We finally pull to a stop in front of the emergency room entrance. “You go,” Coach Kimzey says. “I’ll park, then come find you.”
It takes a minute to get through reception, but eventually they figure out who I am and why I’m here, and I’m taken upstairs to a private waiting area. Apparently, Theo is already in surgery.
Nico is alone in the waiting room, his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. I’ve never seen our head trainer look so dejected.
He stands as soon as I come in.
“How is he?” I ask.
Nico takes a deep breath, hesitating just enough to make me worry.
“Be straight with me, man. How bad are we talking here?”
He sits down and motions for me to sit beside him. “It’s bad, Carter. The cut was deep. They’re going to do everything they can, but the doctor was honest about the challenges with injuries like this. The possibility of losing fine motor skills, the dexterity in his hand—it’s very real.”
My mouth goes dry. “So he might not play again?”
“I mean, this is Theo we’re talking about,” Nico says. “If anyone is stubborn enough to beat the odds, it’s him. But his recovery won’t be easy.”
I drop my head into my hands and fight the urge to cry.
Theo not playing hockey. It can’t happen. Itcan’t.
“He has to play again,” I say, my voice soft.
Nico drops a hand onto my shoulder. “I know, man. Let’s believe he will, all right? He’s got the best surgeons in the state working on his hand right now. We just have to leave it to them.” He glances up as Coach Kimzey enters the waiting room. “And pray for a miracle.”
I stay seated as Nico gives Coach the same rundown he just gave me, my thoughts spiraling.
I wish I could have seen Theo. Talked to him. Looked in his eyes and told him he was going to get through this. That I would beright hereevery step of the way.
I want to yell at Nico for not calling me before they took him back.
I want to yell at Coach Kimzey for not getting me here fast enough to see him.
I want to go find Andrei Kiminsky and pound his face in for starting the fight with Theo in thefirst place.
But then movement at the doorway of the waiting room catches my eye, and I look up.
Sarah.
She’s breathing heavy, like she ran here, her eyes scanning the room until they land on me.
I can’t explain it. The magnetic pull that lifts me out of my chair and carries me across the room to her. I just know I couldn’t stop it if I tried.
Her arms wrap around me, and I melt into the embrace, breathing her in. Over the past nine days, I’ve imagined a dozen different ways this moment might go. How seeing her again might feel. Being on the road made me all too aware what my feelings for Sarah actually are.
But this moment sharpens that realization even further.
I’m out of my mind worrying about my brother, filled with a desperation that makes me want to rage and cry all at the same time.
But with her arms around me, all of that somehow stills.
She feels like an anchor. Likehome.
My body starts to tremble, and she tightens her grip.
“I’ve got you,” she whispers. “I’m here.” Her hand lifts to the nape of my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
