“Coach is going to be pissed.”
“Probably.”
“Boucher’s going to say something.”
Étienne’s jaw tightened. “Boucher can fuck himself.”
That pulled a laugh out of me, which hurt my foot, which made me wince. “What happened?”
“After you left?” His hand found mine on the bed, and he laced our fingers together. “We won. Three to two. But afterward, Boucher posted that I was playing nurse tonight instead of hockey.”
The floaty feeling couldn’t quite cover the spike of anger that shot through me. “He posted what?”
“Doesn't matter. He can shove his opinions.”
“Étienne—”
“When I saw it, I wanted to punch my own captain. But I was already here.” He said it casually, but there was a dark tone in his voice. “Would have been worth the suspension.”
I stared at him, trying to process this through the medication fog. Étienne would have fought Boucher. Over me. Had left the game, risked a trade, taken a fine, would have faced down the captain… all because I’d gotten hurt.
“Why?” The question came out before I could stop it.
He looked at me like I’d asked something incredibly stupid. “Because you’re my best friend. Because you were hurt. Nothing else mattered.”
Nothing else mattered.
I should probably examine that statement. Should probably think about what it meant that Étienne had chosen me over everything else without hesitation.
But the drugs were pulling me under, and his hand waswarm in mine, and I was too tired to protect myself from the dangerous warmth spreading through my chest.
“What did the doctor say?”
I couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Three fractures. Clean breaks, no displacement. No surgery needed.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Yeah. That’s good.” I gripped his hand. “But eight to ten weeks before I can skate again.”
“Merde.Two months.”
“Two months,” I confirmed. “Maybe more if the healing doesn’t go well.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of it settling over both of us.
“You’ll heal,” Étienne said finally, his voice quiet but certain. “You’ll work your ass off in PT, you’ll do everything the doctor and trainers tell you to do, and you’ll come back better than ever. You know you will.”
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to have that certainty, that confidence that this was just a setback and not something more.
“What if I don’t?” The question came out before I could stop it. “What if I come back and I’m not the same? What if?—”
“You will be.” Étienne squeezed my hand. “I know you, Marco. You don’t know how to do anything halfway. You’ll attack this recovery the same way you attack everything else—with everything you’ve got.”
“Two months is a long time.”
“I know.” His thumb rubbed across my knuckles. “Good thing I’m already staying with you. I’ll be there. Every step. Every day. Whatever you need.”
The tension in my shoulders loosened slightly at that. “You don’t have to?—”
