It’s always hard to see a teammate and friend go down like that
Graham
I’m okay. Promise.
Mom
Love you, Graham
Love you too, Mom
Locking my phone,I shove it into my pocket. That sick feeling is back.
It’s a lie. A bald-faced lie because Mom’s words have a lead weight dropping into my stomach.
A teammate and friend?
If Noah was simply a teammate and friend, I don’t think I’d be feeling what I’m feeling right now. Putting the truck back into drive, I head toward the hospital.
No sense in delaying this any longer. It won’t get easier the longer I wait.
The rest of the drive goes by in a blur. I have no idea what is waiting for me on the other side of the hospital door.
The thick smell of disinfectant hangs heavy in the halls. I follow the signs toward the ICU where a nurse is waiting at the desk just beyond the elevator doors.
“Hi. I’m here to see Noah Fields.”
“Are you on the approved visitors list?”
“Yes. Graham Fisher.”
She taps away on her keyboard as I take in the wide-open space. Glass doors are pulled tight with curtains to hide the patients from prying eyes. Machines are beeping as nurses flit between the rooms.
“The doctor is in with him now, but if you take a seat, we’ll let you see him once they’re gone.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
The nurse points to a bank of seats behind me and I sink into one of them.
More waiting.
More worrying.
More time to think.
Every time I shift, the hard plastic of the seat beneath me groans. With every blink, I’m back out there on that ice, seeing him go down.
Is Noah going to be okay?
I’ve seen some pretty hard hits playing hockey, but that one? It has panic taking hold inside me and not letting go.
“Mr. Fisher?”
I glance up, seeing the nurse, a bulky man who could dwarf me, stopping in front of me.
“That’s me.”
“You can see Mr. Fields now. He’s not awake, but if you’re quiet, you can stay in there with him for a few minutes.”
