There’s a slight tremor in his voice, and an ache fills my chest. I wish I could reach in and take out his worry, carry it for him so he wouldn’t have to feel this way.
We’re quiet for a long moment before I say, “He’s going to be okay, Carter.”
His grip around me tightens.
“He’s strong and stubborn and fiercely competitive. He’s not going to let thisbeat him.”
“But will he play hockey again?” he asks, his voice raw, vulnerable.
“He will,” I say, hoping against hope that I’m not lying to him. “He’ll find a way.”
We stay in the quiet room for another ten minutes or so, then Nico texts to say the surgeon is there to give us an update, so we quickly make our way back to the waiting room.
According to the surgeon, everything has gone well so far, but the microvascular team is still tackling the very delicate work of repairing the damaged nerves and blood vessels.
No one needs to say out loud how important this part is. If heisgoing to play again, at the same elite level he plays at now, his dexterity is a huge part of it.
Carter shakes the surgeon’s hand. “Thank you, doctor,” he says. “How much longer will he be in surgery?”
“At least another hour,” he says. “Maybe a little longer.”
After the surgeon leaves, Holly and Jordo and the other players who are still around say their goodbyes and head home. Even though they don’t have a game tomorrow, playoffs start in two days. They all need to be prioritizing their health, making sure they’re getting enough sleep. Coach Kimzey also leaves, promising to return first thing in the morning, leaving just me, Carter, and Nico in the waiting room.
“Listen, if you want to head home and get some sleep,” Nico says, “I can call you as soon as he’s out of surgery and awake. You have to take care of yourself, man. The team’s going to need you now more than ever.”
Carter quickly shakes his head. “I won’t leave until I see him.”
“I won’t leave either,” a voice says, and we turn to seeMiles standing behind us. He has a to-go container of food in his hands, and he holds it out, offering it to Carter. “I assume you didn’t eat after the game. You need to.”
Carter takes the food, then he glances over at me. As far as I know, he and Miles haven’t talked much since their confrontation on our front porch. I haven’t talked to my brother at all, so his presence now is unexpected. Maybe it shouldn’t be. He’s Theo’s team captain, after all. Heshouldbe here.
Miles makes eye contact with me, then he hesitates the slightest bit, like he’s suddenly questioning whether he’s welcome.
He clears his throat. “Mind if I sit?”
“Not at all,” I say, motioning for him to sit down. He chooses the chair directly opposite Carter, then leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he says. “I had to do the post-game presser, then I waited for the kitchen to box up a meal for you—it’s that chicken they said you really like—then I went home to check on Anna, then I wandered around the hospital looking for a microwave where I could heat up your food. Oh, wait. Here.” He pulls a plastic-wrapped set of disposable silverware out of his pocket and hands it to Carter.
Carter hasn’t opened the container yet—he’s probably just as confused by Miles’s presence as I am.
“Dude. Eat,” Miles says. “You have to refuel after a game.”
“Thank you,” Carter says slowly, then Miles looks over at Nico.
“Nico, can you give us the room please?” When he’s like this, I can absolutely understand why Miles makes such a good team captain. He has a very commanding presence.
Nico quickly stands and steps into the hallway, andsuddenly I’m alone with the two most important men in my life.
Miles is quiet for a long moment, eyes on the floor. “I have something to say to each of you,” he finally says. “And I’m bad at stuff like this, so just…let me get it all out before you say anything.”
I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, suddenly sensing what Miles is about to do. Carter glances over and must sense my discomfort, because he puts down his food and reaches for my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
Miles looks at Carter first. “When Sarah and I were kids, our father was not a good man. He wanted to be, but then he would drink too much, get angry, and tell me about that anger with his fists. For years, that was my reality. But I took it, dealt with it, because he was still paying the bills. Mom was sick, unable to work, and I wasn’t sure how we would survive if we left him.”
I tighten my grip on Carter’s fingers. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard my brother speak this openly about our past. Not toanyone.
“As soon as I signed my first contract and started making enough money to take care of them, I found a house for Mom and Sarah, told my dad to get lost, and threatened to press charges if he ever talked to any of us again.” He takes a steadying breath. “I tell you all that because I need you to understand why it’s been so important to me that Sarah stay in the U.S. with me. I’m ten years older than she is—she was only eight years old when I started in the NHL. I have been responsible for protecting her, taking care of her, for a very long time.”
