“Guess you haven’t talked to Doc lately?”
He shakes his head slowly. “What are you trying to tell me?”
Before I can reply, his desk phone rings.
“Coach Turner. ... Hey, Doc, everything okay?” His brows raise.
I watch with glee as his mouth drops, and his wide-eyed gaze latches on to me. He waves a hand in front of my face slowly. I wave back, then laugh when he drops the phone.
“Holy—” His words aren’t fit for kids’ ears but definitely not the worst thing I’ve heard in a locker room.
He picks up the phone just to hang up. “You can see?” he asks in wonder.
“Every single expression on your face.”
Coach stands up and comes around the desk and flops into the chair beside me. “How?”
“God gave me a miracle.”
“No, seriously. How?”
I tell him everything from the moment I had the CT scan in Jersey to now,includingmy time talking to God and going to Javier’s church. How when Ms. Elaine prayed for me, an overwhelming peace came upon me. I figured it solidified what I already knew, sight or no sight, God has my back. I also can’t discount Javier’s prayers either.
When I woke this morning, my vision was crystal clear. Immediately, I called the team docs, who had me go to the hospital for another round of testing. Like last time, my scans are perfect and show no issues with my eyes or my brain. The headaches have completely left me as well.
Coach sits back, a stunned look on his face. “This can’t be real.”
“You just talked to Doc.”
“Yeah, but maybe they need to run the tests again.”
“Coach, this isn’t my first set of tests. My eyesight confirms what the last test showed. I’m good.”
“You’re rusty,” he spits out, but I can tell under that bluster is a misty-eyed man.
“Actually, I’ve been playing with a low-vision group at a rink near my place. I also never stopped working out. I’m probably not as rusty as you’d think.” I raise my brows, asking the silent question. Will he put me back in?
“How ’bout we talk after practice, then? Go on.” He shoos me away. “They’ll be out there in ten minutes if they haven’t already beaten the assistant coaches to the ice.”
“You won’t be sorry.”
I hurry to the locker room and knock into Javier walking out.
“Whoa, Crank. Where you going so fast? You trying to get hurt?”
I grin. “Nah, I’m good, Javier. ’Bout to lace up.”
He frowns. “Thought Coach said no more skating?”
“He just gave me a free pass.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder to indicate where I came from.
“You need help?”
I shake my head. He’ll see. He’ll get it the moment I slide onto the ice.
Because while I could skate perfectly without aid when my vision was impaired, I couldn’t see the puck to save my life. When I played with the low-vision club, they had a modified puck that made noise and is a lot bigger than NHL regulation.
I can’t wait to slap the biscuit into the net and show the guys what I can do.
