulder.”
“How bad?”
“Grade two separation. Six weeks minimum.”
His face went even paler. “Six weeks. That's—the prelims start soon.”
“I know.”
“Coach, I can't—I need to be ready. I can push through rehab, I can?—”
“There's more.” I cut him off, and his mouth snapped shut. “They found something else during the imaging. Old scar tissue. In your leg.”
I watched him go very, very still.
“Jace.” My voice dropped lower. “Tell me about the hamstring tear.”
He looked away, jaw tight. “It was nothing.”
“It wasn't nothing. The doctor said it's significant. Old damage. Scar tissue. Signs of re-injury.” I leaned forward. “Why wasn't it in your medical file?”
Silence.
“Jace. Answer me.”
“Because I asked Tess not to put it there.” His voice came out flat, defensive. “I tore it in the summer. Worked with a private guy to rehab it. Got cleared. Came back fine.”
“And you asked Tess to keep it off your official record.”
“Yeah. I did.”
“Why?”
His eyes snapped to mine, and there was fire there despite the pain meds. “Because I knew what would happen if I didn't. The front office would flag me. They'd start monitoring everylittle thing. They'd see me as damaged goods. Injury-prone. A risk.” His voice cracked slightly. “I'd lose my spot.”
“So you lied.”
“I didn't lie. I just didn't tell the whole truth.”
“That's the same fucking thing!” My control broke, voice rising. “You hid a significant injury that could have ended your career. You played through pain that could have caused permanent damage. And you dragged Tess into it, made her complicit in hiding medical information that I needed to know about.”
“I was fine! I managed it. I did the rehab. I did everything right.”
“Except you didn’t. That old tear is showing signs of re-injury. Because you pushed too hard, too fast, and now your body is breaking down.”
He flinched like I'd hit him.
“This isn't about toughness,” I continued, voice rough. “This isn't about wanting it bad enough. This is about your health. Your future. Your ability to walk normally when your career is over.”
“I don't care about that. I care about playing.”
“Well I fucking care! I care that you could have ruined your leg. I care that you're risking permanent damage. I care that you lied to me about something that could have cost you everything.”
The room went quiet except for the beeping of the monitor.
