He doesn’t have to say anything. I can hear the gratitude in his voice, and that’s enough for me.
7
Jabari
There’s something soothing about being on the ice. No one around. No one to impede my progress. I alone determine how slow or fast to move. Despite the issues with my eyesight, skating is as easy as walking. My eyes remain closed, and the rushing wind cools the nape of my neck as I skate backward without a care in the world.
Okay, so maybe I’mpretendingnot to have a care.
My mind can’t actually focus on just one thing. There’s the macular degeneration diagnosis, Val Elliott, andJackieElliott.
Man, I haven’t heard that name in forever. Our breakup was pretty awful. She did not take my words kindly, but Jackie’s the least of my worries. Whether or not I’ll ever skate with my team again bothers me the most right now.
It’s one thing to come out here and skate all by myself and quite another to have to contend with bumping into someone or not seeing a puck fly my way. Those spots I thought were from the concussion are stereotypical of macular degeneration.
My deepest desire is to get back on the ice with the Warriors, but I don’t see how that’s possible. The team optometrist refuses to clear me, so this Sunday I’ll be on the bench once again instead of playing with the team.
That also means I’ll continue to dodge reporters. I’m not readyto answer their questions, despite the fact my agent wants me to release a statement. So far, I’ve only allowed the generic “Jabari Hall is taking healing one day at a time” comment. Those words probably don’t satisfy anyone’s curiosity, but that’s all they’re getting from me ... for now.
“Woo-hoo, look who’s here bright and early.”
I stop near where I hear Tae’s voice coming from. The Korean defender is wicked fast and can block with the best. Born in Seoul, he and his family immigrated to the States when he was ten. His leanness works to his advantage, but he also possesses a raw strength.
“Morning, Tae.”
The swoosh of ice and abrupt stop of his skates finds my ears.
“Thought Coach said you weren’t allowed to practice.”
Great. Did Coach tell the whole team or just my line? “Not with anyone else on the ice. Now that you’re here, I gotta get.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder even though the exit to the tunnel is more northwest.I think.
“What’s going on, man? Raimo and Javier won’t tell me anything.” Frustration laces Tae’s voice.
I swallow. I’ve purposely been keeping information from the rest of the guys. Not because I don’t trust them to keep a secret. They know what it’s like to have your business in front of the world. They wouldn’t do that to me. I’m just not ready to face the truth. But hearing the concern and hurt in Tae’s voice has me rethinking my decision on silence.
I let out a sigh. “I’ve got a vision problem, and I don’t really know how to talk about it.” I stare off, hoping he’s not scrutinizing me.
“Like what, double vision? From the concussion?” His questions fly fast, and concern deepens his voice.
“Worse.” I rub my chin, noting the scruff is longer than I usually maintain it. “I trust you. You’re my team. My family. But I’ve been trying to process before I start spilling my guts to everyone.Until I know how to explain it all”—without crying—“I won’t talk about it.”
“Understood.” Tae slaps me on the shoulder. “Maybe now’s the time to improve your lackluster dating life. Give your mind a distraction.”
“Same idea we had,” Javier says.
When did he get here? I didn’t hear anyone else on the ice. When I angle my head, two figures appear next to Tae. Raimo must be the third guy.
“Speaking of which, you didn’t tell us how the date went.”
Yep, Raimo. I shift on my skates. “You two are in big trouble.” I point toward their silhouettes.
“What did they do?” Tae asks.
“Hooked me up on a blind date with my ex’s little sister.”
“What?” Raimo shouts.
“Yo! That’s wild.” Javier laughs.
